TWELVE «:::.:. TUB IHS ■ •■ .• C!:ji:il'.A2^D PROSl- MCWCi. .' .:: ANDREWS Prof. John 3. Tatlock ^/Xx^^^-^r^^ TWELVE CENTURIES OF ENGLISH POETEY AISTD PROSE SELECTED AND EDITED BY ALPHONSO GERALD NEWCOMER PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH IN THE LELAND STANFORD JUNIOR UNIVERSITY AND ALICE E. ANDREWS TEACHER OF ENGLISH IN THE CLEVELAND HIGH SCHOOL, ST. PAUL CHICAGO SCOTT, FORESMAN AND COMPANY ^/7 COPYKIGHT 1910 BY SCOTT, FORESMAN & CO, ■^?^s^ J^"7Xbi*v6 p. F. Pkttibosk & Co. Frlntem and Binders Chicago INTRODUCTION This book was undertaken in response to the desire, expressed by many teachers, for a large body of standard English literature in an accessible, compact form, to accompany and supplement the manuals of literary history in use. As the project gradually shaped itself in the editors' hands, it took on something like the following threefold purpose: First, to include, as far as possible, those classics of our literature — the ballads, elegies, and odes, the U Allegros and Deserted Villages — which afford the staple of school instruction and with which classes in English must be supplied. Second, to supplement these with a sufficient number of selections from every period of our literature to provide a perspective and make the volume fairly repre- sentative from a historical point of view. . Third, to go somewhat outside of the beaten track, though keeping still to standard literature, and make a liberal addition of selections, especially from the drama and prose, to enliven the collection and widen its human interest. This comprehensive character is indicated by the title of the volume. A some- what unusual feature is the inclusion of both poetry and prose. The two forms have not been indiscriminately mingled, but they have been deliberately set side by side in the belief that both will gain by their conjunction. It is scarcely to be denied that at the present time a volume made up wholl}' of verse gives the impres- sion of a collection of enshrined "classics," meant either to be admired from a distance or studied with tedious minuteness. On the other hand, a miscellaneous collection of unrelieved prose lacks attractiveness by seeming to lack emotional appeal. Putting them together will not only afford the relief of variety, but should lead to a better understanding of both by showing that the difference between them is often more formal than real — that poetry, with all its concern for form, is primarily the medium of the simplest truth and feeling, and that prose, though by preference pedestrian, may at times both soar and sing. In making the selections, it was considered best to exclude the modern novel, a form of literature that scarcely lends itself to selection at all. With this exception, pretty much the whole field has been covered, though it is not maintained that every important man or movement has been represented. The Restoration drama can, for obvious reasons, have no place in these pages : nor should the omissions be regarded with surprise if a volume of confessedly rather elementary purpose fails to include such men as Burton, Browne, Locke, and Xe\\i;on, voyagers "on strange seas of thought, alone.'' The endeavor was simply to secure the widest repre- sentation consistent with the intended service of the book and compatible with a due regard for both amount and proportion. Inconclusive fragments have been studiously avoided. Here and there, where a specimen of form only was desired — of Surrey's blank verse, for example, or of Thomson's Spenserian manner — this principle has not been adhered to. But apart from such exceptional cases, even ill iwsoos'rs jy INTRODUCTION where wholes could not be given, enough has still been given, not only to set the reader going, but to take him somewhere. The order is chronological, and the division into periods corresponds in general to the division adopted by the senior editor in his history of English Literature. The adherence to chronology, however, has not been rigid, either in the order of names or in the order of selections under the names. Prose has usually been sepa- rated from verse, and minor poems have often been placed together. In fact, wherever an unpleasant juxtaposition could be avoided, or a more effective grouping secured, there has been no hesitation to exercise some freedom. The dates of the various selections will in most instances be found in the table of contents. Selections from Old English, from Latin, and from Middle English down to Chaucer, are given in translation. After Chaucer, the original text is followed, but fcpelling and punctuation are modernized — a course which is almost necessary if a writer like Mandeville is to be read with any ease, and which has every reason to support it in writers of a much later date. To this rule the customary exceptions in poetry are made: Chaucer, Langland, the Ballads, Everyman, and Spenser's artificially archaic Faerie Queene, are kept in the original form. Much care has been bestowed upon the text. It is really a matter of somewhat more than curiosity whether, in the poet's fancy, the lowing herd ivind over the lea, or winds over the lea, and he ought by all means to be reported faithfully. At the same time it has seemed equally important in a few instances to correct a manifest and misleading error or to remove an extremely offensive epithet. The instances of such changes are perhaps not a dozen in all. The notes have been placed at the bottom of the page, primarily for convenience, but also to insure brevity. It will be observed that they serve other purposes than those of a mere glossary. Every care has been taken to make them pertinent and really explanatory, and to avoid unduly distracting the reader's attention or affronting his intelligence. It seemed fair to assume, on the reader's part, the possession of a dictionary and a Bible, and some elementary knowledge of classical mythology. It is altogether too common an editorial mistake to regard every capital letter as a signal for a note. Allusions to matters of very slight rele- vancy are purposely left unexplained. For example, in such an isolated poem as Dear's Lament, it seemed more to the purpose, at least of the present volume, to give a bit of literary comment than to weight down the poem with notes on events in remote Germanic tradition. On the other hand, wherever a note, of whatever nature, seemed absolutely demanded, no pains have been spared to provide it. In the case of selections hitherto not specially edited, this frequently involved great labor, and the editors learned how much easier it is to make an anthology than to equip it for intelligent use.* Details of biography, as well as the larger matters of literary history and criticism, have necessarily been left to the manuals of literary history. For the convenience of those who use the English Literature referred to above, exact page references to that volume have sometimes been added. Finally, there are frequent cross-references within the present volume, and these may be ^ • For instance, one note is still fresh in mind — the next to the last in the book — which required the reading of nearly two volumes of Stevenson, to say nothing of the labor spent in searching on the wrong track. Even in such a classic as Everyman, there remained obscuri- ties to be cleared up, and apparently no editor had yet hit upon the explanation of so simple a matter as to "take my tappe in my lappe" (page 93, line 801), the meaning of which the editors guessed and subsequently verified by Jamieson's Scottish Dictionary. The word "kenns. " as used by Scott in Old Mortality (see page 504), is not recorded in any of the standard dictionaries, including Jamieson. These examples, which are typical of many others, will serve to show that the preparation of the notes, slight as they may seem, has been no perfunctory or uncritical task. INTBODUCTION ^ further extended by the use of the index to the notes. It is believed that this index will be found extremely useful. Manifestly many advantages are to be derived from having so much material in a single volume. The book may even be used as a source-book for the study of English history, in a liberal interpretation of that subject. From the Anglo-Saxon period, for example, a sufficient diversity of literature is presented to give body and reality to that far-away time. In a later period, the constantly recurring terms and manners of feudalism and chivalrv- make that age also historically real, and the archaism of Spenser, as the age passes away, does not appear such a detached, unintelligible phenomenon. The concentric "spheres" of the old Ptolemaic astronomy may be seen revolving about this earth as a centre through all the poetry down to Milton, when science steps in with its inexorable logic and man is constrained to take a humbler view of his station in the universe. On the other hand, Utopia may change to Arcadia, and Arcadia to El Dorado, but the dream itself refuses to die. A juster conception of the writers themselves is likewise made possible. Shakespeare is removed from his position of lonely grandeur. Milton, so fallen on evil days, finds ample justification for his poetic complaint in the graphic prose descriptions of Pepys and Evelyn. Johnson is humanized by being presented as the friend of Boswell. Again, in the detailed study of the literature there is the immense advantage of often having at hand, where each student can see it for himself, the source of an allusion, the echo of a sentiment, or the different play of diverse imaginations about the same theme. One passage of Milton can be set by the side of a similar passage in Caedmon, another can be paralleled in Marlowe, a third in Spenser. The story of the last fight of The Revenge can be read first in Ealeigh's circumstantial narrative and then in Tennyson's martial ode. Malory's Arthur reappears in Tennyson, Scott's Bonny Dundee in Macaulajr's account of the battle of Killiecrankie. If the line in Browning's Saul about the *1ocust-flesh steeped in the pitcher" reminds us of an incident in the life of John the Baptist, we turn with interest to Wyclif's curious version of that story. An unusual word, **T3rede," occurring in one of Keats's odes, is found to have been used in an ode by Collins, and its literary genealogy can scarcely be doubted. The paths of Addison and Carlyle lie far apart, and yet both appear to have been indebted, the one for a quaint fancy, the other for a striking figure, to the same record of a shipwreck on the frozen shores of Xova Zembla more than three centuries ago. By the discerning teacher these cross-references can be multiplied indefinitely, and for nearly every cross-reference there will be a decided gain in understanding and appreciation. The student will see what a network a national literature is, and get some conception of the ever increasing enjoA'ment that attends upon an increasing familiarity with it. Indeed, it has been one of the chief pleasures in making this compilation to feel that along with the so-called English classics, of finished form and universal content, so much was being gathered which, though less familiar, is scarcely less worthy, and frequently of a more intimate human appeal. It may not be desirable to teach all this matter, nor would it be possible at any one time or place. The important thing is to have it in hand. The teacher is thus given a real freedom of choice and enabled to teach literature, as it should be taught, with the personal touch. For the student, too, there will always remain some tracts of terra incognita, with the delight of wandering, of his own free will, along unfrequented paths. To share, for example, in the early Northmen's vague terror of nickers and jotuns, to listen to the words of Alfred the Great, to observe the concern of the good bishop of Tarente for the spiritual welfare of the nuns under his charge, to stand by at the birth of the first printed English b6ok and note the aged Caxton's enthusiasm in spite of Vi INTRODUCTION worn fingers and weary eyes, to join with Jonson in mourning and praising the great fellow-craftsman whom he knew, to watch with Pepys the coronation of the king or hear him piously thank God for the money won at gaming — these are things, it should seem, to arouse the most torpid imagination. If, from excursions of this nature, the student learns that good literature and interesting reading matter meet, that the one is not confined to exalted odes nor the other to current magazine fiction, a very real service will have been done by widening the scope ol this volume. It is obvious that in pursuing the study of such diverse material, no single method will suffice. Sometimes, as has already been hinted, reading is all that is necessary. But when a writer like Bacon, let us say, or Pope, writes with the deliberate purpose of instruction, his work must be studied with close application and may be analyzed until it yields its last shade of meaning. On the other hand, when Keats sings pathetically of the enduring beauty of art and the transient life of man, or when Browning chants some message of faith and cheer, a minutely analytical or skeptical attitude would be not only futile but fatal. And when the various purposes of instruction, inspiration, and aesthetic delight are combined in one work, as in the supreme example of Paradise Lost, the student who hopes to attain to anything like full comprehension must return to it with various methods and in various moods. It is from considerations like these that the teacher must determine his course. One thing, however, cannot be too often repeated. The most successful teacher of literature is he who brings to it a lively sympathy springing from intimate knowledge, assured that method is of minor moment so long as there is the responsive spirit that evokes response. For ourselves, we would say that while we have divided the labor of preparing both copy and notes, there has been close cooperation at every stage of the work. We owe thanks for suggestions and encouragement to more friends than we may undertake to name. To Dr. Frederick Klaeber, in particular, of the University of Minnesota, we are indebted for advice upon the rendering of certain passages in Beowulf, and to Professor Lindsay Todd Damon, of Brown University, for a critical vigilance that has worked to the improvement of almost every page. By courtesy of The Macmillan Company the translations which represent Cynewulf have been reprinted from Mr. Stopford A. Brooke's History of Early English Literature; and by a similar courtesy on the part of Messrs. Charles Scribner's Sons, who hold copyrights in the works of Stevenson, we have been able to include the selections which close the volume. A. G. N. A. E. A. CONTENTS Introduction Hi AXGLO-SAXOX PERIOD i/Beowclf (c. 700) 1 Deob's Lament 18 Caedmox (fl. 670) Paraphrase of the Scriptures From Genesis : The Garden of Eden ; The Fall of Satan 18, 19 From Exodus : The Cloud by Day ; The Drowning of Pharaoh 19 Bede (673-735) From the Ecclesiastical History (finished 731) : The Britons Seek Succor from the Romans. The Roman Wall 20 A Parable of Man's Life 21 The Storv of Csedmon 21 Cyxewclf (fl. 670) Riddles II. VI. XV 23 From the Christ 24 From the Elene 24 Axglo-Saxon Chronicle (begun about 850) Extracts 2.5 The Battle of Brunanburh 26 Alfred the Gkeat (849-901) Ohthere's Narrative 27 AXGLO-XORMAX PERIOD Geoffbey of MoxMorTH (c. 1100-1154) From the Ilistoria Britonum Regum (c. 1135) : The Story of King Leir 29 Arthur Makes the Saxons His Tribu- taries 31 Axcbex Riwle, From the (c. 1225) 32 Pbovebbs of Kin'g Alfred, From the 35 Cuckoo Song (c. 1250) 36 FOURTEENTH CENTURY— AGE OF CHAUCER Pearl, From the (c. 1350) 37 William Laxglaxu (1332?-1400?) From The Vision of Piers the Plowman (1362 onward) : The Prologue (B text, 1377) 39 From Passus I 40 The WrcLiF Bible (c. 1380). The Kino James Bible (1611) 41 Geo.-frey Chacceb ( 1.340 'M400) From The Canterbury Tales (c. 1386 on- ward) : The Prologue 43 The Xonne Preestes Tale 53 From the Legend of Good Women (e. 1385) : The Story of Thlsbe of Babylon, Martyr 60 The Compleyut of Chaucer to His Purse (1399) 62 Travels of Sir John Maxdeville, From the (written c. 1356: English trans- lation after 1400) 63 THE FIFTEEXTH AXD EARLY SIXTEENTH CEXTURIES Ballads Robin Hood and the Monk (MS. c. 1450). 69 The Hunting of the Cheviot 73 Sir Patrick Spens 77 ^< Johnie Cock 77 Bonnie George Campbell 79 The Wife of Ushers Well 79 Katharine Jaffray 79 The Xutbrown Mayde 80 Everyman- (before 1525) 84 William Caxtox (1422 7-1491) The Recuyell of the Histories of Troy (c. 1474) : Prologue, and Epilogue to Book III 95 Sir Thomas Maloky (died 1471) From Le Morte Darthur (finished 1470 ; printed 1485) 96 Sir Thomas More (1478-1535) From Utopia (in Latin, 1516; English translation, 1551, 1556) 110 Roger Ascham (1515-1568) Toxophilus (1545) From the Foreword 119 The Ways of the Wind 121 The Schoolmaster (1570) From A Preface to the Reader 122'' A Gentle Teacher and Pupil 124 THE ELIZABETHAN AGE— POETRY Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503-1542; poems pub- lished 1557) The Lover Having Dreamed, etc. (Son- net) 125 Of His Love that Pricked Her Finger with a Needle 125 The Lover Complaineth the Unkindness of His Love 125 Hexry Howard. Earl of Surrey (1517?- 1547 ; poems published 1557) Description of Spring, etc. (Sonnet).... 126 A Praise of His Love, etc 126 Departure of iBneas from Dido 126 Edmuxd Spenser (1552-1599) The Faerie Queene. Dedication, and parts of Book I (1590) 127 Prothalamion (1596) 139 Elizabethan Sonnets Edmund Spenser : Amoretti XV, XXXVII, LXI (1595) 142 Sir Philip Sidney : Astrophel and Stella I, XXXI (1591) 142>^ Samuel Daniel: To Delia LI (1592) 142 Michael Drayton: Idea LXI (1619) 143 William Shakespeare: Sonnets XXIX, XXX. LXIV. LXV, LXXIII, LXXIV (1609) 143 Elizabethax Lyrics Sir Philip Sidney : Astrophel and Stella, First Song ( 1591 ) 144 George Peele : Fair and Fair (c. 1581).. 144 Thomas Lodge : Rosalind's Madrigal (1590) 145 Robert Southwell : The Burning Babe (1595) 145 Christopher Marlowe : The Passionate Shepherd to His Love (1590) . . . 146 Sir Walter Raleigh ( ?) : The Xymph's Reply to the Shepherd (1590).. 146 Pilgrim to Pilgrim 14« William Shakespeare : Under the Green- wood Tree (c. 1599) 147v' Blow. Blow, Thou Winter Wind (c. 1599) 147 Take. O, Take Those Lips Away (1604) 147 Come Away, Come Away, Death (c. 1600) 147 CONTENTS How Should I Your True Love Kncv (1602) 147 Hark. Hark ! the Lark at Heaven's Gate Sings (c. 1610) 148 Thomas Dekker : Art Thou Poor (1599) 148 Thomas Campion: Clierry-Ripe (c. 1617) 148 Michael Drayton: Agincourt (1606) 148 Ben Jonson : To Celia (1616; written 1605) 149 The Triumph of Charis (1616) 150 THE ELIZABETHAN AGE— DRAMA o Christopher Marlowe (1564-1593) From The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus (1604, 1616) 151 William Shakespeare (1564-lbl6) The Tempest (c. 1610) 164 Ben Jonson (1573 7-1637) To the Memory of Shakespeare (1616) . . 191 From Volpone ; or. The Fox (1605) 192 Beaumont (1584-1616) and Fletcher (1579- 1625) From The Knight of the Burning Pestle (c. 1611) 197 THE ELIZABETHAN AGE— PROSE Sir Philip Sidney (1554-1586) From the Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia (1590) 206 Sir Walter Raleigh (1552?-1618) The Last Fight of the Revenge (1591).. 208 Francis Bacon (1561-1626) Essays : Of Studies (1597) 212 Of Discourse (1597) 212 Of Friendship (1612) 213 Of Riches (1612) 216 Of Revenge (1625) 217 Of Gardens (1625) 218 THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY Caroline Ltrics George Herbert: Virtue (1633) 220 Thomas Carew : Ask Me no More Where Jove Bestows (1640) 220 Sir John Suckling : Why so Pale and Wan. Fond Lover (1637) 220 Richard Lovelace : To Lucasta. Going to the Wars (1649) 220 To Althea, from Prison (1649) 221 Robert Herrlck : Corlnna's Going A-May- Ing (1648) 221 To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time (1648) 222 To Electra (1648) 222 How Roses Came Red (1648) 222 Edmund Waller: Go, Lovely Rose (1645) 222 On a Girdle (1645) 223 KHenry Vaughan : The Retreat (1650).. 223 John Milton (1608-1674) On the Morning of Christ's Nativity (1629) 223 On Shakespeare ( 1630) 226 L'Allegro (16.34) 227 II PenseroHO (1634) 228 Lycldas (1638) 230 Sonnets : When the Assault was In- tended to the City (1642) 233 On the Late Massacre in Piedmont (le-W) 233 On His Blindness (after 1(^52) 234 To Cyrlack Skinner (leS.-S?) 234 Paradise Lost : Books I, II, etc. (1667) . 234 On Education (1844) 2.59 From Areopagltica (1644) 202 Izaak Walton (1. "593-1 083) From The Complete Angler (1653) 204 John Blnyan (1028 1688) From The Plldrim's Progress 207 Sami-el Pepys (1033-1703) From niK Diary 271 John Evelyn (1620-1706) From His Diary 274 John Dryden (1-631-1700) From Absalom and Achitophel (1681).. 277 Mac Flecknoe (1682) 280 A Song for St. Cecilia's Day (1687) 282 Alexander's Feast : or, The Power of Music (1697) 283 Lines Printed under the Engraved Por- trait of Milton (1688) 285 Song from The Indian Emperor (1665). 285 . Song of Thamesis (1685) 286'^ Song from Cleomenes (1692) 286 The Secular Masque (written for the year 1700) 286 On Chaucer (1700) 288 EARLY EIGHTEENTH CENTURY Sir Richard Steele (1672-1729) Prospectus. The Tatler, No. 1 (April 12, 1709) 290 Memories. The Tatler, No. 181 (June 6, 1710) 291 The Club. The Spectator, No. 2 (March 2, 1711) 292 Joseph Addison (1672-1719) Sir Roger at Church. The Spectator, No. 112 (July 9, 1711) 295 Ned Softly. The Tatler, No. 163 (April 25, 1710) 296 Frozen Words. The Tatler, No. 254 (Nov. 23, 1710) 298 A Coquette's Heart. The Spectator, No. 281 (Jan. 22, 1712) .300 The Vision of Mirza. The Spectator, No. 159 (Sept. 1, 1711) 3010 Matthew Prior (1664-1721) To a Child of Quality Five Years Old (1704) 303 A Simile (1707) 304 An Ode (1709) 304 A Better Answer (1718) 304 John Gay (1685-1732) The Hound and the Huntsman. Fable XLIV (1727) 305 The Poet and the Rose. Fable XLV (1727) 305 Alexander Pope (1688-1744) Ode on St. Cecilia's Day (written 1708). 805 From An Essay on Criticism (1711; written 1709) 307 The Rape of the Lock (1712, 1714) 310 An Essay on Man. Epistles I and II (1733) 319 / The Universal Praver (1738) 325 »/ Daniel Defoe (16.59-1731) From Robinson Crusoe (1719) 326 Jonathan Swift (1667-1745) From Gulliver's Travels : A Voyage to Lilliput, Chapters I, II, and III (1726) 330 JAME.S Thom.son (1700-1748) The Seasons. From Spring (1728) 342 From the Castle of Indolence (1748)... 344 Rule, Britannia (1740) 345 LATER EIGHTEENTH CENTURY William Collins (1721-1759) A Song from Shakespeare's Cymbeline (1744) 346 Ode. How Sleep the Brave (1746) 346 Ode to Evening (1747) 346 Thomas Gray (1716-1771) Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard (1751) 347 The Progress of Poesy (1757) 349 James Macpherson ("Ossian") (1736-1796) Olna-Morul (1762) •• S.'Sl '^ From Carthon : Ossian's Address to the Sun (1762) 3.52 Thomas Chatterton (17.52-1770) Epitaph on Robert Canynge 3n2 An Excelente Balade of Charltie 353 From The Buttle of Hastings 354 CONTENTS Samuel Johxson (1709-1784) . ^ ., ^, From the Plan of an English Dictionary (1747) 3oa Letter to Lord Chesterfield (1755) do7 From the Preface to the English Diction- _ ary (1755) • 3o( From the Preface to an Edition of Shakespeare's Plays (1768). — 358 From the Lives of the English Poets : The Character of Addison (1779) 360 James Bos well (1740-1795) From The Life of Samuel Johnson, LL.D. (1791) 363 Olivek Goldsmith (1728-1774) The Citizen of the World. Letters I, II, . Ill, and IV (1760) 368 ^The Deserted Village (1770) 373 The Haunch of Venison (written 1771).. 377 From IJetaliatlon (1774) 379 Edward Gibbon (1734-1794) The Fall of Constantinople (1788) 381 GiLBKBT White (1720-1793) From The Natural History of Selborne (1789) 384 Edmund Bukke (1729-1797) From the Speech at Bristol (1780) 387 From Reflections on the Revolution in France (1790) 388 William Cowpeb (1731-1800) Light Shining out of Darkness, Olney Hymns, XXXV (1770) 391 On the Loss of the Royal George (written 1782) 392 The Jackdaw (1782) 392 On the Receipt of Mv Mother's Picture (written 1785) 392 , To Mrs. Unwin 394 ^he Castaway (written 1799) 394 George Crabbe (1754-1832) The Borough. From Letter I (1810)... 395 William Bl.vke (1757-1827) Song. How Sweet I Roamed (1783) 397 To the Muses (1783) 398 Introduction to Songs of Innocence (1789) 398 The Tiger ( 17'.»4) 398 Ah. Sunflower (1794) 398 Scottish Lyrics Robert Fergusson : Elegy on the Detfth of Scots Music (c. 1773) 399 Lady Anne Lindsay : Auld Robin Gray (1771) 399 Isobel Pagan : Ca' the Yowes (c. 1787) . . 400 Lady Xairne : The Land o' the Leal (1798) 401 Robert Burns (1759-1796) v'The Cotter's Saturday Night (1785) 401 Address to the Deil (1785) 404 Address to the Unco Guid (1786) 405 To a Mouse (1785) 406 To a Louse (1786) 407 To a Mountain Daisy (1786) 407 Tam OShanter (1791) 408 Green Grow the Rashes (1786) 411 Auld Lang Syne (1788) 411 John Anderson Mv Jo (1789) 411 Whistle o'er the Lave o't (1789) 411 To Mary in Heaven (1789) 412 *^Iy Heart's in the Highlands (1789) 412 The Banks o" Doon (1791 ?) 412 Afton Water (1789?) 412 Highland Marv (1792) 413 Banncckbuin (1793) 413 Contented wi' Little and Cantie wl' Mair (1794) 413 A Man's a Man for a' That (1795) 414 O, Wert Thou in the Cauld Blast (1796) . 414 THE ROMANTIC REVIVAL William Wordsworth (1770-1850) Dear Native Regions (written 1786) .... 415 We Are Seven (1798) 415 xLines Written in Early Spring (1798) . . . 416 Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tin- tern Abbey (1798) 416 Strange Fits of Passion I Have Known (1799) 418 She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways (1799) 418 I Travelled Among Unknown Men (1799) 418 Three Years She Grew in Sun and Shower (1799) 418 A Slumber Did My Spirit Seal (1799).. 419 Lucy Gray (1799) 419 The Prelude ; or. Growth of a Poet's Mind. From Book I, Childhood (1799) 420 My Heart Leaps up when I Behold (1802) 422 The Solitary Reaper (1803) 422 To the Cuckoo (1804) 422i/ She Was a Phantom of Delight (1804).. 423 I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud (1804) . . . 423 Ode to Dutv (1805) 423 To a Skvlark (1805) 424 To a Skylark (1825) 424 Ode: Intimations of Immortality (1803- 1806) 424 Sonnets : Composed upon Westminster Bridge (1802) 426 It is a Beauteous Evening, Calm and Free (1802) 427 On the Extinction of the Venetian Republic (1802) 427 London, 1802 (1802) 427 The World is Too Much With Us (1806) 427<< After-Thought (1820) 427 Samuel Tavlor Coleridge (1772-1834) Kubla Khan (written c. 1798; printed 1816) 428 The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (1798) 428 Christabel. Part the First (written 1797; printed 1816) 436 France: An Ode (1798) 440 Hymn Before Sunrise in the Vale of Cha- mounl (1802) 441 The Knight's Tomb (1817?) 442 Song from Zapolya (1817) 442 Youth and Age (1823-1832) 442 Work Without Hope (1827) 443 Sib Walter Scott (1771-1832) Lochinvar. From Marmion (1808) 443 Soldier, Rest ! From The Lady of the Lake (1810) 444vr Coronach. From The Lady of the Lake (1810) 444 The Battle of Beal an' Duine. From The Lady of the Lake (1810) 445 Jock of Hazeldean (1816) 447 Proud Maisie. From The Heart of Mid- lothian (1818) 448 County Guy. From Quentin Durward (1823) 448 Bonny Dundee (written 1825) 448 Here's a Health to King Charles. From Woodstock (1826) 449 Lord Bteon (1788-1824) From English Bards and Scotch Re- viewers (1809) 449 Maid of Athens. Ere We Part (1812)... 451 She Walks In Beautv (1815) 452 O The Destruction of Sennacherib (1815).. 452 So We'll Go No More A-Roving (1817).. 452 Stanzas Written on the Road between Florence and Pisa (1821) 453 To Thomas Moore (1S17) 453 Sonnet on Chillon (1816) 453 The Prisoner of Chillon (1816) 453 From Childe Harold, Canto III (1816) : Waterloo 457 Night on Lake Leman 458 From (Thilde Harold, Canto IV (1818) : Venice 460 Rome 461 The Coliseum 462 o The Ocean 463 From Don Juan. Canto II (1819) : The Shipwreck 464 CONTENTS Prom Don Juan, Canto III (1821) : The Isles o£ Greece Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822) Alastor, or The Spirit of Solitude (1816). Ozymandias (Sonnet) (1819) Ode to the West Wind (1820) The Indian Serenade (written 1819)..... From Prometheus Unbound (1820) : Song ; Asia's Response The Cloud (1820) Hto a Skylark (1820) From Adonais (1821) : The Grave of Keats Chorus from Hellas (1822) To . Music, when Soft Voices Die (written 1821) To . One Word Is Too .Often Pro- faned (written 1821) A Lament (written 1821) When the Lamp Is Shattered (written 1822) A Dirge (written 1822) John Keats (1795-1821) From Endymlon, Book I: Proem (1818). The Eve of St. Agnes (1820) Ode to a Nightingale (1820) Ode on a Grecian Urn (1820) i4)de on Melancholy (1820) To Autumn (1820) Lines on the Mermaid Tavern (1820) . . . In a Drear-Xlghted December (c. 1818) . La Belle Dame Sans Mercl (1819) Sonnets : On First Looking into Chap- man's Homer (1817) On the Grasshopper and Cricket (De- cember, 181«;) On Seeing the Elgin Marbles (1817). On the Sea (1817) When I have Fears that I may Cease to be (1817) Bright Star ! Would I were Stedfast as Thou art (1820) IjATE Georgian Ballads and Lyrics Kllobert Southey : The Battle of Blen- heim (1798) Thomas Campbell : Ye Mariners of Eng- land (1800, 1809). Hohenlinden (1802) Charles Wolfe: The Burial of Sir John Moore (1817) Thomas Moore : The Harp that Once through Tara's Halls (1808)... The Minstrel Boy (1813) Oft, in the Stilly Night (1815) Charles Lan'b : The Old Familiar Faces (1798) Walter Savage Landor : Rose Aylmer (1806) Leigh Hunt : To the Grasshopper and the Cricket (December, 1816) . . Rondeau (1838) Abou Ben Adhem (1844) Wlnthrop Mackworth Praed : Letters from Telgnmouth. I — Our Ball (1820) Thomas Lovell Beddoes : Dream-Pedlary (c. 182.') : printed 18.51 ) ThomaBlIood: The Death-Bed (1831).. The Song of the Shirt (1843) Robert Stephen Hawker : The Song of the Western Men (182.5) The Silent Tower of Bottreau (1831) Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832) From Old Mortality. Chapter I, Pre- liminary (i816) Charles Lamb (177.5-1834) From Ella (1822-24): Dream-Children: A Reverie A Dissertation T^pon Roast Pig From The Last EssayB of Ella (1833) : Old China 465 468 476 476 477 478 478 478 479 480 481 482 482 482 482 483 483 483 488 48!) 400 490 490 491 491 492 492 492 492 492 493 493 494 494 494 495 495 495 495 496 496 496 496 497 498 498 498 499 500 500 504 506 509 Walter Ravaoe Landor (1775-1864) From Imaglnnrv Conversations ; luH and MarluR (1829) . Leofrlc and Godlva (1820) . . Metel- 512 614 Thomas db Quincey (1785-1859) From Confessions of an English Opium- Eater (1821-1822) 516 From Susplrla De Profundis (1845) : Levana and Our Ladies of Sorrow. . 519 Savannah-la-Mar 522 From Joan of Arc (1847) 523 THE VICTORIAN AGE Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881) From Sartor Resartus (1833-1834) : The Everlasting Yea 526 Natural Supernaturalism 529 From the French Revolution (1837) : Storming of the Bastlle 532 Thomas BabingtoNj Lord Macaulay (1800- 1859) From The History of England (1848- 1860) : London in 1685 539 The London Coffee Houses 541 The Battle of Killiecrankie 543 John Henry, Cardinal Newman (1801-1890) Site of a University (1854) 548^ Charles Dickens (1812-1870) A Christmas Tree (18.50) .551 William Makepeace Thackeray (1811-1863) From The English Humourists of the Eighteenth Century (1851) : Goldsmith 559 From Roundabout Papers (1860-63) : De Juventute 564 Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892) The Lady of Shalott (1833) 567 CEnone (1833) 569 The Lotos-Eaters (1833) 572 Saint Agnes' Eve (1837) 572 Sir Galahad (1842) 573 The Beggar Maid (1842) 574 You Ask Me Why, Tho' 111 at Ease (1842) 574 Of Old Sat Freedom on the Heights (1842) .574V-" Morte D' Arthur (1842) 574 Ulysses (1842) 577 Locksley Hall (1842) 578 A Farewell (1842) 583 Break, Break, Break (1842) 583 Songs from the Princess (1847, 1850) : Sweet and Low 583 The Splendour Falls 583 Tears, Idle Tears 584 From In Memoriam (1850) 584 In the Valley of Cauteretz (1861) 587 In the Garden at Swainston (written 1870) 588 , Song from Maud (1855) 588*^ The Charge of the Light Brigade (1854). 589 The Captain (1865) 589 The Revenge (1878) 590 Northern Farmer, Old Style (1864) 592 Rizpah (1880) 594 Milton (1863) 596 To Dante (1865) 596 To Virgil (1882) .596 Frater Ave atque Vale (1883) 596 Flower In the Crannied Wall (1870) 597 , Wages (1868) 597*/ By an Evolutionist (1889) 597 Vastness (1885) 597 Crossing the Bar (1889) 598 Robert Browning (1812-1889) From Plppa Passes (1841) : New Year's Hvmn : Song 598 Cavalier Tunes (1842) 599 Incident of The French Camp (1842)... 600 My Last Duchess (1842) 600 In a Gondola (1842> 601 The Pled Piper of Hamelln (1842) 603 How Thev Brought the Good News from Ghent to Alx (1845) 606 , The Lost Leader (1845) 607j Home-Thoughts, From Abroad (1845)... 608 Home-Thoughts, From the Sea (1845)... 608 The Bov and the Angel (1845) 608 Saul ( r845-.55) 609 CONTENTS Evelyn Hope (1855) .^.. 616 Pra Lippo Llppi (18oo) «lb Up at a Villa— Down in the City (1855). 621 Memorabilia (1855) 62J Popularity (1855) b^g The Patriot (1855) %:•••.•. ^■^^ 'Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came (1855) 624 v^abbi Ben Ezra (1864) ■■■■■■■■■■x-:- ^^6 Prospice (written 1861, printed 1864) . . 620 Herve Kiel (1871) 629 Wanting Is— What? (1883> 631 Whv I Am a Liberal (1885) 631 Epilogue (1889) 631 Elizabeth Barrett Browxiko (1809-1861) Sonnets from the Portuguese (ISoO) : I, III, IV, XIV, XXII, XLIII 632 Edward Fitzgerald (1809-1883) Rubaivilt of Omar Khayyam (18a9, ■ 1873) 633 Abthcr HrGH Clocgh (1819-1861) In a Lecture-Room (1849) 639 Qua Cursum Ventus (1849) 630 Say Not the Struggle Nought Availeth (1862) 640 Ite Domum Saturae, Venit Hesperus (1862) 640 , All Is WeU (1869) 640 Matthew Arxold (1822-1888) The Forsaken Merman ( 1849) 641 Sonnets : To a Friend (1849) 642 Shakespeare tl849) 642 Austerity of Poetry 643 Memorial VeVses (1850) 643 Self-Dependence (1852) 643 Lines Written in Kensington Gardens (1852) 644 Requiescat (1853) 644 Sohrab and Rustum (1853) 64.. Philomela (1853) 6.j4 y^aiser Dead (1887) 6oo Dover Beach ( 1867) 6o6 The Last Word (1867) 656 Culture and Human Perfection (1867) . . . 6o6 Natural Magic in Celtic Literature (1866) 059 Wordsworth (1879) 660 James Axthony Frocde (1818-1894) The Sailing of the Spanish Armada. From History of England (1856- 1870) 662 Defeat of the Armada (1895) 663 Thomas Hexrt Huxley (182.5-1895) On a Piece of Chalk (1868) 669 John Ruskix (1819-1900) From The Seven Lamps of Architecture (1849) : The Lamp of Memory. 674 From The Stones of Venice (1851-53) : The Throne. Vol. II. Chapter 1 677 The Mediaeval and the Modern Work- man. From Vol. II. Chapter VI. 681 ^Prom Modern Painters, Part IV, Chap- ter VI (1856) : Of the True Ideal 683 Daxte Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882) The Blessed Damozel (1850) 686 Sister Helen ( 1853) 688 La Bella Donna (1870) 691 The Woodspurge (1870) 692 The Song of the Bower (1870) 692 The Cloud Confines (1872) 692 From The House of Life (1870, 1881) : The Sonnet 693 IV. Lovesight 693 XIX. Silent Noon 693 XLIX-LII. Willowwood 693 ^ LXV. Known in Vain 694< LXVL The Heart of the Night 694 LX VII. The Landmark 694 LXX. The Hill Summit 695 LXXIX. The Monochord 695 Chbistixa Rossetti (1830-1894) Goblin Market (1862) 695 The Three Enemies (written 1851) 701 An Apple Gathering (written 1857) 701 Monna Innominata (1896) : Sonnets I, II. and XI 701 Up-HiU (1861) 702 William Morris (1834-1896) The Gilliflower of Gold (1858) 702^ The Sailing of the Sword (1858) 703*^ The Blue Closet (1858) 704 From The Earthly Paradise : An Apology (1868) 705 From Love is Enough : Song for Music (1872) 705 From Sigurd the Volsung : Of the Pass- ing Away of Brynhild (1876).. 705 The Voice of Toil (1885) 710 Algerxox Charles Swixburxe (1837-1909) Chorus from Atalanta in Calydon (1865) 710 A Leave-Taking (1866) 711 Hymn to Proserpine (1866) 711 Prelude to Songs Before Sunrise (1871). 713 Lines on the Monument of Giuseppe Maz- zini (1884) 715K The Pilgrims (1871) 716 A Forsaken Garden (1876) 717 A Ballad of Dreamland (187C) 718 Upon a Child (1882) 719 A Child's Laughter (1882) 719 A Baby's Death (1883) 719 From Tristram of Lyonesse : Prelude (1882) 720 Walter Pater (1839-1894) The Child in the House (1878) 723 Robert Lons Stevf.xson (1850-1894) El Dorado (1881) 730 The Maroon (1891) 731 / The Vagabond (c. 1888) 734^ The Morning Drum-Call on My Eager Ear (c. 1888) 735 Evensong (after 1890) 735 Requiem (1887) 735 IxDEX to Notes, axd Glossary 737 IXDEX to Titles a.hd First Lines 746 Index to Authors 755 TWELVE CENTURIES OF ENGLISH POETRY AND PROSE ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD BEOWULF (c 700)* I. The Passing of Scyld Lo, we have heard of the fame in old time of the great kings of the Spear-Danes, how these princes valor displayed. Oft Scyld, Scef 's son, from robber-bands, from many tribes, their mead-seats took, filled earls with fear, since first he was found aU forlorn. Howe 'er, he won comfort, waxed great 'neath the welkin, in dignities throve, until every one of those dwelling near 9 over the whale-road, was bound to obey him and pay him tribute: that was a good king. To him a son was afterward bom, a child in his courts whom God sent to comfort the i)eople ; He felt the dire need they erst had suffered, how they had princeless been a long while. Therefore the Lord of Life, Glory-prince, gave to him worldly honor. Benowned was Beowulf, widely the glory spread of Scyld 's offspring in the Scanian lands. So shall a prudent man do good works 20 with bountiful gifts in his father's haJl, that in his old age still may surround him willing companions, and when war comes the people may follow him. By praiseworthy deeds • Of the three large sections into which the story of Beowulf falls — the fight with Grendel in Denmark, the fight with Grendel's mother, and the subsequent deeds of Beowulf in Geatland (Sweden) — the first is here given practically entire, and the second in part. It should be noted that the Beowulf mentioned in the open- ing canto is a Scylding. or Dane ; Beowulf the Geat, or Weder-Geat. for whom the poem is named, is not introduced until the fourth canto. The translation is virtually the literal one of Benjamin Thorpe (1855), relieved of some of its harsher inversions and obscurities and made more consistently rhythmical, also occasionally altered to conform to a more 40 man shall flourish in every tribe. Scyld then departed at his fated time, the very bold one, to the Lord 's keeping. Away to the sea-shore then they bore him, his dear companions, as himself had bid, while his words had sway, the Scylding 's friend, 30 the land's loved chief tiiat long had pos- sessed it. There at the hithe stood the ring-prowed ship, icy and eager, the prince's vessel. Then they laid down the beloved chief, the dispenser of rings, on the ship's bosom, — by the mast laid him. There were treasures many from far ways, ornaments brought. I have heard of no comeUer keel adorned with weapons of war and martial weeds, with glaves and bymies. On his bosom lay many treasures which were to go with him, far depart into the flood's possession. Not less with gifts, with lordly treasures, did they provide him, than did those others who at the beginning sent him forth alone o'er the wave, a little child. They set moreover a golden ensign high o'er his head; let the sea bear him, gave him to ocean. Their mind was sad, mournful their mood. No man of men, counsellors in hall, heroes 'neath heaven, can say for sooth who that lading received. probable interpretation. No attempt is made to preserve the original alliteration. For thlz feature, as well as for the continual repetition or "parallelism" of phrase, and the poetic synonyms or "kennings." like whale-road for ocean, see Newcomer's English Literature, p. 20. Certain recurring archaic words are : atheling, prince nicker, orken, sea- monster »ark, cnirass »c6p, poet (Eng. Lit., p. 18) thane, war-companion, retainer. tcyrd, fate 50 brand, sword bymie, corslet hithe, harbor jotun, giant mere, sea. lake n€9», headland ANGLO-SAXON PEBIOD II. The Building of Heoeot Then in the towns was Beowulf, the Scyldings ' beloved sovereign, for a long time famed among nations (his father had passed away, the prince from his dwelling), till from him in turn sprang the lofty Healfdene. He ruled while he lived, old and war-fierce, the glad Scyldings. From him four children, numbered forth, sprang in tlie world, from the head of hosts : 60 Heorogar and Hrothgar and Halga the good; and I have heard that Elani was wife of Ongentheow the Heathoscylfing. Then was to Hrothgar war-prowess given, martial glory, that2 his dear kinsmen gladly obeyed him, till his young warriors grew, a great train of kinsfolk. It ran thro ' his mind that he would give orders for men to make a hall-building, a mighty mead-house, which the sons of men should ever hear of; and therewithin to deal out freely 71 to young and to old, whatever God gave him, save the freeman's share and the lives of men. Then heard I that widely the work was pro- claimed _to many a tribe thro' this mid-earth that a folk-stead was building, Befel him in time, soon among men, that it was all ready, of hall-houses greatest ; and he, whose word was law far and wide, named it Heorot.* He belied not his promise, bracelets distri buted, 80 treasures at the feast. The hall arose high and horn-curved; awaited fierce heat of hostile flame. Nor was it yet long when Bword-hate 'twixt son- and father-in-law, after deadly enmity, was to be wakened.f Then the potent guest who in darkness dwelt with difficulty for a time endured that he each day heard merriment loud in the hall. There was sound of the harp, loud song of the gleeman. The scop, who could 90 the origin of men from far back relate, told how the Almighty wrought the earth. 1 Perhaps the fourth child. 2 HO that • "The Hart"— probably so named from gable decorations resemblinK a deer's boms. t HrotbKar'R son-in-law. TnKdd. tried to avonge upon him the death of his father, and It may have been he who gave the ball to "hostile flame." the plain of bright beauty which water em- braces ; in victory exulting set sun and moon, beams for light to the dwellers on land; adorned moreover the regions of earth with boughs and leaves; life eke created for every kind that liveth and moveth. Thus the retainers lived in delights, in blessedness; till one began 100 to perpetrate crime, a fiend in hell. Grendel was the grim guest called, great mark-steppers that held the moors, the fen and fastness. The sea-monsters' dwell- ing the unblest man abode in awhile, after the Creator had proscribed him.* On Cain's race the eternal Lord that death avenged, the slaying of Abel; the Creator joyed not in that feud, but banished him far from men for his crime. 110 Thence monstrous births all woke into being, jotuns, and elves, and orken-creatures, likewise the giants who for a long space warred against God: He gave them requital. III. The Grim Guest of Heoeot When night had come he went to visit the lofty house, to see how the Ring-Danes after their beer-feast might be faring. He found therein a band of nobles asleep after feasting; sorrow they knew not, misery of men, aught of unhappiness. 120 Grim and greedy, he was soon ready, rugged and fierce, and in their rest took thirty thanes; and thence departed, in his prey exulting, to his home to go, with the slaughtered corpses, his quarters to visit. Then in the morning, at early day, was Grendel 's war-craft manifest: after that repast was a wail upraised, a great morning cry. The mighty prince, the excellent noble, unblithe sat; 130 the strong thane sufferetl. sorrow endured, when they beheld the foeman's traces, the accursed sprite's. That strife was too strong, loathsome and tedious. It was no longer than after one night, again he perpetrated greater mischief, and scrupled not at feud and crime; he was too set on them. Then were those easily found who elsewhere sought their rest in places of safety, 3 roamer of the marches, or land-bounds • That is, Orendel Is of the monstrous brood ol Cain. The passage is one of the Christian ad- ditions to a legend wholly pagan in origin. BEOWULF on beds in the bowers,i when it was shown them, 140 truly declared by a manifest token, the hall-thane's hate; held themselves after farther and faster who the fiend escaped. So Grendel ruled, and warred against right, alone against all, until empty stood that best of houses. Great was the while, twelve winters' tide, the Seyldings' friend endured his rage, every woe. ample sorrow. Whence it became openly known to the children of men, 150 sadly in songs, that Grendel warred awhile against Hrothgar, enmity waged, crime and feud for many years, strife incessant; peace would not have with any man of the Danish power, nor remit for a fee the baleful levy; nor any wight might hold a hope for a glorious satisfaction at the murderer's hands. The fell wretch kept persecuting — 159 the dark death-shade — the noble and youthful, oppressed and snared them. All the night he roamed the mist-moors. Men know not whither hell-sorcerers wander at times. Thus many crimes the foe of mankind, the fell lone-roamer, often accomplished, cruel injuries. Heorot he held, seat richly adorned, in the dark nights; yet might not the gift-throne touch, that treas- ure, because of the Lord, nor knew His design. 'Twas great distress to the Seyldings' friend, grief of spirit; often the wise men 171 sat in assembly; counsel devised they what for strong-souled men it were best to do against the perilous horrors. Sometimes they promised idolatrous honors at the temples, prayed in words that the spirit-slayer aid would aflford against their affictions. Such was their custom, the heathen's hope; hell they remembered, but the Creator, the Judge of deeds, 180 they knew not— knew not the Lord God, knew not how to praise the heavens' Protector, Glory's Buler. Woe to him who thro' cruel malice shall thrust his soul in the fire's embrace; let him expect not comfort to find. Well unto him who after his death-day may seek the Lord, and win to peace in his Father 's bosom'. IV. Beowulf's Besolve 1 Apartments used mainly by the women. So Healf dene's son on sorrow brooded; for all his wisdom the hero could not 190 avert the evil; that strife was too strong, loathsome and tedious, that eame on the people, malice-brought misery, greatest of night-woes. Then Hygelac's thane,* a Geatman good, heard from his home of Grendel's deeds; he of mankind was strongest in power in that day of this life, noble and vigorous. He bade for himself a good wave-rider to be prepared; said he would go over the swan-road to seek the war -king, 200 the prince renowned, since men he had need of. Dear though he was, his prudent liegemen little blamed him for that voyage, whetted him rather, and notetl the omen. Then the good chief chose him champions of the Geat-folk, whomso bravest he could find, and, fourteen with him, sought the vessel. Then the hero, 208 the sea-crafty man, led the way to the shore. Time passed; the floater was on the waves, the boat 'neatli the hill; the ready warriors stepped on the prow; the streams surged the sea 'gainst the sand ; the warriors bare into the bark's bosom bright arms, a rich war-array. The men shoved out on the welcome voyage the wooden bark. Most like to a bird the foamy-necked floater, impelled by the wind, then flew o 'er the waves till about the same time on the second day the twisted prow had sailed so far 220 that the voyagers land descried, shining ocean-shores, mountains steep, spacious sea-nesses. Then was the floater at the end of its voyage. Up thence quickly the Weders' peonle stept on the plain; the sea-wood tied; their mail-shirts shook, their martial weeds; thanked God that to them the paths of the waves had been made easy. When from the wall the Seyldings' warder, who the sea-shores had to keep, 230 saw bright shields borne" over the gunwale, war-gear ready, wonder arose within his mind what those men were. Hrothgar 's thane then went to the shore, on his horse riding, stoutly shook the stave in his hands, and formally asked them: ' ' What are ye of arm-bearing men, with byrnies protected, who thus come leading a surgy keel over the water-street, here o'er the seas? I for this, 240 placed at the land 's end, have kept sea-ward, • Beownlf. Hygelac was his uncle, and king of the Geats, or Weder-Geatg, who lived in Sweden. ANGLO-SAXON PEBIOD that no enemies on the Danes' land with a ship-force might do injury. Never more openly hither to come have shiehl-men attempted; nay, and ye knew not surely the pass-word ready of warriors, permission of kinsmen. Yet ne'er have I seen earl upon earth more great than is one of you, or warrior in arms: 'tis no mere retainer honored in arms, unless his face belies him, his aspect distinguished. Now your origin must I know, ere ye farther, 252 as false spies, into the Danes' land hence proceed. Now ye dwellers afar, sea-farers, give ye heed to my simple thought: best is it quickly to make known whence your coming is. ' ' v. The Mission op the Geats Him the chief of them answered then, the band's war-leader his word-hoard unlocked: "We are of race of the Geats' nation, 260 and hearth-enjoyers of Hygelac. Well known to nations was my father, a noble chieftain, Ecgtheow named; abode many winters ere he departed old from his courts; nigh every sage thro' the wide earth remembers him well. We in kindness of feeling have come to seek thy lord, the son of Healfdene, the folk-defender. Be a kind informant. We have a great errand to the illustrious 270 lord of the Danes. Naught shall be secret whereof my thought is. Thou knowest whether it be in sooth as we have heard say, that with the Scyldings 1 know not what wretch, a secret ill-doer, in the dark nights displays thro' terror unheard-of malice, havoc and slaughter. For this may I teach, thro ' my large mind, counsel to Hrothgar, how he, wise and good, shall o'ercome the foe, if ever a change is to befal, 280 if relief from evil should ever come and that care-welling calmer grow. Else he ever after oppression will suffer, a time of trouble, while standeth there in its high place the noblest of houses." Then spake the warder, astride of his horse, the officer fearless: "Between these two should a sharp shield-warrior who thinketh well the difference know — 'tween words and works. This band, I hear, is a friendly one 290 to the Scyldings' lord. Pass ye on with weapons and weeds, I will direct you. Likewise will I give to my fellow- liegcmeii orders in honor to keep, 'gainst every foe, your new-tarred ship, your bark on the sand, till back o'er the water the vessel with twisted neck shall bear to the Weder-march the man beloved. To such a warrior shall it surely be given the rush of war to escape from whole. 300 Then they set forth ; the vessel still bode firm in her berth, the wide-bosomed ship, at anchor fast. A boar 's likeness sheen 'bove their cheeks they bore, adorned with gold; stained and fire-hardened, it held life in ward.* In warlike mood the men hastened on, descended together, until the well-timbered hall they might see, adorned all with gold. Unto earth's dwellers that was the grandest of houses 'neath heav'n, where the ruler abode; 310 the light of it shone over many lands. To them then the warrior pointed out clearly the proud one's court, that they might thither take their way; then did the warrior turn his steed and speak these words: " 'Tis time for me to go on my way. May the all-ruling Father with honor hold you safe in your fortunes. I will back to the sea, ward to keep against hostile bands." VI. The Arrival at Heorot The street was stone-paved, the path gave guidance 320 to the men in a body; the war-byrnie shone, hard, hand-locked; the ringed iron bright sang in their gear, as they to the hall in their arms terrific came striding on. Their ample shields, their flint-hard bucklers, the sea-weary set 'gainst the mansion's wall, then stooped to the benches; their byrnies rang, the war-gear of men. In a sheaf together the javelins stood, the seamen's arms, 329 ash-wood, grey-tipped. These ironclad men were weaponed well. Then a proud chief asked these sons of conflict concerning their lineage: "Whence do ye bear your plated shields and grey sarks hither, your visor-helms and heap of war-shafts? I am Hrothgar 's servant and messenger. Never saw I strangers so many and proud. I ween that ye out of pride, of greatness of soul, and not for exile, have sought Hrothgar. ' ' Him then answered the famed for valor ; 340 the Weders' proud lord, bold 'neath his helmet, spake words afterward: "We are Hygelac 's table-enjoyers — my name, Beowulf. I my errand will relate * Boar-Images surmounted the helmets. BEOWULF to the great lord, son of Healfdene, to thy prince, if he will grant us graciously to greet him here." Wulfgar spake (he was lord of the Wendels; known to many was his spirit, 348 his valor and wisdom): "I will therefore ask the Danes' friend, lord of the Scyldings, mighty prince and ring-distributor, about thy voyage, as thou requestest, and make quickly known the answer that the prince thinks fit to give me." He then vent quickly where Hrothgar sat, old and gray, among his earls; the brave chief stood before the shoulders of the Danes' lord — he knew court-usage. Wulfgar spake to his friendly lord: 360 "Hither are borne, come from afar o'er ocean's course, people of the Geats. Beowulf these sons of conflict name their chief. They make petition that they may hold with thee, my lord, words of converse. Decree not, Hrothgar, denial of the boon of answer. Worthy seem they, in their war-gear, of earls' esteem — at least the chieftain who has led the warriors hither." 370 VII. Hrothgab's Welcome Hrothgar spake, the Scyldings' shield: "Lo, I knew him when he was a boy. His old father was named Ecgtheow, to whom in his home gave Hrethel the Geat his only daughter. Now his offspring bold comes hither, has sought a kind friend. For sea-farers — they who bore gift-treasures unto the Geats gratuitously — were wont to say of him, the war-famed, that he the might of thirty men 380 has in his hand-grip. Holy God hath in his mercies sent him to us, to the West Danes, as I hope, 'gainst Grendel's horror. For his daring, to the good chief gifts I '11 offer. Be thou speedy, bid these kinsmen, assembled together, come in to see me. Say moreover they are welcome guests to the Danes. [Then to the hall-door W^ulfgar went.] He announced the words: 390 ' ' My victor-lord, O prince of the East Danes, bids me tell you he knows your nobleness ; that, boldly striving over the sea-billows, ye come to him hither welcome guests. Now ye may go in your war-accoutrements, 'neath martial helm, Hrothgar to see. Let your battle-boards, spears, and shafts, here await the council of words." Arose then the chief, his many men around him, a brave band of thanes. Some remained there, 400 held the war-weeds, as the bold one bade them. They hastened together where the warrior di- rected, under Heorot's roof; the valiant one went, bold 'neath his helmet, till he stood on the dais. Beowulf spake; his byrnie shone on him, his war-net sewed by the smith's devices: "Hail to thee, Hrothgar; I am Hygelac's kinsman and war-fellow; many great deeds in my youth have I ventured. To me on my native turf Grendel's doings became clearly known. 410 Seafarers say that this most excellent house doth stand, for every warrior, useless and void when the evening light under heaven's serenity is concealed. Then, prince Hrothgar, did my people, the most excellent men, sagacious, counsel me that I should seek thee, because they knew the might of my craft. Themselves beheld — when I came from their snares, blood-stained from the foes — where five I bound, 420 the jotun-race ravaged, and slew on the billows nickers by night; distress I suffered, avenged the Weders (they had had misery), crushed the fell foe. And now against Grendel, that miserable being, will I hold council, alone with the giant. "Of thee now, therefore, lord of the bright Danes, Scyldings' protector, will I make this one petition: now that I come so far, deny not, patron of warriors, friend of people, 430 that I alone with my band of earls, with this bold company, may purge Heorot. 1 have learned this, that the demon-like being in his heedlessness recketh not of weapons. I then will disdain (so may Hygelac, my liege lord, be to me gracious of mood) to bear a sword or round yellow shield into the battle; but shall with the enemy grip and grapple, and for life contend, foe against foe. And he whom death taketh there shall trust in the doom of the Lord. 441 ' ' I ween that he, if he may prevail, will fearlessly eat, in the martial hall, the Geat's people, as oft he has done the Hrethmen'si forces. Thou wilt not need to shroud my head, for he will have me, stained with gore, if death shall take me; 1 the Danes 6 ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD irill bear off my bloody corse to feast on it; lonely, will eat it without compunction; will mark out my moor-mound. Thou wilt not need 450 care to take for my body's disposal. If the conflict take me, send to Hygelac this best of battle-coats shielding my breast, of vests most excellent; 'tis Hrsedla's legacy, Weland '32 work. Fate goes aye as it must. ' ' VIII. Heothgae's Lament Hrothgar spake, the Scyldings' shield: "For battles thou, my friend Beowulf, and for honor, us hast sought. Thy father fought in the greatest feud: he was of Heatholaf the slayer, 460 with the Wylfings, when the Weder-Geats for fear of war-feud might not harbor him. Thence he sought, o'er the rolling waves, the South Danes' folk, the noble Scyldings, when first I ruled the Danish people and in my youth held spacious realms, the hoard-burg of heroes. Dead was Heregar, my elder brother, son of Healfdene, — passed from the living; he was better than I. Later, that quarrel I settled with money; 470 over the water's back old treasures I sent to the Wylfings: he swore to me oaths. "Sorry am I in my mind to say to any man what Grendel has wrought me in Heorot with his hostile designs, what swift mischiefs done. My courtiers are minished, my martial band; them fate has off -swept to the horrors of Grendel. Yet God may easily turn from his deeds the frenzied spoiler. Oft have promised the sons of conflict, 480 with beer drunken, over the ale-cup, that they in the beer-haJl would await with sharp sword-edges Grendel 's warfare. Then at morning, when the day dawned, this princely mead-hall was stained with gore, all the bench-floor with blood besteamed, the hall with sword-blood: I owned the fewer of dear, faithful nobles, whom death destroyed. Sit now to the feast, and joyfully think of victory for men, as thy mind may incite. ' ' 490 For the sons of the Oeats then, all together, in the beer-hall a bench was cleared. There the strong-souled went to sit, proudly rejoicing; a thane did duty, who bare in bis hand the ale-cup bedecked, poured the bright liquor. Clear rose the glee- man 's song in Heorot. There was joy of warriors, a Doble band of Danes and Weders. 3 The divine smith, or Vulcan, of northern legend. IX. Hunferth's Taunt. The Eeply Hunferth spake, the son of Ecglaf, 499 who sat at the feet of the Scyldings ' lord, unloosed his malice. To him was the voyage of the bold sailor, Beowulf, a great displeasure, because he grudged that another man should ever 'neath heaven more glories hold of this middle-earth, than he himself. "Art thou the Beowulf who strove with Breca on the wide sea, in a swimming-strife, where ye from pride tempted the floods, and, for foolish vaunt, in the deep water ventured your lives? Nor might any man, either friend or foe, restrain you from 511 the perilous voyage, when seaward ye swam with arms outspread o'er the ocean-stream, measured the sea-ways, smote with your hands, o'er the main glided. With winter's fury the ocean-waves boiled ; for a sennight ye toiled on the water's domain. He conquered thee swimming ; he had more strength. At morningtide then the sea bore him up to the Heathoraemas, whence he sought, beloved of his people, 520 his country dear, the Brondings' land, his fair, peaceful burgh, where a people he owned, a burgh and treasures. All his boast to thee the son of Beanstan truly fulfilled. Worse of thee, therefore, now I expect — though everywhere thou hast excelled in grim war, in martial exploits — if thou to Grendel darest near abide for a night-long space." Beowulf spake, Ecgtheow 's son: "Well, my friend Hunferth, drunken with beer, 530 a deal hast thou spoken here about Breca, about his adventure. The sooth I tell, that I possessed greater endurance at sea, strength on the waves, than any other. We two agreed when we were striplings, and made our boast (we were both as yet in youthful life), that we on the ocean would venture our lives; and thus we did. A naked sword we held in hand when we swam on the deep, as we meant to defend us 540 against the whales. Far on the flood-waves away from me he could not float, in the sea more swiftly, and from him I would not. Then we together were in the sea a five night's space, till it drove us asunder. Weltering waves, coldest of tempests, cloudy night, and the fierce north wind BEOWULF 560 grimly assaulted us; rough were the billows. The rage of the sea-fishes was aroused. Then my body-sark, hard and hand-locked, afforded me help against my foes; 551 my braided war-shirt lay on my breast, with gold adorned. A speckled monster drew me to bottom, a grim one held me fast in his grasp. Yet was it granted that with the point I reached the creature, with my war-falchion. A deadly blow, dealt by my hand, destroyed the sea-beast. X. The Queen 's Greeting. Glee in Heorot "Thus frequently me my hated foes fiercely threatened; but I served them with my dear sword as it was fitting. Not of that gluttony had they joy, foul destroyers, to sit round the feast near the sea-bottom and eat my body; but in the morning, with falchions wounded, up they lay among the shore-drift, put to sleep by the sword; so that ne'er after stopt they the way for ocean-sailers over the surge. Light came from the east, God 's bright beacon, the seas grew calm, 570 so that the sea-nesses I might see, windy walls. Fate often saves an undoomeu man when his valor avails. "Yes, 'twas my lot with sword to slay nickers nine. 1 have heard of no harder struggle by night 'neath heaven's vault, nor of man more harried in ocean-streams. Yet with life I escaped from the grasp of dangers, aweary of toil. Then the sea bore me, the flood with its current, the boiling fiords, to the Finns' land. "Now never of thee 581 have I heard tell such feats of daring, such falchion-terrors. Ne 'er yet Breca at game of war, nor either of you, so valiantly performed a deed with shining swords (thereof I boast not), tho ' thou of thy brothers wast murderer, of thy chief kinsmen, wherefore in hell shalt thou suffer damnation, keen tho' thy wit be. In sooth I say to thee, son of Ecglaf, 590 that never had Grendel, the fiendish wretch, such horrors committed against thy prince, such harm in Heorot, were thy spirit, thy mind, as war-fierce as thou supposest. But he has found that he need not greatly care for the hatred of your people, the fell sword-strength of the victor-Scyldings.* • The epithet appears to be ironical. It is note- wortliy that Hrothgar takes It all in good part. He takes a forced pledge, has mercy on none of the Danish people, but wars at pleasure, slays and shends you, nor strife expects 600 from the Spear-Danes. But now of the Geats the strength and valor shall I unexpectedly show him in battle. Thereafter may all go elate to the mead, after the light of the ether-robed sun on the second day shines from the south o'er the children of men. ' 'f Then was rejoiced the treasure-distributor ; hoary-locked, war- famed, the bright Danes' lord trusted in succor; the people's shepherd from Beowulf heard his steadfast resolve. 610 There was laughter of men, the din resounded, words were winsome. Wealhtheow came forth, Hrothgar 's queen ; mindful of courtesy, the gold-adorned greeteil the men in the hall. First then the woman, high-born, handed the cup to the East- Danes' country's guardian, bade him be blithe at the beer-drinking, dear to his people. He gladly partook of the feast, and the hall-cup, battle-famed king. Round then . went the dame of the Helm- ingsi 620 on every side, among old and young, costly cups proffered, till came occasion that she, the high-minded, ring-adorned queen the mead-cup bore unto Beowulf. She greeted the lord of the Geats, thanked God, sagacious in words, that her wish had befallen, that she in any warrior might trust for comfort 'gainst crimes. He took the cup, the warrior fierce, from Wealhtheow 's hand, and then made speech, eager for battle, — Beowulf spake, the son of Ecgtheow: 631 "I resolved, when I went on the main with my warrior-band and sat in the seaboat, that I would wholly accomplish the will of your people in this, or bow in death, fast in the foe 's grasp. I shall perform deeds of valor, or look to find here in this mead-hall my last day." The Geat's proud speech the woman liked well; the high-born queen of the people went, 640 adorned with gold, to sit by her lord. Within the hall then again as before were bold words spoken — the people 's joy the victor folk's clamor — up to the moment 1 Name of the queen's family. t "In this speech," says Dr. J. R. C. Hall, "in less than fourscore passionate lines, we have rude and outspoken repartee, proud and un- blushing boast, a rapid narrative, Munchausen episodes, flashes of nature, a pagan proverb, a bitter taunt, a reckless insult to the Dan- ish race, a picture of a peaceful time to come." 8 ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD when Healf dene's son was fain to go to his evening rest. He knew that conflict awaited the monster in the high hall 80 soon as they might no longer see the sun's light, and o'er all murk night, the shadow-helm of men, came creeping, 650 dusk under heaven. The company rose. Hrothgar then paid Beowulf reverence — one hero the other — and bade him hail, gave him command of the wine-hall and said: ' ' Never since hand and shield I could raise, have I before entrusted to any the hall of the Danes, save new to thee. Have now and hold this best of houses; be mindful of glory, show mighty valor, keep watch for the foe. No vdsh shall be lack- ing 660 if thou from this venture escape with thy life. ' ' XI. Beowulf's Vigil Then Hrothgar departed, the Scyldings' pro- tector, out of the hall with his band of warriors ; the martial leader would seek his consort, Wealhtheow the queen. The glory of kings had set against Grendel, as men have heard tell, a hall-ward; he held a special oflSce about the Dane-prince, kept guard 'gainst the giant. But the chief of the Geats well trusted in 669 his own proud might and the Creator's favor. He doffed from him then his iron byrnie, the helm from his head, and gave to a hench- man his sword enchased, choicest of irons, bade him take charge of the gear of war. Some wori'.s of pride then spake the good chief, Beowulf the Geat, ere he mounted his bed: ' ' I count me no feebler in martial vigor of warlike works than Grendel himself. Therefore I will not, tho' easy it were, 679 with sword destroy him or lull him to rest. 'Tis a warfare ne knows not — to strike against me and hew my shield, renowned tho' he be for hostile works; but we two to-night shall do without sword, if he dare seek war without weapon. And afterward God, the wise, the holy, shall glory doom to whichever hand it moot to him seemcth. " Then lay down the brave man, — the bolster received the warrior's cheek; and around him many a Beaman keen reclined on his hall-couch. 690 No^ one of them thought that he should thence 0eek ever again the home he loved, the folk or free burg where he was nurtured: since erst they had heard how far too many folk of the Danes a bloody death o'ertook in that wine-hall. But to them the Lord gave woven victory,* to the Weders' people comfort and succor, so that they all by the might of one, by his single powers, their foe overcame. Shown is it truly 700 that mighty God ruleth the race of men. Now in the murky night came stalking the shadow-walker. All the warriors who should defend that pinnacled mansion slept, save one. To men it was known that the sinful spoiler, when God willed not, might not drag them beneath the shade. Natheless, he, watching in hate for the foe, in angry mood waited the battle-meeting. XII. Geendel's Onslaught Then came from the moor, under the mist- hills, 710 Grendel stalking; he bare God's anger. The wicked spoiler thought to ensnare many a man in the lofty hall. He strode 'neath the clouds until the wine- house, the gold-hall of men, he readily saw, richly adorned. Nor was that time the first that Hrothgar 's home he had sought: but ne'er in his life, before nor since, found he a bolder man or hall-thanes. So then to the mansion the man bereft 720 of joys came journeying; soon with his hands undid the door, tho' with forged bands fast; the baleful-minded, angry, burst open the mansion 's mouth. Soon thereafter the fiend was treading the glittering floor, paced wroth of mood ; from his eyes started a horrid light, most like to flame. He in the mansion saw warriors many, a kindred band, together sleeping, fellow-warriors. His spirit exulted. 730 The fell wretch expected that ere day came he would dissever the life from the body of each, for in him the hope had risen of a gluttonous feast. Yet 'twas not his fate that he might more of the race of men oat after that night. The mighty kinsman of Hygelac watched how the wicke Sleswlg ANGLO-NORMAN PERIOD f{ GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH (c. 1100-1154) The Stoey of King Leie* After this unhappy fate of Bladud, Leir, his son, was advanced to the throne, and nobly governed his country sixty years. He built upon the river Sore a city, called in the British tongue, Kaerleir, in the Saxon, Leircestre. He was without male issue, but had three daugh- ters, whose names were Gonorilla, Kegau, and Cordeilla, of whom he was dotingly fond, but especially of his youngest, Cordeilla. When he began to grow old, he had thoughts of dividing his kingdom among them, and of bestowing them on such husbands as were fit to be ad- vanced to the government with them. But to make trial who was worthy to have the best part of his kingdom, he went to each of them to ask which of them loved him most. The question being proposed, Gonorilla, the eldest, made answer, "That she called heaven to wit- ness, she loved him more than her own soul." The father replied, "Since you have preferred my declining age before your own life, I will marry you, my dearest daughter, to whomso- ever you shall make choice of, and give with you the third part of my kingdom." Then Kegau, the second daughter, willing, after the example of her sister, to prevail upon her father's good nature, answered with an oath, "That she could not otherwise express her thoughts, but that she loved him above all creatures." The credulous father upon this made her the same promise that he did to her eldest sister, that is, the choice of a husband, with the third part of his kingdom. But Cor- deilla, the youngest, understanding how easily he was satisfied with the flattering expressions of her sisters, Avas desirous to make trial of his affection after a different manner. "My father," said she, "is there any daughter that can love her father more than duty requires? • From the Historia Britonum Regum, Book 11, Chapters XI.-XIV. TransTa!Ioff from the I>atin edited by J. A. Giles. See Eng. Lit., p. 37. In my opinion, whoever pretends to it, must disguise her real sentiments under the veil of flattery. I have always loved you as a father, nor do I yet depart from my purposed duty; and if you insist to have something more ex- torted from me, hear now the greatness of my affection, which I always bear you, and take this for a short answer to all your questions; look how much you have, so much is your value, and so much do I love you." The father, sup- posing that she spoke this out of the abund- ance of her heart, was highly provoked, and immediately replied, "Since you have so far despised my old age as not to think me worthy the love that your sisters express for me, you shall have from me the like regard, and shall be excluded from any share with your sisters in my kingdom. Notwithstanding, I do not say but that since you are my daughter, I will marry you to some foreigner, if fortune offers you any such husband; but will never, I do assure you, make it my business to procure so honourable a match for you as for your sis- ters; because, though I have hitherto loved you more than them, you have in requital thought me less worthy of your affection than they." And, without further delay, after consultation with his nobility, he bestowed his two other daughters upon the dukes of Cornwall and Al- bania, with half the island at present, but after his death, the inheritance of the whole mon- archy of Britain. It happened after this, that Aganippus, king of the Franks, having heard of the fame of Cordeilla 's beauty, forthwith sent his ambassa- dors to the king to demand her in marriage. The father, retaining yet his anger towards her, made answer, "That he was very wilUng to be- stow his daughter, but without either money or territories; because he had already given away his kingdom with all his treasure to hia eldest daughters, Gonorilla and Kegau." When this was told Aganippus, he, being very much in love with the lady, sent again to king Leir, to tell him, "That he had money and terri- tories enough, as he possessed the third part of Gaul, and desired no more than his daughter only, that he might have heirs by her." At 29 30 ANGLO-NORMAN PERIOD last the match was concluded; Cordeilla was sent to Gaul, and married to Aganippus. A long time after this, when Leir came to be infirm through old age, the two dukes, on whom he had bestowed Britain with his two daughters, fostered an insurrection against him, and de- prived him of his kingdom, and of all regal au- thority, which he had hitherto exercised with great power and glory. At length, by mutual agreement, Maglaunus, duke of Albania, one of his sons-in-law, was to allow him a mainte- nance at his own house, together with sixty sol- diers, who were to be kept for state. After two years' stay with his son-in-law, his daugh- ter Gonorilla grudged the number of his men, who began to upbraid the ministers of the court with their scanty allowance; and, having spoken to her husband about it, she gave orders that the number of her father 's followers should be reduced to thirty, and the rest discharged. The father, resenting this treatment, left Mag- launus, and went to Henuinus, duke of Corn- wall, to whom he had married his daughter Regau. Here he met with an honourable recep- tion, but before the year was at an end, a quarrel happened between the two families which raised Regau's indignation; so that she commanded her father to discharge all his at- tendants but five, and to be contented with their service. This second affliction was insupportable to him, and made him return again to his former daughter, with hopes that the misery of his condition might move in her some sentiments of filial piety, and that he, with his family, might find a subsistence with her. But she, not for- getting her resentment, swore by the gods he should not stay with her, unless he would dis- miss his retinue, and be contented with the at- tendance of one man; and with bitter re- proaches she told him how ill his desire of vain- glorious pomp suited his age and poverty. When he found that she was by no means to be prevailed upon, he was at last forced to com- ply, and, dismissing the rest, to take up with one man only. But by this time he began to reflect more sensibly with himself upon the grandeur from which he had fallen, and the miserable state to which he was now reduced, and to enter upon thoughts of going beyond sea to his youngest daughter. Yet he doubted •whether he should be able to move her commis- seration, because (as was related above) he bad treated her so unworthily. However, dis- daining to bear any longer such base usage, he took ship for Gaul. In his passage he observed he bad only the third place given him among tbe princes that were with bim in the ship, at which, with deep sighs and tears, he burst forth into the following complaint: — "0 irreversible decrees of the Fates, that never swerve from your stated course! why did you ever advance me to an unstable felicity, since the punishment of lost happiness is greater than the sense of present misery? The remembrance of the time when vast numbers of men obsequiously attended me in the taking the cities and wasting the enemy's countries, more deeply pierces my heart than the view of my present calamity, which has exposed me to the derision of those who were formerly pros- trate at my feet. Oh! the enmity of fortune! Shall I ever again see the day when I may be able to reward those according to their deserts who have forsaken me in my distress? How true was thy answer, Cordeilla, when I asked thee concerning thy love to me, 'As mucli as you have, so much is your value, and so much do I love you.' While I had anything to give, they valued me, being friends, not to me, but to my gifts: they loved m.e then, but they loved my gifts much more: when my gifts ceased, my friends vanished. But with what face shall I presume to see you, my dearest daughter, since in my anger I married you upon worse terms than your sisters, who, after all the mighty favours they have received from me, suffer me to be in banishment and poverty?" As he was lamenting his condition in these and the like expressions, he arrived at Karitia,i where his daughter was, and waited before the city while he sent a messenger to inform her of the misery he was fallen into, and to desire her relief for a father who suffered both hunger and nakedness. Cordeilla was startled at the news, and wept bitterly, and with tears asked how many men her father had with him. The messenger answered, he had none but one man, who had been his armour-bearer, and was stay- ing with him without the town. Then she took what money she thought might be sufficient, and gave it to the messenger, with orders to carry her father to another city, and there give out that he was sick, and to provide for him bathing, clothes, and all other nourishment. She likewise gave orders that he should take into his service forty men, well clothed and ac- coutred, and that when all things were thus prepared he should notify his arrival to king Aganippus and his daughter. The messenger quickly returning, carried Leir to another city, and there kept him concealed, till he had done everything that Cordeilla had commanded. 1 Calais GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH 31 As soon as he was provided with his royal apparel, ornaments, and retinue, he sent word to Aganippus and his daughter, that he was driven out of his kingdom of Britain by his sons-in-law, and was come to them to procure their assistance for recovering his dominions. Upon which they, attended with their chief ministers of state and the nobility of the king- dom, went out to meet him, and received him honourably, and gave into his management the whole power of Gaul, till such time as he should be restored to his former dignity. In the meantime Aganippus sent officers over all Gaul to raise an army, to restore his father- in-law to his kingdom of Britain. Which done, Leir returned to Britain with his son and daughter and the forces which they had raised, where he fought with his sons-in-law and routed them. Having thus reduced the whole kingdom to his power, he died the third year after. Aganippus also died; and Cordeilla, obtaining the government of the kingdom, buried her father in a certain vault, which she ordered to be made for him under the river Sore, in Lei- cester, and which had been built originally under the ground to the honour of the god Janus.2 And here all the workmen of the city, upon the anniversary solemnity of that festival, used to begin their yearly labours. Arthur Mab:es the Saxons His Tributaries After a few days they went to relieve the city Kaerliudcoit, that was besieged by the pagans; which being situated upon a moun- tain, between two rivers in the province of Lindisia, is called by another name Lindoco- linum.i As soon as they arrived there with all their forces, they fought with the Saxons, and made a grievous slaughter of them, to the num- ber of six thousand; part of whom were drowned in the rivers, part fell by the hands of the Britons. The rest in a great consterna- tion quitted the siege and fled, but were closely pursued by Arthur, till they came to the wood of Celidon, where they endeavoured to form themselves into a body again, and make a stand. And here they again joined battle with the Britons, and made a brave defence, whilst the trees that were in the place secured them against the enemies' arrows. Arthur, seeing this, commanded the trees that were in that part of the wood to be cut down, and the trunks to be placed quite round them, so as to hinder their getting out ; resolving to keep them pent up here till he could reduce them by famine. He then commanded his troops to besiege the 2 During the Roman occupation, t Lincoln wood, and continued three days in that place. The Saxons, having now no provisions to sus- tain them, and being just ready to starve with hunger, begged for leave to go out; in consid- eration whereof they offered to leave all their gold and silver behind them, and return back to Germany with nothing but their empty ships. They promised also that they would pay him tribute from Germany, and leave hostages with him. Arthur, after consultation about it, granted their petition ; allowing them only leave to depart, and retaining all their treasures, as also hostages for payment of the tribute. But as they were under sail on their return home, they repented of their bargain, and tacked about again towards Britain, and went on shore at Totness. No sooner were they landed, than they made an utter devastation of the country as far as the Severn sea, and put all the peas- ants to the sword. From thence they pursued their furious march to the town of Bath, and laid siege to it. When the king had intelli- gence of it, he was beyond measure surprised at their proceedings, and immediately gave orders for the execution of the hostages. And desist- ing from an attempt which he had entered upon to reduce the Scots and Picts, he marched with the utmost expedition to raise the siege; but laboured under very great difficulties, be- cause he had left his nephew Hoel sick at Alclud.2 At length, having entered the province of Somerset, and beheld how the siege was car- ried on, he addressed himself to his followers in these words: "Since these impious and de- testable Saxons have disdained to keep faith with me, I, to keep faith with God, will en- deavour to revenge the blood of my countrymen this day upon them. To arms, soldiers, to arms, and courageously fall upon the perfidious wretches, over whom we shall, with Christ as- sisting us, undoubtedly obtain victory." When he had done speaking, St. Dubricius, archbishop of Legions,3 going to the top of a hill, cried out with a loud voice, ' ' You that have the honour to profess the Christian faith, keep fixed in your minds the love which you owe to your country and fellow subjects, whose sufferings by the treachery of the pagans will be an everlasting reproach to you, if you do not courageously defend them. It is your country which you fight for, and for which you should, when required, voluntarily suffer death; for that itself is victory and the cure of the soul. For he that shall die for his brethren, offers himself a living sacrifice to God, and has Christ 2 Dumbarton 3 The City of Legions (now Newport) In South Wales, where the Roman legions wintered. ANGLO-NORMAN PERIOD for his example, who condescended to lay down his life for his brethren. If therefore any of you shall be killed in this war, that death itself, which is suffered in so glorious a cause, shall be to him for penance and absolution of all his sins. ' ' At these words, all of them en- couraged with the benediction of the holy pre- late, instantly armed themselves, and prepared to obey his orders. Also Arthur himself, hav- ing put on a coat of mail suitable to the grandeur of so powerful a king, placed a golden helmet upon his head, on which was engraven the figure of a dragon; and on his shoulders his shield called Priwen ; upon which the picture of the blessed Mary, mother of God, was painted, in order to put him frequently in mind of her. Then girding on his Caliburn,* which was an excellent sword made in the isle of Avallon, he graced his right hand with his lance, named Ron, which was hard, broad, and fit for slaugh- ter. After this, having placed his men in order, he boldly attacked the Saxons, who were drawn out in the shape of a wedge, as their manner was. And they, notwithstanding that the Brit- ons fought with great eagerness, made a noble defence all that day; but at length, towards sunsetting, climbed up the next mountain, which served them for a camp: for they desired no larger extent of ground, since they confided very much in their numbers. The next morning Arthur, with his army, went up the mountain, but lost many of his men in the ascent, by the advantage which the Saxons had in their station on the top, from whence they could pour down upon him with much greater speed than he was able to advance against them. Notwithstanding, after a very hard struggle, the Britons gained the summit of the hill and quickly came to a close engagement with the enemy, who again gave them a warm reception, and made a vig- orous defence. In this manner was a great part of that day also spent ; whereupon Arthur, provoked to see the little advantage he had yet gained and that victory still continued in sus- pense, drew out his Caliburn, and, calling upon the name of the blessed Virgin, rushed forward with great fury into the thickest of the enemy 's ranks; of whom (such was the merit of his prayers) not one escaped alive that felt the fury of his sword; neither did he give over the fury of his assault until he had, with his Cali- burn alone, killed four hundred and seventy men. The Britons, seeing this, followed their leatler in great multitudes, and made slaughter on all Bides; so that Colgrin, and Baldulph his 4 The famous Excallbur. fi I reader of thp Saxona. brother, and many thousands more fell before them. But Cheldric,^ in this imminent danger of his men, betook himself to £ight. — From the same; Book IX, Ch. Ill, IV. FROM THE ANCREN RIWLE (ANCHORESSES' RULE.)* Do you now ask what rule you anchoresses should observe? Ye should by all means, with all your might and all your strength, keep well the inward rule, and for its sake the outward. The inward rule is always alike. The outward is various, because every one ought so to ob- serve the outward rule as that the body may therewith best serve the inward. All may and ought to observe one rule concerning purity of heart, that is, a clean unstained conscience, without any reproach of sin that is not reme- died by confession. This the body rule effects. This rule is framed not by man's contrivance, but by the command of God. Wherefore, it ever is and shall be the same, without mixture and without change; and all men ought ever invariably to observe it. But the external rule, which I called the handmaid, is of man 's con- trivance; nor is it instituted for any thing else but to serve the internal law. It ordains fast- ing, watching, enduring cold, wearing haircloth, and such other hardships as the flesh of many can bear and many cannot. Wherefore, this rule may be changed and varied according to every one 's state and circumstances. For some are strong, some are weak, and may very well be excused, and please God with less; some are learned, and some are not, and must work the more, and say their prayers at the stated hours in a different manner; some are old and ill favoured, of whom there is less fear; some are young and lively, and have need to be more on their guard. Every anchoress must, there- fore, observe the outward rule according to the advice of her confessor, and do obediently what- ever he enjoins and commands her, who knows • These "Rnlos and Duties of Monastic Life" were prepared (c. 1210) for the guidance of a little society of three nuns who dwelt at Tarcnte, In Dorsetshire — "gentlewomen, sisters, of one father and of one mother, who had in the bloom of their youth forsaken all the pleas- ures of the world and become anchoresses." The book consists of eight chapters, the first and last of which deal with the "outward rule," the others with the "Inward rule." It is possibly the work of Richard Poor (d. 12.S7), Bishop of Salisbury, who was bene- factor of the nunnery at Tarente. Very marked Is the spirit of charity and tolerance In which it is written. Moreover, It Is iiinong the best examples of simple, eloquent prose in English anteclating the Kngllsh Bible. Our translation is that of James Morton. THE ANCBEN BIWLE 33 her state and strength. He may modify the outward rule, as prudence may direct, and as he sees that the inward rule may thus be best kept. When you first arise in the morning bless yourselves with the sign of the cross and say, "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, Amen," and begin di- rectly "Creator Spirit, Come," with your eyes and your hands raised up toward heaven, bend- ing forward on your knees upon the bed, and thus say the whole hymn to the end, with the versicle, "Send forth Thy Holy Spirit," and the prayer, "God, who didst teach the hearts of thy faithful people," etc. After this, put- ting on your shoes and your clothes, say the Paternosteri and the Creed,2 and then, ' ' Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God, have mercy on us! Thou who didst condescend to be born of a virgin, have mercy on us! " Continue say- ing these words until you be quite dressed. Have these words much in use, and in your mouth as often as ye may, sitting and standing. True anchoresses are compared to birds; for they leave the earth; that is, the love of all earthly things; and through yearning of heart after heavenly things, fly upward toward heaven. And, although they fly high, with high and holy life, yet they hold the head low. through meek humility, as a bird flying boweth down its head, and accounteth all her good deeds and good works nothing worth, and saith, as our Lord taught all his followers, "Cum omnia bene feceritis, dicite quod servi inutiles estis;" "When ye have done all well," saith the Lord, "say that ye are unprofitable serv- ants. ' ' Fly high, and yet hold the head always low. The wings that bear them upward are, good principles, which they must move unto good works, as a bird, when it would fly, moveth its wings. Also the true anchoresses, whom we compare to birds, — yet not we, but God — spread their wings and make a cross of them- selves, as a bird doth when it flieth; that is, in the thoughts of the heart, and the mortification of the flesh, they bear the Lord 's cross. Those birds fly well that have little flesh, as the pelican hath, and many feathers. The ostrich, having much flesh, maketh a pretense to fly, and flaps his wings, but his feet always draw to the earth. In like manner, the carnal anchoress, 1 The Lord's Prayer. 2 The Confession of Faith, beginning, "Credo In unum Deum." who loveth carnal pleasures, and seeketh her ease, the heaviness of her flesh and its desires deprive her of her power of flying; and though she makes a pretense and much noise with her wings; that is, makes it appear as if she flew, and were a holy anchoress, whoever looks at her narrowly, laughs her to scorn ; for her feet, as doth the ostrich's, which are her lusts, draw her to the earth. Such are not like the meagre pelican, nor do they fly aloft, but are birds of the earth, and make their nests on the ground. But God called the good anchoresses birds of heaven, as I said before: * ' Fulpes foveas habent et volucres cccli nidos." "Foxes have their holes, and birds of heaven their nests. ' ' True anchoresses are indeed birds of heaven, that fly aloft, and sit on the green boughs sing- ing merrily; that is, they meditate, enraptured, upon the blessedness of heaven that never fad- eth, but is ever green; and sit on this green, singing right merrily; that is, in such medita- tion they rest in peace and have gladness of heart, as those who -sing. A bird, however, sometimes alighteth down .on the earth to seek his food for the need of the flesh ; but while he sits on the ground he is never secure, and is often turning himself, and always looking cau- tiously around. Even so, the pious recluse, though she fly ever so high, must at times alight down to the earth in respect of her body — and eat, drink, sleep, work, speak, and hear, when it is necessary, of earthly things. But then, as the bird doth, she must look well to herself, and turn her eyes on every side, lest she be de- ceived, and be caught in some of the devil's snares, or hurt in any way, while she sits so low. "The birds," saith our Lord, "have nests; " "volucres crli habent nidos." A nest is hard on the outside with pricking thorns, and is delicate and soft \^ithin; even so shall a re- cluse endure hard and pricking thorns in the flesh; yet so prudently shall she subdue the flesh by labour, that she may say with the Psalmist: " Fortitudinem meam ad te custo- diam;" that is, "I will keep my strength, O Lord, to thy behoof; " and therefore the pains of the flesh are proportioned to every one's case. The nest shall be hard without and soft within; and the heart sweet. They who are of a bitter or hard heart, and indulgent towards their flesh, make their nest, on the contrary, soft without and thorny within. These are the discontented and fastidious anchoresses; bitter within, when they ought to be sweet; and deli- cate without, when they ought to be hard. These, in such a nest, may have hard rest, when 34 ANGLO-NORMAN PERIOD they consider well. For, from such a nest, they will too late bring forth young birds, which are good works, that they may fly toward heaven. Job calleth a religious house a nest; and saith, as if he were a recluse: "In nidulo meo moriar;" that is, "I shall die in my nest, and be as dead therein ; ' ' for this relates to anchorites; and, to dwell therein until she die; that is, I will never cease, while my soul is in my body, to endure things hard outwardly, as the nest is, and to be soft within. Hear now, as I promised, many kinds of com- fort against all temptations, and, with God's grace, thereafter the remedies. Whosoever leadeth a life of exemplary piety may be certain of being tempted. This is the first comfort. For the higher the tower is, it hath always the more wind. Ye yourselves are the towers, my dear sisters, but fear not while ye are so truly and firmly cemented all of you to one another with the lime of sisterly love. Ye need not fear any devil's blast, except the lime fail; that is to say, except your love for each other be impaired through the enemy. As soon as any of you undoeth her cement, she is soon swept forth; if the other do not hold her she is soon cast down, as a loose stone is from the coping of the tower, down into the deep pitch of some foul sin. Here is another encouragement which ought greatly to comfort you when ye are tempted. The tower is not attacked, nor the castle, nor the city, after they are taken; even so the war- rior of hell attacks, with temptation, none whom he hath in his hand; but he attacketh those whom he hath not. Wherefore, dear sis- ters, she who is not attacked may fear much lest she be already taken. . . The sixth comfort is, that our Lord, when He suffereth us to be tempted, playeth with us, as the mother with her young darling: she flies from him, and hides herself, and lets him sit alone, and look anxiously around, and call Dame! dame! and weep a while, and then leap- eth forth laughing, with outspread arms, and embraceth and kisseth him, and wipeth his eyes. In like manner, our Lord sometimes leav- eth us alone, and withdraweth His grace. His comfort, and His support, so that we feel no delight in any good that we do, nor any satis- faction of heart; and yet, at that very time, our dear Father loveth us never the less, but does it for the great love that He hath to us. Ye shall not possess any beast, my dear sis- ters, except only a cat. An anchoress that hath cattle appears as Martha was," a better house- wife than anchoress; nor can she in any wise be Mary, with peacefulness of heart. For then she must think of the cow's fodder, and of the herdsman's hire, flatter the heyward,i defend herself when her cattle is shut up in the pin- fold, and moreover pay the damage. Christ knoweth, it is an odious thing when people in the town complain of anchoresses' cattle. If, however, any one must needs have a cow, let her take care that she neither annoy nor harm any one, and that her own thoughts be not fixed thereon. An anchoress ought not to have any thing that draweth her heart outward. Carry ye on no traffic. An anchoress that is a buyer and seller selleth her soul to the chapman of hell. Do not take charge of other men's property in your house, nor of their cattle, nor their clothes, neither receive under your care the church vestments, nor the chalice, unless force compel you, or great fear, for oftentimes much harm has come from such care-taking. Because no man seeth you, nor do ye see any man, ye may be well content with your clothes, be they white, be they black; only see that they be plain, and warm, and well made — skins well tawed ; 2 and have as many as you need, for bed, and also for back. Next your flesh ye shall wear no flaxen cloth, except it be of hardss and of coarse canvass. Whoso will may have a starain,4 and whoso will may be without it. Ye shall sleep in a garment and girt. Wear no iron, nor haircloth, nor hedgehog-skins; and do not beat yourselves therewith, nor with a scourge of leather thongs, nor leaded; and do not with holly nor with briars cause yourselves to bleed without leave of your confessor; and do not, at one time, use too many flagellations. Let your shoes be thick and warm. In summer ye are' at liberty to go and sit barefoot, and to wear hose without vamps,5 and whoso liketh may lie in them. A woman may well enough wear an undersuit of haircloth very well tietl with the strapples reaching down to her feet, laced tightly. If ye would dispense with wim- ples, have warm capes, and over them black veils. She who wishes to be seen, it is no great wonder though she adorn herself; but, in the eyes of God, she is more lovely who is un- adorned outwardly for his sake. Have neither ring, nor broach, nor ornamented girdle, nor gloves, nor any such thing that is not proper for you to have. 1 A cattle-keeper on a common. 2 Prepared with oil, or without tan-Ilquor. s The coarser parts of flax or hemp. * A shirt of linsey-woolsey, s gaiters PROVERBS OF KING ALFRED In this book read every daj, when ye are at leisure, — every day, less or more; for I hope that, if ye read it often, it will be very bene- ficial to you, through the grace of God, or else I shall have ill employed much of my time. God knows, it would be more agreeable to me to set out on a journey to Rome, than to begin to do it again. And, if ye find that ye do ac- cording to what ye read, thank God earnestly; and if ye do not, pray for the grace of God, and diligently endeavour that ye may keep it better, in every point, according to your abil- ity. May the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost, the one Almighty God, keep you under his protection! May he give you joy and comfort, my dear sisters, and for all that ye endure and suffer for him may he never give you a less reward than his entire self. May he be ever exalted from world to world, for ever and ever, Amen. As often as ye read any thing in this book, greet the Lady with an Ave Mary for him that made this rule, and for him who wrote it, and took pains about it. Moderate enough I am, who ask so little. PROVERBS OF KING ALFRED* 1 Many thanes sat at Seaford, many bishops, book-learned men, many proud earls, knights every one. There was Earl ^Ifric, wise in the law; Alfred also, England's guardian, England 's darling, England 's king. He began, as ye may hear, to teach them how to lead their lives. He was king, and he was clerk ;i well he loved the Lord's work; 10 wise in word and cautious in deed, he was the wisest man in England. 2 Thus quoth Alfred, England's comfort: "Would ye, my people, give ear to your lord, he would direct you wisely in all things, how ye might win to worldly honour and also unite your souls with Christ." 3 Wise were the words King Alfred spake. "Humbly I redes you, my dear friends, poor and rich, all you my people, 20 that ye all fear Christ the Lord, 1 scholar 2 counsel • The proverbs here translated from Middle Eng- lish, some of them plainly Biblical, were popu- larly ascribed to King Alfred and were sup- posed to have Jjeen delivered by him to his Witenagemot at Seaford. See Etig. Lit., p. 38. love him and please him, the Lord of Life. He is alone good, above all goodness ; He is alone wise, above all wisdom; He is alone blissful, above all bliss; He is alone man's mildest Master; He is alone our Father and Comfort " . . 4 Thus quoth Alfred: ' ' The earl and the lord that heeds the king's word shall rule o'er his land with righteous hand; and the clerk and the knight shall give judgment aright, to poor or to rich 80 it skilleths not which. For whatso men sow, the same shall they mow, and every man's doom to his own door come. " . . 12 Thus quoth Alfred: "Small trust may be in the flowing sea. Though thou hast treasure enough and to spare, both gold and silver, 200 to nought it shall wear; to dust it shall drive, as God is alive. Many a man for his gold God's wrath shall behold, and shall be for his silver forgot and forlorn. It were better for him he had never been bom." . , 14 Thus quoth Alfred: "If thou hast sorrow, tell it not to thy foe; tell it to thy saddle-bow and ride singing forth. 230 So will he think, who knows not thy stat^ that not unpleasing to thee is thy fate. If thou hast a sorrow and he knoweth it, before thee" he 11 pity, behind thee will twit. Thou mightest betray it to such a one as would without pity 240 thou madest more moan. Hide it deep in thy heart 3 matters 36 ANGLO-NORMAN PERIOD that it leave no smart; nor let it be guessed what is hid in thy breast." . 22 Thus quoth Alfred: "Boast shouldst thou not, nor chide with a sot; nor foolishly chatter and idle tales scatter at the freeman 's board. Be chary of word. The wise man can store few words with great lore. Soon shot's the fool's bolt; whence I count him a dolt who saith all his will when he should keep still. For oft tongue breaketh bone, though herself has none." CUCKOO SONG (c. 1250)* Summer is y-comen in, Loudly sing Cuckoo ! Groweth seed and bloweth mead 410 420 And springeth wood anew. Sing Cuckoo! Loweth after calf the cow, Bleateth after lamb the ewe, Buck doth gambol, bullock amble, — Merry sing Cuckoo! Cuckoo, Cuckoo! Well singest thou Cuckoo! nor cease thou ever now. (Foot) Sing Cuckoo now, sing Cuckoo. Sing Cuckoo, sing Cuckoo now. • See Eng. Lit., p. 42, for the Middle English, which is here somewhat modernized. The song was set to music, and the manuscript which con- tains the music adds the following directions, in Latin : "This part-song (rota) may be sung by four in company. It should not be sung by fewer than three, or at least two, in addition to those who sing the Foot. And it should be sung in this manner : One begins, accompanied by those who sing the Foot, the rest keeping silent. Then, when he has reached the first note after the cross [a mark on the musical score], another begins; and so on. The first line of the Foot one singer repeats as often as necessary, pausing at the end ; the other line another man sings, paus- ing in the middle but not at the end, but im- mediately beginning again." FOURTEENTH CENTURY-AGE OF CHAUCER 12 From THE PEARL (c 1350)* O pearl, for princes' pleasure wrought, In lucent gold deftly to set, Never from orient realms was brought Its peer in price, I dare say, yet. So beautiful, so fresh, so round, So smooth its sides, so slender shown. Whatever gems to judge be found I needs must set it apart, alone. But it is lost! I let it stray Down thro' the grass in an arbor-plot. With love's pain now I pine away, Lorn of my pearl without a spot. 2 Since in that spot it slipt from my hand, Oft have I lingered there and yearned For joy that once my sorrows banned And all my woes to rapture turned. Truly my heart with grief is wrung, And in my breast there dwelleth dole; Yet never song, methought, was sung So sweet as through that stillness stole. tide of fancies I could not stem! fair hue fouled with stain and blot! mould, thou marrest a lovely gem. Mine own, own pearl without a spot. . . 24 i* This anonymous poem is allegorical : possibly the "pearl" is the poet's daughter (Eng. Lit., 44). The selection here given is translated, because the West Midland dialect of the original pre- sents more difficulties than the East Midland of Chaucer. The whole is a very interesting piece of construction, combining the Romance elements of meter and rhyme, as employed by Chaucer, with the old Saxon alliteration which the West Midland poets, like Langland, affected. Note also the refrain-like effects. In this translation, the exacting rhyme- scheme of the original, which permits but three rhyme sounds in a stanza, has been ad- hered to in the last three stanzas only. The first stanza of the original runs thus : Perle plesaunte to prynces paye. To clanly clos in golde so clere. Out of oryent I hardyly saye, Ne proved I never her precios pere, — So rounde, so reken in uche a raye. So smal, so smothe her sydez were, — Queresoever I jugged gemmez gaye, I sette hyr sengeley in synglere. Alias I I leste hyr in on erbere ; Thurgh gresse to grounde hit fro me yot ; 1 dewyne for-dokked of luf-daungere, Of that pryvy perle wlthouten spot. 48 Once to that spot I took my way And passed within the arbor green. It was mid-August's festal day. When the corn is cut with sickles keen. The mound that did my pearl embower With fair bright herbage was o'erhung. Ginger and gromwell and gillyflower. And peonies sprinkled all among. Yet if that sight was good to see, Goodlier the fragrance there begot Where dwells that one so dear to me, My precious pearl without a spot. 5 Then on that spot my hands I wrung, For I felt the touch of a deadly chill, And riotous grief in my bosom sprung, Tho ' reason would have curbed my will. I wailed for my pearl there hid away, While fiercely warred my doubts withal. But tho' Christ showed where comfort lay, My will was still my sorrow's thrall. I flung me down on that flowery mound, When so on my brain the fragrance wrought I sank into a sleep profound. Above that pearl without a spot. 6 Then from that spot my spirit soared. My senses locked in slumber's spell, ily soul, by grace of God outpoured. Went questing where his marvels dwell, I know not where that place may be, I know 'twas by high cliffs immured. And that a forest fronted me Whose radiant slopes my steps allured. Such splendor scarce might one believe — The goodly glory wherewith they shone ; No web that mortal hands may weave "iil Has e 'er such wondrous beauty known. . . 9 Yes, beautiful beyond compare, The vision of that forest-range Wherein my fortune bade me fare — No tongue could say how fair, how strange. I wandered on as one entranced, No bank so steep as to make me cower; And the farther I went the brighter danced The light on grass and tree and flower. 60 37 38 FOURTEENTH CENTUEY Hedge-rows there were, and paths, and streams Whose banks were as fine threads of gold. And 1 stood on the strand and watched the gleams Of one mat downward in beauty rolled. 108 10 Dear Lord, the beauty of that fair burn! Its berylline banks were bright as day, And singing sweetly at every turn The murmuring waters took their way. On the bottom were stones a-shimmer with light As gleams through glass that waver and leap, Or as twinkling stars on a winter night That watch in heaven while tired men sleep. For every pebble there that laved Seemed like a rare and radiant gem; Each pool was as with sapphires paved, 119 So lustrous shone the beauty of them. . . 13 Then longing seized me to explore The farther margin of that stream, For fair as was the hither shore Far fairer did the other seem. About me earnestly I sought To find some way to win across, But all my seeking availed me nought; There was no ford; 1 stood at loss. Methought I must not daunted dwell In sight of such a blissful goal, When lo, a strange thing there befell 155 That still more deeply stirred my soul. 14 More wonder still my soul to daze! I saw beyond that lowly stream A crystal cliff refulgent raise Its regal height, and, dazzling, gleam. And at its foot there sat a child, A gracious maid, and debonair. All in a white robe undefiled — Well had I known her otherwhere. As glistening gold men use to spin, So shone that glory the cliff before. Long did I drink her beauty in, 167 And longed to call to her ever more. . . 16 But more than my longing was now my fright; I stood quite still ; I durst not call ; With eyes wide open and lips shut tight, I stood as quiet as hawk in hall. I weened it was some spectral shape, I dreaded to think what should ensue If I should call her and she escape And leave me only my plight to nic. When lo, that gracious, spotless may,i So delicate, so soft, so slight, 1 maid Uprose in all her queenly array, A priceless thing in pearls bedight. 192 17 Pearl-dight in royal wise, perdie. One might by grace have seen her there, When all as fresh as a fleur-de-lys Adown the margent stepped that fair. Her robe was white as gleaming snow, Unclasped at the sides and closely set With the loveliest margarites, I trow, That ever my eyes looked on yet. Her sleeves were broad and full, I ween, With double braid of pearls made bright. Her kirtle shone with as goodly sheen, 203 With pretdous pearls no less bedight. . . 20 Pearl-dight, that nature's masterpiece Came down the margent, stepping slow; No gladder man from here to Greece When by the stream she stood, I trow. More near of kin than aunt or niece. She made my gladness overflow; She proffered me speech — Oh heart's release! — In womanly fashion bending low; Caught off her crown of queenly show Aud welcomed me as a maiden might. Ah well that I was born to know 239 And greet that sweet one pearl-bedight ! 21 "O pearl," quoth I, "all pearl-bedight, Art thou my Pearl, the Pearl 1 mourn And long for through the lonely night? In weariness my days have worn Since thou in the grass didst slip from sight. Pensive am I, heart-sick, forlorn, — While thou hast won to pure delight In Paradise, of sorrow shorn. What fate has hither my jewel borne And left me beggared to moan and cryf For since we twain asunder were torn, A joyless jeweler am I." 252 22 That jewel then, with gems o 'erspread. Upturned her face and her eyes gray. Replaced the crown upon her head. And thus my longing did allay: "Oh, sir, thou hast thy tale misread To say thy pearl is stolen away, That is so safely easketed Here in this garden bright and gay. Herein forever to dwell and play Where comes not sin nor sorrow's blight. Such treasury 2 wouldst thou choose, parfay, Didst thou thy jewel love aright. " * 264 2 Compare Matthew vl, 21. * A lonR religions dlssertntion follows and the dreamer awakes consoled. WILLIAM LANGLAND 39 WILLIAM LANGLAND ? (I332M400) THE VISION OF PIERS THE PLOWMAN.* From the Prologue. In a somer seson, whan soft was the Sonne, I shopei me in shroudesz as I a shepea were, In habite as an heremite unholy of workes,< Went wyde5 in this world wondres to here. Ac6 on a May mornynge, on Malverne hulles,^ Me byfel a ferly,8 of fairy,9 me thoughte; I was wery forwandredio and went me to reste Under a brode banke bi a bornesn side, 8 And as I lay and lened and loked in the wateres, I slombred in a slepyng, it sweyvedi2 so merye. Thanne gan I to metenis a merveilouse swevene,!* That I was in a wildernesse, wist I never where ; As I bihelde into the est an hiegh toi' the Sonne, I seighis a tourei^ on a toftis trieliehi» ymaked ; A depe dale binethe, a dongeonzo there-inne, With depe dyches and derke and dredful of sight. 16 A faire felde ful of folkezi fonde I there bytwene, Of alle maner of men, the mene and the riche, Worchyng and wandryng as the worlde asketh. Some putten hem22 to the plow, pleyed ful selde, In settyng23 and in sowyng swonkenz* ful harde. And wonnen that wastours with glotonye de- struyeth.25 22 1 arrayed i7 The tower of Truth, a rough garments abode of God the s shepherd Father. 4 not spiritual is elevated place 6 abroad i9 cunningly « but 20 The "castel of care," I hills abode of Falsehood • wonder (Lucifer). » enchantment 21 The world. 10 weary from wandering 22 them (selves) II brook's 23 planting 12 sounded 24 toiled 18 to dream 25 and won that which 14 dream wasteful men ex- 15 on high toward pend in gluttony. 18 saw • In this long allegorical poem, the poet with the daring of a reformer attacks what he thinks to be the abuses in church, state, and society. The prologue, of which the first 82 lines are here given, sets the key-note of the poem by a description of the suffering, weakness, and crimes of the world as seen by the poet In a vision. Then in Passus (Chapter) I, of which a few lines are given, the poet begins his narrative interpretation of his vision. Our text is the B-text as printed by Dr. Skeat. And some putten hem to pruyde, apparailed hem there-after, In contenaunce of elothyng comen disgised.29 In prayers and in penance putten hem manye, Al for love of owre lorde lyveden ful streyte,27 In hope forto have herenriche28 blisse; As ancres29 and heremites that holden hem in here33 selles, .\nd coveiten nought in contre to kairen^o aboute. For no likerousai liflode32 herss lykam34 to plese. 30 And somme chosen chaffare;35 they chevense the bettere, As it semeth to owre syght that suche men thrjrveth ; And somme murthesST to make as mynstralles conneth,38 And geten gold with heresa glee, giltles, I leve.39 Ae iapers40 and iangelers,*! ludas chylderen, Feynen hem42 fantasies and foles hem maketh, And ban here witte at wille to worche, yif thei sholde ; That Poule precheth of hem I nel nought preve it here; Qui turpiloquium loquitur is luciferes hyne.4» Bidders44 and beggeres fast aboute yede,45 With her belies and her bagges of bred ful ycrammed ; 41 Fayteden46 for here fode, foughten atte ale;47 In glotonye, god it wote,48 gon hij49 to bedde. And risen with ribaudyeso tho roberdes knaves; 51 Slepe and sori sleuthe52 seweth53 hem evre.s* Pilgrymes and palmers^s plighted hem togidere To seke seynt lamesss and seyntes in Rome. Thei went forth in here wey with many wise tales, And hadden leve to lye al here lyf after. I seigh somme that seiden thei had ysought seyntes : 26 came strangely garbed 2T strictly 28 of the kingdom of heaven 29 anchorites 30 wander 31 delicate 32 livelihood, living 33 their 34 body 35 trade 36 succeed 37 mirth 38 know how 39 believe 40 Jesters 41 chatterers 42 Invent for themselves 43 what Paul preaches about them I will not show here, "for he who speaks slander is Luci- fer's servant." 44 beggars 45 went 46 cheated 47 fought at the ale 48 knows 49 they 50 ribaldry 51 those robber villains 52 sloth 53 pursue 54 ever 53 Palmers made it their regular business to visit shrines. 56 A shrine at Compos- tella in Galicia. 40 FOUETEENTH CENTURY To eche a^^ tale that the! tolde here tonge was tempred to lye 51 More than to sey sothss it semed bi here speche. Heremites onso an beep, with hoked staves, Wenten to Walsyngham,* and here wenches af ter8o ; Grete lobyessi and longe,62 that loth were to 8wynke,«3 Clotheden hem in copiss* to ben knowen fram othere; And shopen hem^o heremites here ese to have. I fonde there Freris, alle the foure ordres,e6 Preched the peple for profit of hem-selven, Glosed«7 the gospel as hem good lyked,68 60 For coveitise69 of copis construed it as thei wolde. Many of this maistres Freris^o mowe^i clothen hem at lykyng, For here money and marchandise marchen togideres. For sith'^z charite hath be chapman'3 and chief to shryve lordes,t Many ferlis^* han fallen in a fewe yerisjs But^s holychirche and hij holde better togideres, The most myschief on molde^^ is mountyng wel faste.Ts There preched a Pardonere^a as he a prest were, Broughte forth a bulleso with bishopes seles, And seide that hym-self myghte assoilensi hem alle Of falshed of fastyng,82 of vowes ybroken. 71 Lewed83 men leveds* hym wel and lyked his wordes, Comen up knelyng to kissen his bulles; He bonchedss hem with his brevets^ and blered here eyes, fi7 at every 68 truth 69 In 60 in their train 81 lubbers 62 tall 63 toil 64 friars' capes 72 since 73 nedlar 74tponders 75 years 76 unless 77 earth 78 will increase rapidly 78 One commissioned to 68 arrayed themselves as grant pardons. 66 Dominicans, Francis- so a Papal mandate cans, Carmelites, 8i absolve Augustines 82 failure in fasting 67 interpreted 83 Ignorant 68 as it pleased tb( m 84 believed 69 covetousness 85 struck 70 these master friars 86 letter of indulgence 71 may • The shrine of Our Lady of Walslngham (Nor- folk) was almost more celebrated than that of Thomas a Becket. t So worldly were the friars seeking money for bearing confessions and peddling their wares, that thoy often quarreled with the priests as to which should hear the confession. And raughte87 with his ragman^s rynges and broches ; Thus they geven here golde, glotones to kepe. . . . Were the bischop yblissedss and worth bothe his eres, His seelso shulde nought be sent to deceyve the peple. Ac it is naught by^i the bischop that the boyos precheth, 80 For the parisch prest and the pardonere parten03 the silver, That the porailles^ of the parisch sholde have, yif thei nere.^s . . . From Passus I. What this montaigne bymeneth,i and the merke dale, And the felde ful of folke, I shal yow faire schewe. A loveli ladi of lere,2 in lynnen yclothed, Come down fram a castel and called me faire, And seide, 'Sone, slepestow,3 sestow* this poeple. How bisi thei ben abouten the mases? The moste partie of this poeple that passeth on this erthe, Have thei worschips in this worlde, thei wilne no better; Of other hevene than here holde thei no tale7, ' I was aferd of her face theighs she faire were, l^ And seide, 'Mercy, Madame, what is this to mene f * 'The toure up the toft,' quod she, 'Treuthe is there-inne. And wolde that ye wroughte as his worde techeth ; For he is fader of feith, fourmed yow alle, Bothe with fel» and with face, and yafi" yow fyve wittis Forto worschip hym ther-with the while that ye ben here. 87 got 82 1. e., the pardoner «8 bull with bishop's 93 divide seals 8* poor 80 righteous "^ if they (the pardoner 00 seal and the priest) did 91 not against not exist 1 means 2 face a sleepest thou 4 seest thou 6 confused throng 8 if they have honor 7 account 8 though 9 skin 10 gave THE WYCLIF BIBLE 41 THE WYCUF BIBLE (c 1380) Matthew III. The Cojong or John the Baptist. In tho daies Joon Baptist cam and prechid in the desert of Judee, and seide, Do ve pen- aunce, for the kyngdom of hevenes scbal nygh. For this is he of whom it is seid bi Isaie the profete, seiynge, A vois of a crier in desert, Make ye redi the weyes of the Lord, make ye right the pathis of hym. And this Joon hadde clothing of camels heria, and a girdil of skyn aboute his leendis, and his mete was bony sookisi and hony of the wode. Thanne Jeru- salem wente out to hym, and al Judee, and al the countre aboute Jordan, and thei werun waischen of hym in Jordan, and knowlechiden her sj-nnes. But he sigh many of Farisies and of Saducea comynge to his baptem, and seide to hem, Gen- eraciouns of eddris,2 who schewid to you to fle fro wrath that is to come? Therfor do ye worthi fruytis of penaunce. And nyle ye aeies with ynne you. We han Abraham to fadir: for I seie to you that God is myghti to reise up of thes stones the sones of Abraham. And now the axe is putte to the root of the tre: therfor every tre that makith not good fruyt schal be kutte doun, and schal be cast in to the fire. I waisch you in watyr in to penaunce: but he that sebal come aftir me is stronger than I, whos schoon I am not worthi to bere: he schal baptise you in the Holi Goost, and fier. Whos wenewynge* clooth is in his hond, and he schal fulli dense his corn floor, and schal gadere his whete in to Ms beme; but the chaf he schal brenne with fier that mai not be quaichid, Thanne Jhesus cam fro CfalUee in to Jordan to Joon, to be baptisid of him. Jon forbede hym and seide, I owe to be baptisid of thee, and thou comest to mef But Jhesus answerid and seide to hym, SufEre now: for thus it faU- ith to us to fulfille alle rightfulnesse. Then Joon suffrid hym. And whanne Jhesus was baptisid, anon he wente up fro the watir: and lo, hevenes weren opened to hym, and he say the spirit of God comynge doun as a dowve, and comynge on him. And lo, a vois fro hevenes, seiynge, This is my loved sone, in whiche I have plesid to me. (Punctuation and capitalization viodemized.) 1 honev-SDckles (Wj-clif, translating from the Vul- Eite, evidently mistook the meaning of the atln locusta) 2 adders 3 will not ye to say « winnowing THE KING JAMES BIBLE (1611) Matthew IIL The Coming of John the Baptist. In those daies came John the Baptist, preach* ing in the wildemesse of Judea, and saying, Bepent yee: for the Mngdome of heaven is at hand. For this is he that was spoken of by the Prophet Esaias, saying. The voyee of one cry- ing in the wildemesse. Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make his paths straight. And the same John had his raiment of camels haire, and a leatheme girdle about his loynes, and his meate was locusts and wUde honie. Then went out to him Hierusalem, and all Judea, and all the region round about Jordane. And were baptized of him in Jordane, confessing their sinnes. But when he saw many of the Pharisees and Sadducees come to his Baptisme, he said unto them, O generation of vipers, who hath warned you to flee from the wrath to comef Bring forth therefore fruits meete for repentance. And thinke not to say within yotir selves, Wee have Abraham to owr father: For I say unto you, that God is able of these stones to raise up children unto Abraham. And now also the axe is layd unto the roote of the trees: There- fore every tree which bringeth not foorth good fruite, is hewen downe, and east into the fire. I indeed baptize you with water unto re- pentance: but he that commeth after mee, is mightier than I, whose shooes I am not worthy to beare, hee shall baptize you with the holy Ghost, and with fire. Whose fanne is in his hand, and he will throughly purge his floore, and gather his wheate into the gamer: but wU bume up the chaffe with unquenchable fire. Then commeth Jesus from Galilee to Jordane, unto John, to be baptized of him: But John forbade him, saying, I have need to bee bap- tized of thee, and commest thou to me? And Jesus answering, said unto him, Suffor it to be so now: for thus it becommeth us to fulfill all righteousnesse. Then he suffered him. And Jesus, wh«i hee was baptized, went up straightway out of the water: and loe, the heavens were opened unto him, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove, and light- ing upon him. And loe, a voice from heaven, saying, This is my beloved Soone, in whom I am well pleased. (Verse numbering omitted.) 42 FOURTEENTH CENTURY CHAUCER 'S PRONUNCIATION along = a7i as in father: bathed [bahth-ed]. a ahoTt = ah without prolongation, as in aha: at [aht]. ai,ay = ah'ee (nearly equal to modern long i) : day [dah'ee]. au,aw=z ah' 00 (nearly equal to modern ou in house: straunge [strahwnje]. e long=:ai as in pair: here [beare]. e short = e as in ten: hem [hem]. e final = e (pronounced as a very light sep- arate syllable, like the final e in the Ger- man eine. So also is es of the plural.) : soote [sohtij]. It is regularly elided before a following vowel, before he, his, him, hire (her), here (their), hem (them), and occa- sionally before other words beginning with h; also in hire, here, oure, etc. ea,ee = ouT long a; eeJc [ake]. €i,ey=ah' ee (or our long i, aye): ivey [wy]. eu, e«;=: French u: hewe [hii-e]. t long = ce (nearly): shires [sheer-es]. i short = i in pin: with [with]. 0, 00 long = oa in oar: roote [nearly rote]. o short ^0 in not: [not], oi,oy^=oo'ee (near equal to modern oi): floytinge [floiting]. ou, ow = our 00 in rood in words that in Mod. Eng. have taken the sound of ou in loud: hous [hoos]. ou, ow = oh' 00 in words that now have the o sound: soule, Tcnowe [sole, knowe]. u long = French « (found only in French words): vertu [vehrtti]. ■u short ==« in pull: but [boot]. c = k before a, a, u or any consonant. ==« before e, i, y. ^ = hard in words not of French origin. = y before e, i in words of French origin. gh = Ich, like the German ch in nicht. h initial = omitted in unaccented he, his, him, hire, hem. r = trilled. »=: often sharp when final. = never ah or eh (vision has therefore three syllables, condicioun four, etc.). t = a8 at present; but final •tion = two sylla- bles (si-oon). th = th in thin or th in this, as in Mod. Eng. 10 = sometimes oo as in herberw. The following may serve to illustrate the ap- proximate pronunciation of a few lines, with- out attempting Mr. Skeat's finer distinctions, such as vahyn for veyne, etc. Note that e is a separate syllable lightly pronounced, that « equals u in full, and ii is French u. Whan that Ahpreelle with 'is shoores sohte The drookht of March hath persed toh the rohte, And bahthed evree vyne in swich lecoor Of which vertii engendred is the floor; Whan ZephiruB aik with 'is swaite braith Inspeered hath in evry holt and haitb The tendre croopes, and the yunge sunne Hath in the Ram 'is halfe coors irunne, And smahle fooles niakhen melodeee That slaipen al the nikht with ohpen eee, — So priketh 'em nahtur in her corahges, — Than longen folk toh gohn on pilgrimahges. And palmerz for toh saiken strahwnge strondes, Toh feme halwes kooth in sondree londes; And spesialee, from evree sheeres ende Of Engelond, toh Cahwnterberee thy wende. The hohlee blisful marteer for toh saike, That hem hath holpen whan that thy wair saike. CHAUCER'S METRE A large part of Chaucer's work is written in heroic couplets: every two consecutive lines rhyming, and each line containing five iambic feet, that is, five groups of two syllables each, with the accent on the second syllable of each foot; e. g. And bath'|ed eve'Iry veyn'jin swich' |li cour'| An extra syllable is often added at the end of the line: e. g. Whan that] Apriljle with] his 8hou|res 80o|te "^ Sometimes the first foot is shortened to one long syllable: e. g. Twen|ty bo|kes clad] in blak| or reed| THE TEXT We have followed, with a few changes, the text of The Canterbury Tales printed by Dr. W. W. Skeat in the Clarendon Press Series, which is based on the Ellesmere MS. GEOFFREY CHAUCER 43 GEOFFREY CHAUCER (1340?-1400)* FEOil THE CANTERBURY TALES The Peolooxje. Whan thati Aprille with his shoures sootes The droghtes of Marche hath perced to the roote, And bathed every veyne* in swich licours, Of which vertu6 engendred is the flour^; Whan Zephiruss eeks with his swete breeth Inspired hath in every holtio and heeth The tendre croppesn, and the yonge sonne Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronneia. And smale fowlesis maken melodye, That slepen al the night with open yei*, 10 (60 priketh hem i5 nature in hirie coragesiT): Thanis longen i9 folk to goon on pilgrimages, And palmers for to sekenso straunge strondes2i. To ferne22 halwesss, couthe2i in sondry londes; And specially, from every shires ende Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende, The holy blisful martir25 for to seke, That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seke28. Bifel that, in that sesoun on a day. In Southwerk at the Tabard 27 as I lay 20 Redy to wenden on my pilgrimage To Caunterbury with ful devout corage28, At night was come in-to that hostelrye Wel29 nyne and twenty in a compaignye, Of sondry folk, by aventureso y-fallesi plural "long". of 14 eyes 15 them 16 their 17 hearts 18 then 19 Indicative the verb 20 seek 21 shores 22 iJistant 23 shrines 24 known 25 Thomas a Becket 26 sick 27 An inn (a tabard was a short coat). 28 heart 29 full 30 chance 31 fallen 1 when 2 sweet showers 8 drought 4 vein 5 such sap « power 7 flower 8 the west-wind 9 also 10 wood 11 shoots 12 when the spring sun has passed through the second, or April, half of his course in that con- stellation of the zodiac called the Ram. i. e., about April 11 13 birds * "I take unceasing delight in Chaucer. How ex- quisitely tender he is, and yet how perfectly free from the least touch of sickly melancholy or morbid drooping ! The sympathy of the poet with the subjects of his poetry is par- ticularly remarkable in Shakespeare and Chaucer ; but what the first effects by a strong act of imagination and mental metamorphosis, the last does without any effort, merely by the inborn kindly Joyousness of his nature. How well we seem to know Chaucer ! absolutely nothing do we know of Shakes peare !" — Coleridge. See also Dryden "On Chaucer" in the present volume. In felawshipe, and pilgrims were they alle, That toward Caunterbury wolden ryde; The chambres and the stables weren wyde, And wel we weren e8ed32 atte beste. And shortly, whan the sonne was to33 reste, 30 So hadde I spoken with hem everichon34j That I was of hir felawshipe anon, And made forwards^ erly for to ryse, To take our wey, ther asss I yow devyseST. But natheles, whyl I have tyme and space, Er that I ferther in this tale pace, Me thinketh it acordaunt 38 to resoun. To telle yow al the condicionn Of ech of hem, so as it semed me, 39 And whiche they weren39, and of what degree; And eek in what array*" that they were inner And at a knight than wol I first biginne. A Knight there was, and that a worthy man. That fro the tyme that he first bigan To ryden out, he loved chivalrye, Trouthe and honour, fredom*i and curteisye. Ful worthy was he in his lordes werre*2j And therto hadde he riden (no man ferre<*) As wel in cristendom as hethenesse. And evere honoured for his worthinesse. 50 At Alisaundre** he was, whan it was wonne; Ful ofte tyme he hadde the bord bigonne^s Aboven alle naeiouns in Pruce^s. In Lettow*' hadde he reysed48 and in Ruce<», No cristen man so ofte of his degrees". In Gernadesi at the sege eek hadde he be Of Algezir52, and riden in Belmaryess. At Lyeyss* was he, and at Satalye'* Whan they were wonne; and in the Greto SeeS' At many a noble armee^e hadde he be. 60 At mortal batailles hadde he been fiftene, And foughten for our feith at TramisseneST In listesss thryes, and ay slayn his foo. This ilke59 worthy knight hadde been also Somtyme Avith the lord of Palatyeso^ Ageynfii another hethen in Turkye: And everemore he hadde a sovereyn pry8«2. And though that he were worthy, he was wys, 32 made easy ; i. commodated best manner 33 at 34 every one 35 agreement 36 where 37 tell 38 according 39 what sort of they were 40 dress 41 liberality 42 war 43 further e., ac- 47 Lithuania (a western in the province of Russia) 48 forayed 49 Russia 50 rank 51 Granada 52 Algeciras 53 A Moorish kingdom in Africa, people 54 A town in Asia Minor. 55 Mediterranean 56 armed expedition 57 In Asia Minor. 5S tournaments 59 same •"•o In Asia Minor. How I 44 Alexandria (136.")) 45 sat at the head of the ei against table 62 high praise 46 Prussia 44 FOURTEENTH CENTUEY 70 of And of his porti as meek as is a mayde. He nevere yet no vileinye^ ue sayde In al his lyf, un-to no maner wight. He was a verray parfit gentil knight. But for to tellen yow of his array, His hors3 were goode, but he was nat gay*. Of fustians he wered a gipoun« Al bismotered^ with his habergeouns. For he was late y-come from his viageo, And wente for to doon his pilgrimageio. With him ther was his sone, a yong Squyer, A lovyer, and a lusty bachelerii, 80 With lokkes crullei2^ asis they were leyd in presse. Of twenty yeer of age he was, I gesse. Of his stature he was of evene lengthei*. And wonder ly deliverei^^ and greet strengthe. And he hadde been somtyme in ehivachyei". In Flaundres, in Artoysi^, and Pieardyei^, And born him wel, as of so litel spaeeis, In hope to stonden in his ladyi^ grace. Embrouded2o was he, as it were a mede^i Al ful of fresshe floures, whyte and rede. Singinge he was, or floytinge^s^ al the day; He was as fresh as is the month of May. Short was his goune, with sieves longe wyde. Wel eoude he sitte on hors, and faire ryde. He coude songes make and wel endyte23^ Iuste24 and eek daunce, and wel purtreye25 wryte. So hote26 he lovede, that by nightertale27 He sleep namore than doth a nightingale. Curteys he was, lowly, and servisable, And carf 28 biforn his fader at the table. A Yeman hadde he29, and servaunts namo^o At that tyme, for him listesi ryde so; And he was clad in cote and hood of grene; A sheef of pecok arwes brighte and kene Under his belt he bar ful thriftily, (Wel coude he dresse his takel yemanlysa : 90 and and 100 1 bearing 2 unbecoming word ■1 horses ■« gaily dressed s coarse cloth 6 a short tight-fltting coat 7 gpotted 8 coat of mail 9 voyage 10 In order to give thanlis for bia safe return. 11 An aspirant for knighthood. 12 curijr 18 aa if 14 average height 15 nimble ismilitnry expeditions IT An ancient province of France. eon s i d e r 1 n g the shortness of the time lady's ' embroidered meadow playing the flute compose Joust (engage in a tournament) ' draw I hotly ' night-time I carved > the knight ) no more I it pleased him ! arrows I order his tackle (equipment) i n yeomiinlike man- ner His arwes drouped noght with fetheres lowe), And in his hand he bar a mighty bowe. A not-heed34 hadde he, with a broun visage. Of wode-craftss wel coudesu he al the usage. HO Upon his arm he bar a gay bracerST^ And by his syde a swerd and a bokelerss. And on that other syde a gay daggere, Harneised39 wel, and sharp as point of spare; A Cristofre4o on his brest of silver shene4i. An horn he bar, the bawdrik^a was of grene; A forster43 was he, soothly44, as I gesse. Ther was also a Nonne, a Prioresse, That of hir smyling was ful simple and coy ; Hir gretteste ooth was but by seynt Loy45j 120 And she was cleped46 madame Eglentyne. Ful wel she song the service divyne, Entuned in hir nose ful semely; And Frensh she spak ful faire and fetisly47j After the scole of Stratford atte Bowe*, For Frensh of Paris was to liir unknowe. At mete wel y-taught was she with-alle; She leet no morsel from hir lippes falle, Ne wette hir fingres in hir sauce depe. Wel eoude she carie a morsel, and wel kepe, 130 That no drope ne fille48 up-on hir brest. In curteisye was set ful moche hir lest40j Hir over lippe wyped she so clene. That in hir coppeso was no ferthing sene Of grece, whan she dronken hadde hir draughte. Ful semely after hir mete she raughte^i. And sikerly-''2 she was of greet disportss^ And ful plesaunt, and amiable of port54, And peynedss hir to countrefetese cheres^ Of court, and been estatlichss of manere, 140 And to ben holden digne^s of reverence. But, for to speken of hir conscience, She was so charitable and so pitous^o, She wolde wepe, if that she sawe a mous Caught in a trappe, if it were deed or bledde. Of smale houndes had she, that she fedde With rosted flesh, or milk and wastel breed^i. But sore weep she if con of hem were deed, 34 nut-head, a closely cropped head 3r. wood-craft .•to knew .H7 guard for the arm 38 shield 31) equipped 40 image of St. Christo- pher 41 bright 42 girdle worn over the shoulder 4 3 forester 44 truly 45 St. Kloy or Loy or EligiuB, patron saint of gold- smiths. 40 named 47 daintily, exactly 48 fell 40 pleasure 50 cup .ii reached 52 surely 53 good humor 54 bearing 55 took pains 50 Imitate 57 behavior 58 to be dignifled 50 worthy tio compassionnte ni bread made of the best flour — cake- bread ♦ Stratford le Bow, where there was n Benedic- tine nunnery, and where Anglo French would lie spoken, rath>>r than the Farl.siuu kind. GEOFFREY CHAUCEB 45 Or if men smoot it with a yerdei smertez : And al was conscience and tendre herte. 150 Ful semely bir wimpels pinched* was; Hir nose tretysS; hir eyen greye as glas; Hir mouth ful sraal, and ther-to sof te and reed ; But sikerly8 she hadde a fair forheed. It was almost a spanne brood, I trowe; For, hardily 7, she was nat undergrowe. Ful fetis^ was hir cloke, as I was war^. Of smal coral aboute hir arm she bar A peire of bedes^o, gaudedn al with grene; 159 And ther-on heng a broehe of gold ful shene. On which ther was first write a crowned A, And after. Amor vincit omnia^^. Another Nonne with hir hadde she. That was hir chapeleyne, and Preestes thre. A Monk ther was, a fair for the maistryei^^ An out-rydere, that lovede veneryei*, A manly man, to been an abbot able. Ful many a deynteeis hors hadde he in stable: And, whan he rood, men mighte his brydel here Ginglen in a whistling wynd as clere, 170 ^d eek as loude as doth the chapel-belle. There-asiB this lord was keper of the cellei", The reule of seint Maure or of seint Beneitis, By-cause that it was old and som-del streiti^. This like monk leet olde thingesso pacezi, And held after the newe world the space22. He yaf nat of that text a pulled23 hen. That seith, that hunters been nat holy men; Ne that a monk, whan he is recchelees^*. Is likned til a fish that is waterlees; 180 This is to seyn, a monk out of his cloistre. But thilke text held he nat worth an oistre. And I seyde his opinioun was good. What25 sholde he studie, and make hun selven wood26, Upon a book in cloistre alwey to poure. Or swinken27 with his handes, and laboure, As Austin bit28f How shal the world be served? Lat Austin have his swink2T to him reserved. 1 stick 2 sharply 3 neck covering 4 plaited 5 well proportioned 6 surely T certainly 8 well made » aware 10 a set of beads, a rosary 11 having the gawdies or large beads green 12 "Love conquers all." 13 a very fine monk in- deed 14 bunting 15 fine 18 where 17 A smaller religious house dependent on a monastery. 18 The oldest forms of monastic discipline were based on the rules of St. Maur and of St. Benet or Benedict. 19 somewhat strict 20 (these rules) 21 pass 22 pace, way 23 plucked (he would not give a straw for that text that—) 24 wandering or va- grant 25 why 26 crazy 27 work 28 bids Therefor he was a pricasourzo aright; Grehoundes he hadde, as swifte as fowel in flight; Of priking and of hunting for the hare 191 Was al his lustso^ for no cost wolde he spare. I seigh3i his sieves purfiled32 at the hond With grys33, and that the fyneste of a lond; And, for to festne his hood under his chin. He hadde of gold y-wroght a curious pin: A love-knot in the gretter ende ther was. His heed was balleds*, that shoon as any glas. And eek his face, as he hadde been anoint. He was a lord ful fat and in good pointss ; 200 His eyen stepe3Cj and roUinge in his heed. That stemed as a forneys of a leed37j His botes souple, his hors in greet estat. Now certeinly he was a fair prelat; He was nat pale as a for-pyned goostss. A fat swan loved he best of any roost. His palfrey was as broun as is a berye. A Frere39 there was, a wantown*o and a merye, A limitour^i, a ful solempne*2 man. In alle the ordres foure*3 is noon that can** So moche of daliaunce and fair langage. 211 He hadde maad ful many a mariage Of yonge wommen, at his owne cost. Unto his ordre he was a noble post. Ful wel biloved and famulier was he With frankeleyns*^ over-al in his contree. And eek with worthy wommen of the toun: For he had power of confessioun. As seyde him-self, more than a curat, For of his ordre he was licentiat**. 220 Ful swetely herde he confessioun. And plesaunt was his absolucioun; He was an esy man to yeve*7 penaunce Ther-as he wiste to han a good pitaunee*8; For unto a povre ordre for to yive*^ Is signe that a man is wel y-shrive. For if heso yaf, he^i dorste make avauntsz^ He wiste that a man was repentaunt. For many a man so hard is of his herte''3, 229 He may nat wepe al-thogh him sore smerte^*. Therfore, in stede of weping and preyeres, 29 hard rider 30 pleasure 31 saw 32 bordered 33 grey fur 34 bald 3r> en ton point, fat 36 bright 37 glow like the fire under a cauldron 38 tormented ghost 39 friar 40 brisk 41 One licensed to beg within certain limits. 42 pompous 43 Dominicans (Black Friars) ; Francis- cans (Grey Friars) ; Carmelites (White Friars) ; Augustin (or Austin) Friars. 44 knows 45 country gentlemen 46 One licensed to give absolution. 47 give, assign 48 where he knew he could get a good gift 49 give 50 the man 51 the friar 52 boast 53 heart 54 he suffer sorely 46 FOURTEENTH CENTURY Men raooti yeve silver to the povre freres. His tipets was ays farsed* ful of knyves And pinnes, for to yeven faire wyves. And certainly he hadde a mery note; Wei coude he singe and pleyen on a rotes. Of yeddingeso he bar utterly the prys^. His nekke whyt was as the flour-de-lyss. Ther-to he strong was as a champioun. He knew the tavernes wel in every toun, 240 And everich hostiler» and tappestereio Betii than a lazaris or a beggestereis ; For un-to swich a worthy man as he Acorded nat, as by his faculteei*, To have with sekeis lazars aqueyntaunce. It is nat honestis, it may nat avauncei^ For to delen with no swich poraillei^^ But al with riche and sellers of vitaille. And over-all", ther-as2o profit sholde aryse, Curteys he was, and lowly of servyse. 250 Ther nas no man nowher so vertuous2i. He was the beste beggere in his hous; For thogh a widwe hadde noght a sho22j So plesaunt was his In principio^^, Yet wolde he have a ferthing24^ er he wente, His purchas25 was wel bettre than his rentess. And rage27 he coude as it were right a whelpe28. In love-dayes29 ther coude he mochel helpe. For ther he was nat lyk a cloisterer With a thredbare cope, as in a povre scoler, 260 But he was lyk a maister or a pope. Of double worsted was his semi-cope^o, That rounded as a belle out of the presse. Somwhat he lipsed, for his wantownessesi. To make his English swete up-on his tonge; And in his harping, whan that he had songe, His eyen twinkled in his heed aright. As doon the sterres in the frosty night. This worthy limitour was cleped Huberd. A Marchant was ther with a forked berd, 270 In motteIee32, and hye on horse he sat, 1 ought to 2 hood, cowl 8 ever 4 stuffed 6 fiddle e songs 7 he took the prize silly » Innkeeper 10 bar maid 11 better 12 leper 18 female beggar 14 it was unsuitable, considering h 1 s ability 15 sick la creditable 17 profit 18 poor people IB everywhere 30 where 21 energetic 22 shoe 23 S^ John I. 1, "In the beginning," etc. (the opening of the friar's ad- dress) 24 half n cent 25 proceeds of bis beg- ging 26 regular Income 27 piay 2H Just like a puppy 20 arbitration days (for settling differences without lawsuit) so Hhort cape 81 lisped a little out of whimsical Joliiness 82 dress of variegated color Up-on his heed a Flaundrish bever hat; His botes clasped faire and fetisly. His resons33 he spak ful solempnelys*, Sowninge35 alway thencreesse of his winning. He wolde the see were kept^T for any thingss Bitwixe Middelburgh and Orewelle^a. Wel coude^o he in eschaunge sheeldes*i selle. This worthy man ful wel his wit bisette^2; Ther wisie no wight that he was in dette, 280 So estatly*3 was he of his governaunce**, With his bargaynes, and with his chevisaunce*^. For sothe he was a worthy man with-alle. But sooth to seyn, I noot^s how men him calle. A Clerk*7 ther was of Oxenford also, That unto logik hadde longe y-go^s. As lene was his hors as is a rake. And he nas*9 nat right fat, I undertake^o; But loked holwe^i, and ther-to soberly^^. Ful thredbar was his overest^a courtepys* 290 For he had geten him yet no beneficess, Ne was so worldly for to have officers. For him was levere57 have at his beddes heed Twenty bokes, clad in blak or reed * Of Aristotle and his philosophye. Than robes riche, or fithele^s, or gay sautryeS". But al be that he was a philosophre^o, Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre; But al that he mighte of his f rendes henteai ; On bokes and on lerninge he it spente, 300 And bisily gan for the soules preye Of hem that yaf him where-with to scoleye02. Of studie took he most eureka and most hede. Noght o word spak he more than was nede, And that was seyd in forme and reverence, And short and quik, and ful of hy sentence*''*. Sowninge65 in moral vertu was his speche. And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche. A Sergeant of the Laweee, war67 and wys. That often hadde been at the parvys^s, 310 33 opinions 34 pompously 35 proclaiming, sound- ing 30 the Increase 37 guarded 38 at any cost, by all mcnns 39 The first a port In the Netherlands, opposite Harwich in England ; the second a town near the mouth of the river Orwell in England. 40 knew how to 41 French crowns (ho was a money- changer) 42 employed 4:< dignified 44 mnnngcniont 45 agreements 46 ne-f wot (know not) 47 student, scholar devoted himself ne+was (was not) affirm hollow solemn outer coat ecclesiastical living secular office he had rather fiddle psaltery, harp The word meant both philosopher and alchemist, get devote himself to study care meaning tending to king's lawyer wary portico (of St. Paul's, where lawyers met for consultation) GEOFFREY CHAUCER 47 320 Ther was also, ful riehe of excellence. Discreet he was, and of greet reverence^ : He semed swich, his wordes weren so wyse, Justice he was ful often in assyse^, By patente3 and by pleyn* commissioun ; For his science, and for his heigh renoun Of fees and robes hadde he many oon. So greet a purchasours was nowher noons. Al was fee simple^ to him in effect, His purchasing mighte nat been infects. Nowher so bisy a man as he ther nas. And yet he semed bisier than he was. In termes hadde he caas and domes alleo. That from the tyme of king William were falleio. Therto he coude endyte, and make a thing, Ther coude no wight pinehen at his wryting; And every statut coudei2 he pleyn by rote. He rood but hoomly in a medlee cote Girt with a ceinti^ of silk, with barresi* smale; Of his array telle I no lenger tale. 330 A Frankeleynis was in his compaignye; Whyt was his berdis, as is the dayesyei". Of his complexiounis he was sangwynia. Wei loved he by the morwe^o a sop2i in wyn. To liven in delyt was evere his wone22, For he was Epicurus23 owne sone, That heeld opinioun that pleyn delyt Was verraily felicitee parfyt. An housholdere, and that a greet, was he; Seynt Iulian2* he was in his contree. His breed, his ale, was alwey after oon25j A bettre envyned26 man was nevere noon. With-oute bake mete was nevere his hous. Of fish and flesh, and that so plentevous, It snewed27 in his hous of mete and drinke. Of alle deyntees that men coude thinke. After the sondry sesons of the yeer. So chaunged he his mete and his soper. Ful many a fat partrich hadde he in mewe28, 340 1 exciting much rever- ence 2 court of assize 3 letters patent 4 full 5 conveyancer 6 none T unconditional inheri- tance 8 invalidated (i. e., he could cunningly convey property without entangle- ments of entail) » in exact words he had all cases and de- cisions 10 had occurred 11 make an agreement so none could find fault 12 knew 13 girdle bars, or ornaments country gentleman '■ beard daisy i temperament I lively > in the morning A sort of custard with bread in it. '■ wont, custom. t A Greek philosopher, popularly supposed to have considered pleasure the chief good. I Patron saint of aos- pitallty. i of the same quality ! provided with wines r snowed ; i. e., abound- ed i coop And many a breem29 and many a luce in steweso. 350 Wo3i was his cook, but-if32 his sauce were Poynaunt and sharp, and redy al his gere33. His table dormant34 in his halle alway Stood redy covered al the longe day. At sessiouns35 ther was he lord and sire. Ful ofte tyme he was knight of the shireso. An anlas37 and a gipserss al of silk Heng at his girdel, whyt as morne milk. A shirreve hadde he been, and a countourss; Was nowher such a worthy vavasour***. 360 An Haberdassherii and a Carpenter, A Webbe,*2 a Dyere, and a Tapicer*3j And they were clothed alle in o liveree. Of a solempne and greet fraternitee. Ful fresh and newe hir gere apyked** was; Hir knyves were y-chaped*5 noght with bras. But al with silver wroght ful clene and weel, Hir girdles and hir pouches everydeel. Wei semed ech of hem a fair burgeys^s^ To sitten in a yeldhalle*^ on a deys^s. 370 Everich*9, for the wisdom that he canso, Was shaplysi for to been an alderman. For catel'2 hadde they ynogh and renters, And eek hir wyves wolde it wel assented* ; And elles certein were they to blame. It is ful fair to been y-clept via dame. And goonss to vigilyesss al bifore. And have a mantel roialliche y-bores^. A Cook they hadde with hem for the nonesss. To boille chiknesss with the mary-bones, 380 And poudre-marehantso tart^i, and galingale62. Wel coude he knowe^s a draughte of London ale. He coude roste, and sethesi, and broille, and frye, Maken mortreux65, and wel bake a pye. But greet harm was it, as it thoughte me. That on his shine^* a mormal*''^ hadde he; 29 bream (a fish) 30 pond 31 woe unto his cook 32 unless 33 utensils 34 stationary 35 meetings of justices of the peace 36 member of parlia- ment 37 knife 38 pouch 39 auditor 40 sub-vassal (landhold- er) 41 seller of hats 42 weaver 43 upholsterer 44 trimmed 45 capped (tipped) 46 citizen 47 guild-ball 48 dais 49 everyone 50 knew (had) 51 fit 52 property 53 Income 54 be glad of it 55 to go 56 social gatherings in the church or churchyard 57 royally carried 58 occasion 59 chickens 60 a seasoning 61 sharp 62 the root of sweet cyperus 63 well knew he how to distinguish 64 boil 65 chowders 66 shin 67 sore 48 POTJETEENTH CENTUBY For blankmangeri, that made he with the beste. A Shipman was ther, woning2 fer by weste: For aught I woot3, he was of Dertemouthe. He rood up-on a rouncy*, as he couthes, 390 In a gowne of faldingo to the knee. A daggere hanging on a laas7 hadde he Aboute his nekke under his arm adoun. The hote somer had maad his hewe al broun; And, certeinly, he was a good felawe. Ful many a draughte of wyn had he y-drawe From Burdeux-ward, whyl that the ehapmans sleep. Of nyces conscience took he no keepio. If that he faught, and hadde the hyer bond, By water he sente hem hoom to every londn. But of his craft 12 to rekene wel his tydes 401 His stremes and his daungers him bisydes, His herberwei3 and his monei*, his lodemen- ageis, Ther nas noon swich from Hulle to Cartage. Hardy he was, and wys to undertake; With many a tempest hadde his berd been shake. He knew wel alle the havenes, as they were, From Gootlondi8 to the cape of Finisterei^, And every cryke in Britayne and in Spayne; His barge y-cleped was the Maudelayne. 410 With us ther was a Doctour of Phisykis, In al this world ne was ther noon him lyk To speke of phisik and of surgerye ; For he was grounded in astronomyei^. He kepte his pacient a ful greet del In houres2o^ by his magik naturel. Wel coude he fortunen2i the ascendent Of his image822 for his pacient*. He knew the cause of everieh maladye. Were it of hoot or cold, or moiste, or dryet, 420 And where engendred, and of what humour; He was a verrey parfit practisour. The cause y-knowe, and of his harm the rote23^ Anon he yaf the seke man his bote24. P'ul retly hadde he his apothecaries, 1 minced capon, cream, i4 moon sugar and flour i5 pilotage 2 dwelling i« .Jutland, Denmark 3 know 17 On the coast of 4 common hackney Spain. 5 as well as he could is medicine 6 coarse cloth it astrology 7 cord 20 he treated his pa- « merchant tient at favorable » over scrupulous astrological times 10 heed 2i forecast 11 made them walk the 22 talismans rilank 28 the root of the evil II 24 remedy 13 harbor • Figures or talismans made when a favorable star was rising above the horizon, 1. e., was in the ascendant, could, it was believed, cause good or evil to a pntlent. t Diseases were thought fo be caused by an excess of one or another of these humours. To sende him drogges, and his letuaries25, For ech of hem made other for to winne26; Hir frendschipe nas nat newe to biginne27. Wel knew he the olde Esculapius*, And Deiscorides, and eek Eufus; 430 Old Ypoeras, Haly, and Galien; Serapion, Eazis, and Avicen; Averrois, Damascien, and Constantyn; Bernard, and Gatesden, and Gilbertyn. Of his diete mesurablezs was he, For it was of no superfluitee. But of greet norissing and digestible. His studie was but litel on the Bible. In sangwin29 and in pers3o he clad was al, Lyned with taffata3i and with sendal3i 440 And yet he was but esy of dispence32 ; He kepte that he wan in pestilence. For gold in phisik is a cordial33j Therfor he lovede gold in special. A Good Wyf was ther of bisyde Bathe, But she was som-del deef, and that was scathe34. Of cloth-making she hadde swiche an haunt35j She passed hem of Ypresse and of Gaunt37. In al the parisshe wyf ne was ther noon That to the offringss bifore hir sholde goon ; 450 And if ther dide, certeyn, so wrooth was she, That she was out of alle charitee. Hir eoverchiefs39 ful fyne were of ground^oj I dorste swere they weyeden ten pound*i That on a Sonday were upon hir heed. Hir hosen weren of fyn scarlet reed, Ful streite y-teyd, and shoes ful moiste42 and newe. Bold was hir face, and fair, and reed of hewe. She was a worthy womman al hir lyve, 459 Housbondes at chirche-dore^s she hadde fyve, Withouten** other compaignye in youthe; But thereof nedeth nat to speke as nouthe". And thryes hadde she been at lerusalem; She hadde passed many a straunge streem ; 25 medicines mixed 30 in West Flanders with confections 37 Ghent 26 the doctor and the 38 The ceremony of of- druggist each made ferlng gifts to business for the relics on "Relic- other Sunday." 27 of recent date so kerchiefs for the 28 moderate head 20 reddish «> texture 30 light blue 41 Because ornamented 31 thin silk with gold and sti- 32 moderate In spend- ver. Ing 42 soft 33 Gold In medicine was 43 People were married supposed to render at the church- It especially efflca- porch, clous. 44 without counting 34 a pity 4.1 at present ar, Rkill • The god of medicine, son of Apollo. The others named hi lines 430-434 are all famous physi- cians and scholars of antiquity and medla>val times. Gatlsden of Oxford was almo.st a con- temporary of (,'haucer. GEOFFEEY CHAUCER 49 At Rome she hadde been, and at Boloignei, In Galice at seint Iame2, and at Coloigne^. She coude moche of wandring by the weye. Gat-tothed* was she, soothly for to seye. Upon an ambleres esily she sat, Y-wimpled wel, and on hir heed an hat 470 As brood as is a bokelers or a targe; A foot-manteK aboute hir hipes large, And on hir feet a paire of spores sharpe. In f elaweschip wel coude she laughe and carpe^. Of remedies of loves she knew per-chaunce. For she coude of that art the olde daunce. A good man was ther of religioun. And was a povre Persounio of a toun; But riche he was of holy thoght and werk. He was also a lerned man, a clerk, 480 That Cristes gospel trewely wolde preche ; His parisshens devoutly wolde he teche. Benign e he was, and wonder diligent, And in adversitee f ul pacient ; And swich he was y-prevedn ofte sythesiz. Ful looth were him to cursen for his tythesis, But rather wolde he yeven, out of doute, Un-to his povre parisshens aboute Of his offringi*, and eek of his substaunceis. He coude in litel thing han suffisaunce. 490 Wyd was his parisshe, and houses fer a-sonder. But he ne lafte natis^ for reyn ne thonder. In siknes nor in meschiefi'^ to visyte The ferresteis in his parisshe, moche and lytei^, Up-on his feet, and in his hand a staf. This noble ensample to his sheep he yaf, That first he wroghte, and afterward he taughte ; Out of the gospel he tho2o wordes caughte; And this figure he added eek ther-to, That if gold ruste, what shal yren2i do? 500 For if a preest be foul, on whom we truste. No wonder is a lewedss man to ruste; And shame it .s, if a preest take keep23^ A [spotted] shepherde and a clene sheep. Wel oghte a preest ensample for to yive, By his clennesse, how that his sheep shold live. He sette nat his benefice to hyre24. And leet his sheep encombred in the myre, 1 Where there was an image of the Vir- gin. 2 to the shrine of St. James in Galicia in Spain 3 Where according to legend the bones of the Three Wise Men of the East were kept. 4 gap-toothed : i. e., with teeth wide apart 5 nag 6 shield 7 riding sltlrt 8 chatter 9 love-charms 10 parson 11 proved 12 times 13 he was loath to ex- communicate those who would not pay their tithes 14 gifts made to him 15 property 16 ceased not 17 trouble 18 farthest 19 rich and poor 20 those 21 iron 22 ignorant 23 notice 24 he did not sub-let bis parish And ran to London, unto seynt Ponies, To seken him a chaunterie25 for soules. Or with a bretherhed to been withholde26, 510 But dwelte at hoom, and kepte wel his folde, So that the wolf ne made it nat miscarie; He was a shepherde and no mercenarie27. And though he holy were, and vertuous. He was to sinful man nat despitous28j Ne of his speche daungerous2» ne digne30, But in his teching discreet and benigne. To drawen folk to heven by fairnesse By good ensample, this was his bisynesse: 520 But it were any persone obstinat. What so he were, of heigh or lowe estat, Him wolde he snibbensi sharply for the nones32. A bettre preest, I trowe that nowher non is. He wayted after no pompe and reverence, Ne maked him a spyced33 conscience. But Cristes lore, and his apostles twelve. He taughte, but first he folwed it him-selve. With him ther was a Plowman, was his brother, 629 That hadde y-lad^i of dong ful many a fotherss, A trewe swinkere36 and a good was he, Livinge in pees and parfit charitee. God loved he best with al his hole herte At alle tymes, thogh him gamed or smerte37, And thanne his neighebour right as him-selve. He wolde thresshe, and ther-to dyke38 and delve, For Cristes sake, for every povre wight, Withouten hyress, if it lay in his might. His tythes payed he ful faire and wel, Bothe of his propre*o swink and his catel*i. 540 In a tabard he rood upon a mere*2. Ther was also a Revels and a Millere, A Somnour** and a Pardoner^s also, A Maunciple*8, and my-self ; there were namo^^. The Miller was a stout carles, for the nones<9, Ful big he was of braun, and eek of bones ; That proved wel, for over-al therso he cam, At wrastling he wolde have alwey the ram^i. He was short-sholdred, brood, a thikke knarre52, 25 a position to sing mass 26 maintained 27 hireling 28 merciless 29 over-bearing 30 proud 31 reprove 32 on occasion 33 sophisticated 34 led 35 load 36 laborer 37 whether his luck were good or bad 38 dig ditches 39 pay 40 own 41 property 42 mare (then the hum- ble man's steed) 43 bailiff 44 A summoner to eccleslastl cal courts. 45 One commissioned to grant pardons. 46 A purchaser of food for lawyers at inns of court or for col- leges. 47 no more 48 churl, fellow 49 for you 50 everywhere 61 The prize. 62 knotted, thick-set fel- low 60 FOURTEENTH CENTURY Ther nas no dore that he nolde heve of harrei, Or breke it, at a renning, with his heed. 551 His herd as any sowe or fox was reed, And ther-to brood, as though it were a spade. Upon the cop2 right of his nose he hade A wertes, and ther-on stood a tuft of heres, Keed as the bristles of a sowes eres*; His no8e-thirles5 blake were and wyde. A swerd and bokeler bar he by his syde; His mouth as greet was as a greet forneys. He was a langlere^ and a goliardeys^, 560 And that was most of sinne and harlotryess. Wei coude he stelen corn, nnd tollen thryesS; And yet he hadde a thombe of goldio, pardee. A whyt cote and a blew hood wered he. A baggepype wel coude he blowe and sownen. And therwithal he broghte us out of towne. A gentil Maunciple was ther of a templeia^ Of which achatoursi3 mighte take exemple For to be wyse in bying of vitaille. 569 For whether that he payde, or took by taillei*, Algate he waytedis so in his achatis. That he was ay biforn and in good stat. Now is nat that of God a ful fair grace, That swich a lewedi^ mannes wit shal paceis The wisdom of an heep of lerned men? Of maistres hadde he mois than thryes ten, That were of lawe expert and curious; Of which ther were a doseyn in that hous. Worthy to been stiwardes of rente and lond Of any lord that is in Engelond, 580 To make' him live by his propre good, In honour dettelees, but he were wood20, Or live as scarslyzi as him list desire; And able for to helpen al a shire In any cas that mighte falle or happe; And yit this maunciple sette hir aller cappe22. The Reve was a sclendre colerik23 man. His berd was shave as ny as ever he can. His heer was by his eres round y-shorn. His top was dokked24 lyk a preest biforn. 590 Ful longe were his legges, and ful lene, Y-lyk a staf, ther was no calf y-sene. Wel coude he kepe a gerner25 and a binne ; Ther was noon auditour coude on him winne. Wel wiste he, by the droghte, and by the reyn, The yeldyng of his seed, and of his greyn. 1 could not heave off its binges 2 tip s wart 4 ears B DOKtrilS • bold talker 7 buffoon 8 ribaldrloR take toll three times (Instead of once) 10 worth gold (because with it he tested his flour) 11 play upon 12 lawyers' quarters 18 buyers 14 tally, 1. e., on credit 15 alwayH be was so careful 16 purchase 17 ignorant 18 surpass 19 more 20 crazy 21 economically 22 cheated them all 23 irascible 24 cut short 25 granary His lordes sheep, his neet2«, his dayerye, His swyn, his hors, his stoor27j and his pultrye, Was hooUy in this reves governing, And by his covenaunt yaf the rekeningzs 600 Sin29 that his lord was twenty yeer of age; Ther coude no man bringe him in arrerageso. Ther nas baillif, ne herdesi, ne other hyne32j That he ne knew his sleighte and his covyness; They were adrad of him, as of the deeth. His woning34 was ful fair up-on an heeth. With grene trees shadwed was his place. He coude bettre than his lord purchace. Ful riche he was astored prively, His lord wel coude he plesen subtilly, 610 To yeve and lene him of his owne good, And have a thank, and yet a cote, and hood35. In youthe he lerned hadde a good mister36; He was a wel good wrighte, a carpenter. This reve sat upon a ful good stot37j That was al pomelyss grey, and highte Scot. A long surcote of perssa up-on he hade. And by his syde he bar a rusty blade. Of Northfolk was this reve, of which I telle, Bisyde a toun men clepen Baldeswelle. 620 Tukked40 he was, as is a frere, aboute. And evere he rood the hindreste of our route. A Somnour was ther with us in that place, That hadde a fyr-reed cherubinnes face, For sawceflem4i he was, with eyen narwe, With scalled42 broM'es blake, and piled43 berd; Of his visage children were aferd. Ther nas quik-silver, litarge**, ne brimstoon, Boras45, ceruce**, ne oille of tartre noon, 630 Ne oynement that wolde dense and byte, That him mighte helpen of his whelkes** whyte, Ne of the knobbes sittinge on his chekes. Wel loved he garleek, oynons, and eek lekes. And for to drinken strong wyn, reed as blood. Thanne wolde he speke, and crye as he were wood*''. And whan that he wel dronken hadde the wyn. Than wolde he speke no word but Latyn. A fewe termes hadde he, two or thre. That he had lerned out of som decree; 640 No wonder is, he herde it al the day ; 26 cattle 27 stock 28 rendered account 20 since 30 tind him in arrears 81 herder 82 servant 33 whose craft and de- ceit he did not know 34 dwelling 35 lend his lord's own property to him and receive grati- tude and Interest as well 36 trade 37 stallion 38 spotted, dappled 39 blue 40 his coat was tucked up by means of a girdle 41 pimpled 42 scurfy 43 plucked (thin) 44 white lead 45 borax 46 blotches 47 mad GEOFFREY CHAUCER 61 650 659 And eek ye knowen wel, how that a lay Can clepen ' Watte, 'i as well as can the pope But whoso coude in other thing him grope^, Thanne hadde he spent al his philosophye; Ay 'Questio quid iuris's wolde he crye. He was a gentil harlot^ and a kynde; A bettre f elawe sholde men noght fynde. He wolde suffre fors a quart of wyn A good f elawe to have his [wikked sin] A twelf-month, and excuse him atte fuUe: And prively a finch eek coude he puUe^. And if he fond owher^ a good felawe, He wolde techen him to have non awe, In swich cas, of the erchedeknes curss, But-if9 a mannes soule were in his pursioj For in his purs he sholde y-punisshed be. 'Purs is the erchedeknes helle, ' seyde he. But wel I woot he lyed right in dede; Of cursing oghte ech gulty man him dredeii- For curs wol slee right as assoillingi^ saveth And also war him of a significavit^s^ In daungerii hadde he at his owne gyseis The yonge girlesis of the diocyse. And knew hir counseil, and was al hir reedi^. A gerland hadde he set up-on his heed, As greet as it were for an ale-stakeis; A bokeler hadde he maad him of a cake. With him ther rood a gentil Pardoner Of Rouncivalei!', his frend and his compeer, 670 That streight was eomen fro the court of Rome. Ful loude he song, 'Com hider, love, to me.' This somnour bar to him a stif burdoun^o^ Was nevere trompesi of half so greet a soun. This pardoner hadde heer as yelow as wex, But smothe it heng, as doth a strike of flexes ; By ounces23 henge his lokkes that he haddez*. And ther-with he his shuldres overspradde; But thinne it lay, by colponsss oon and oon; But hood, for lolitee, ne wered he noon, 680 For it was trussed up in his walet. Him thoughte26, he rood al of the newe Iet27; Dischevele, save his cappe, he rood al bare. Swiche glaringe eyen hadde he as an hare. 1 Walter (then a very common name in England) 2 test 3 "The question Is. What is ttie law?" 4 good fellow 5 in return for 6 pluck a pigeon for himself 7 anywhere 8 excommunication 9 unless 10 purse 11 (reflexive) fear for himself 12 absolution 13 writ of excommuni- cation 14 in his Jurisdiction control young people of either sex the adviser of them all : sign-pole of an inn (often a bush hung up in front) ' Possibly the Hospi- tal of Rouncyvalle in London. ' accompaniment trumpet handful of flax small portions such as he had shreds > it seemed to him fashion A vernicle28 hadde he sowed on his cappe. His walet lay biforn him in his lappe, Bret-ful29 of pardoun come from Rome al hoot. A voys he hadde as smal as hath a goot. No berd hadde he, ne nevere sholde have. As smothe it was as it were late y-shave ; 690 But of his craft, fro Berwik unto Wareso, Ne was ther swich another pardoner. For in his malesi he hadde a pilwe-beer32, Which that, he seyde, was our lady veylss; He seyde, he hadde a gobeta* of the seyl35 That seynt Peter hadde, whan that he wente Up-on the see, til lesu Crist him hente^s. He hadde a croys37 of latounss^ ful of stones. And in a glas he hadde pigges bones. 700 But with thise relikes, whan that he fond A povre person dwelling up-on lond39, Up-on a day he gat him more moneye Than that the person gat in monthea tweye. And thus with feyned flaterye and lapes^o^ He made the person and the peple his apes. But trewely to tellen, atte laste. He was in chirche a noble ecclesiaste. W^el coude he tede a lessoun or a storie, But alderbest*! he song an offertorie; 710 For wel he wiste, whan that song was songe, He moste preche, and wel affyle42 his tonge, To winne silver, as he ful wel coude; Therefore he song so meriely and loude. Now have I told you shortly, in a clause, Thestat, tharray, the nombre, and eek the cause Why that assembled was this compaignye In Southwerk, at this gentil hostelrye. That highte the Tabard, faste by the Belle. But now is tyme to yow for to telle 720 How that we baren us that ilke night, Whan we were in that hostelrye alight. And after wol I telle of our viage. And al the remenaunt of our pilgrimage. But first I pray yow of your curteisye, That ye narette it nat my vileinye^s, Thogh that I pleynly speke in this materc, To telle yow hir wordes and hir chere** ; Ne thogh I speke hir wordes proprely*^ For this ye knowen also wel as I, Who-so shal telle a tale after a man. 730 28 a St. Veronica (a cloth bearing a pic- ture of Christ) 20 brimful 30 from the north to the south of Eng- land 31 valise 32 pillow-case 33 the veil of the Vir- gin 34 piece 35 sail 36 caught, 1. e., con- verted 37 cross 38 brass 39 in the country 40 tricks 41 best of all 42 file, polish 43 attribute it not to my ill-breeding 44 appearance 45 exactly 52 FOURTEENTH CENTURY He moot reherce, as nyi as evere he can, Everich a2 word, if it be in his charges, Al* speke he never so rudeliche and largeS; Or elles he moot telle his tale untrewe, Or feyne thing, or fynde wordes newe. He may nat spare, al-thogh he were his brother ; He moot as wel seye o word as another. Crist spak him-self ful brode in holy writ, And wel ye woot, no vileinye is it. 740 Eek Plato seith, who-so that can him rede^, The wordes mote^ be cosin to the dede. Also I prey yow to foryeve it me, Al8 have I nat set folk in hir degree Here in this tale, as that they sholde stonde; My wit is short, ye may wel understonde. Greet cheres made our hoste us everichonio, And to the soper sette he us anon; And served us with vitaille at the beste. Strong was the wyn, and wel to drinke us leste". A semely man oar hoste was with-alle 751 For to ban been a marshal in an halle; A large man he was with eyen stepeiz, A fairer burgeysis was ther noon in Chepei* : Bold of his speche, and wys, and wel y-taught, And of manhod him lakkede right naught. Eek therto he was right a mery man, And after soper pleyenis he bigan, And spak of mirthe amonges othere thinges, Whan that we hadde maad our rekeningesis ; 760 And seyde thus: 'Now, lordinges, trewely Ye ben to me right M'elcome hertely: For by my trouthe, if that I shal nat lye, I ne saughi7 this yeer so mery a compaiguye At ones in this herberweis as is now. Fayn wolde I doon yow mirthe, wiste I howi». And of a mirthe I am right now bithoght, To doon yow esezo^ and it shal coste noght. Ye goon to Caunterbury ; God yow spede, 769 The blisful martirzi quyte22 yow your mede23. And wel I woot, as ye goon by the weye. Ye shapen24 yow to talen25 and to pleye; For trewely, confort ne mirthe is noon To ryde by the weye doumb as a stoon; And therefor wol I maken yow disport, 1 nearly 2 every 8 1. e., In thp tale com- mitted to him 4 aitbougti 8 freeiy « Chaucer couid not read Oreek T muKt 8 although B entertainment 10 everjr one 11 it pfeaRed 12 t)riKht 13 citizen 14 A market square In I^ondon (now a street, Cheapside). 1 5 to play, jest in paid our bills 17 snw not iH Inn 18 give you fun if I knew how 20 give you recreation 21 Thomas ft Kecket 22 requite (give) 28 reward 24 plan 25 to tell tales As I seyde erst, and doon yow som confort. And if yow lyketh alle, by oon assent, Now for to stonden at26 my lugement, And for to werken as I shal yow seye, To-morwe, whan ye ryden by the weye, 780 Now, by my fader soule, that is deed, But27 ye be merye, I wol yeve yow myn heed. Hold up your bond, withoute more speche.' Our counseil was nat longe for to seche28; Us thoughte it was noght worth to make it wys2». And graunted him with-outen more avysso, And bad him seye his verdit, as him leste. 'Lordinges,' quod he, 'now herkneth for the beste ; But tak it not, I prey yow, in desdeyn ; This is the poynt, to speken short and pleyn, That ech of yow, to shorte with our weye3i, In this viage, shal telle tales tweye, 792 To Caunterbury-ward, I mene it so. And hom-ward he shal tellen othere two. Of aventures that whylom han bif alle. And which of yow that bereth him best of alle, That is to seyn, that telleth in this cas Tales of best sentence and most solas32, Shal han a soper at our aller cost Here in this place, sitting by this post, 800 Whan that we come agayn fro Caunterbury. And for to make yow the more mery, I wol my-selven gladly with yow ryde. Right at myn owne cost, and be your gyde. And who-so wol my lugement withseye33 Shal paye al that we spenden by the weye. And if ye vouche-sauf that it be so, Tel me anon, with-outen wordes mo. And I wol erly shape34 me therfore. ' This thing was graunted, and our othes swore 810 With ful glad herte, and preyden him also That he wold vouche-sauf for to do so, And that he wolde been our governour. And of our tales luge and reportour, And sette a soper at a certeyn prys ; And we wold reuled been at his devysss^ In heigh and lowe; and thus, by oon assent. We been acorded to his lugement. And ther-up-on the wyn was fet8« anoon; We dronken, and to reste wente echoon, 820 With-outen any lenger taryinge. A-morwe, whan thatsT day bigan to springe, Up roos our host, and was our aller cokas^ 2«by -'7 unless 28 seek •'» a matter of delibera- tion so consideration 81 to shorten our way with 32 amusement S3 gainsay 84 prepare 35 decision 36 fetched 87 when 88 cock of us all (who woke them up) GEOFFEEY CHAUCEB 53 And gadrede us togidre, alle in a flok, And forth we riden, a litel more than pasi, Un-to the watering of seint Thomas^. And there our host bigan his hors areste, And seyde; 'Lordinges, herkneth if yow leste. Ye woot your forwards, and I it yow reeorde*. If even-song and morwe-song acorde, 830 Lat se now who shal telle the firste tale. As evere mote I drinke wyn or ale, Whoso be rebel to my lugement Shal paye for al that by the weye is spent. Now draweth cuts, er that we ferrero twinned ; He which that hath the shortest shal biginne. ' 'Sire knight,' quod he, 'my maister and my lord, Now draweth cut, for that is myn acords. Cometh neer^, ' quod he, ' my lady prioresse ; And ye, sir clerk, lat be your shamfast- nesse, 840 Ne studieth noghtio ; ley bond to, every man. ' Anon to drawen every wight bigan. And shortly for to tellen, as it was. Were it by averturen, or sorti2, or casia, The sothei* is this, the cut fil to the knight, Of which f ul blythe and glad was every wight ; And telle he moste his tale, as was resoun. By forward and by composiciounis. As ye han herd; what nedeth wordes mo? And whan this goode man saugh it was so. As he that wys was and obedient 851 To kepe his forward by his free assent, He seyde: 'Sini« I shal beginne the game, What, welcome be the cut, ai" Goddes name! Now lat us ryde, and herkneth what I seye. ' And with that word we riden forth our weye ; And he bigan with right a mery chereis His tale anon, and seyde in this manere. The Nonne Preestes Tale* Here iiginneth the Nonne Preestes Tale of the Cole and Hen, Chauntecleer and Pertelote. A povre widwe somdel stopei^ in age. Was whylom2o dwelling in a narwe-'i cotage, Bisyde a grove, stondyng in a dale. This widwe, of which I telle yow my tale, 1 faster than a walk 2 Two miles on the way to Canterbury. 3 agreement 4 remind you of it Slots « further 7 separate 8 decision B nearer 10 don't meditate • In the Ellesmere MS. this is the twentieth tale. Sir John, the "Nun's Priest," was an escort of Madame Eglentyne ; see Prologue, 164. His tal« is an old one, found in various languages. 11 chance 12 fate 13 accident 14 truth 15 contract 16 since 17 in 18 expression 19 advanced 20 once upon a time 21 narrow Sin thilke22 day that she was last a wyf, In pacience ladde a ful simple lyf, For litel was hir catel and Mr rent23; By housbondrye, of such as God hir sente, She fond24 hir-self, and eek hir doghtren^s two. Three large sowes hadde she, and namo, 10 Three kyn, and eek a sheep that highte26 Malle. Ful sooty was hir bour, and eek hir halle27, In which she eet ful many a sclendre meel. Of poynaunt sauce hir neded28 never a deel. No deyntee morsel passed thurgh hir throte; Hir dyete was accordant to hir cote. Eepleceioun29 ne made hir nevere syk; Attempree dyete was al hir phisyk, And exercyse, and hertes suflBsaunce. The goute lette^o hir no-thing for to daunce, 20 Ne poplexye shentesi nat hir heed; No wyn ne drank she, neither whyt ne reed; Hir bord was served most with whyt and blak, Milk and broun breed, in which she fond no lak, Seynd32 bacoun, and somtyme an eyS' or tweye, For she was as it were a maner deyes*. A yerd she hadde, enclosed al aboute With stikkes, and a drye dich with-oute, In which she hadde a cok, hight Chauntecleer, In al the land of crowing nasss his peer. 30 His vois was merier than the merye orgonS* On messe-dayes37 that in the chirche gon; Wei sikererss ^as his crowing in his logge**, Than is a clokke, or an abbey orlogge*o. By nature knew he ech ascensioun^i Of equinoxial in thilke toun; For whan degrees fiftene were ascended, Thanne crew he, that it mighte nat amended*2. His comb was redder than the fyn coral, And batailed^s, as it were a castel-wal. His bile<* was blak, and as the leet^s it shoon; Lyk asur were his legges, and his toon^S; His nayles whytter than the lilie flour. ben 40 since that ■ her property (chat- tels) and her in- come supported daughters i was called Bower and hall are terms applicable to a castle ; used here humorously of the probably one-room cottage. ( (reflexive) she need- ed I surfeit I hindered hurt : singed (broiled) 33 egg 34 sort of dairy-woman 35 was not 86 organs 37 mass-days 38 surer 39 lodging 40 horologe 41 he knew the time every hour of the day (for 15° of the equinoctial are passed each hour of the twenty-four) 42 so that it couldn't be improved upon 43 embattled 44 bill 45 Jet 46 toes 54 FOURTEENTH CENTURY And lyk the burnedi gold was his colour. This gentil cok hadde in his governaunce Sevene hennes, for to doon all his plesaunce, Whiche were his sustres and his paramours, And wonder lyk to him, as of2 colours. Of whiche the faireste hewed on hir throte Was clepeds faire damoysele Pertelote. 50 Curteys she was, discreet, and debonaire^. And compaignable, and bar hir-self so faire, Sin thilke day that she was seven night old. That trewely she hath the herte in hold Of Chauntecleer loken in every liths, He loved hir so, that wel him was therwith. But such a loye was it to here hem singe, Whan that the brighte sonne gan to springe. In swete accord, ' my lief is f aren in londe^. ' For thilke^ tyme, as I have understonde, 60 Bestes and briddes coude speke and singe. And so bifel, that in a dawenynge. As Chauntecleer among his wyves alle Sat on his perche, that was in the halle. And next him sat this faire Pertelote, This Chauntecleer gan gronen in his throte. As man that in his dreem is drecched^ sore. And whan that Pertelote thus herde him rore, She was agast, and seyde, 'o herte deere, What eyieth yow, to grone in this manere? 70 Ye ben a verray sleper, f y for shame ! ' And he answerde and seyde thus, 'raadame, I pray yow, that ye take it nat agriefo ; By God, me metteio I was in swich meschief Right now, that yet myn herte is sore afright. Now God,' quod he, *my swevenen redei2 aright. And keep my body out of foul prisoun! Me mette, how that I romed up and doun Withinne our yerde, wher as I saugh a beste, Was lyk an hound, and wolde han maad aresteia 80 Upon ray body, and wolde han had me deed. His colour was bitwixe yelwe and reed; And tipped was his tail, and bothe his eres With blak, unlyk the remenant of his heres; His snowte smal, with glowinge even tweye. Yet of his look for fere almost I deye; This caused me my groning. doutelea, ' 'Avoyi*!' quod she, 'fy on yow, hertelesis! Alias!' quod she, 'for, by that God above. Now han ye lost myn herte and al my love; 90 I can nat love a coward, by my feith. For certes, what so any womman seith. 1 bnrnished '■i In n'Hpe<'t to ^ named 't eracloiis B locked In pvory limb « my bclovod Is gone to the country, gone away T at that 8 troubled ami.ss 10 I dreamed 11 dream 12 Interpret 13 seizure 14 away 10 heartless one We alle desyren, if it mighte be, To han housbondes hardy, wyse, and freei«, And secreei^^ and no nigard, ne no fool, Ne him that is agast of every toolis, Ne noon avauntouris, by that God above! How dorste ye sayn for shame unto youre love. That any thing mighte make yow aferd? Have ye no mannes herte, and han a berd? 100 Alias! and conne ye been agast of swevenis? No-thing, God wot, but vanitee, in sweven is. Swevenes engendren of replecciouns, And ofte of fume, and of complecciouns2o, Whan humours2i been to22 habundant in a wight. Certes this dreem, which ye han met23 to-night, Cometh of the grete superfluitee Of youre rede colera^*, pardee. Which causeth folk to dremen in here25 dremes Of arwes26, and of fyr with rede lenies27j 110 Of grete bestes, that they wol hem byte. Of contek28j and of whelpes grete and lyte; Right as the humour of malencolye2o Causeth ful many a man, in sleep, to crye, For fere of blake beres, or boles3o blake, Or elles, blake develes wole him take. Of othere humours coude 1 telle also, That werken many a man in sleep ful wo; But I wol passe as lightly as I can. 119 Lo Catounsi, which that was so wys a man, Seyde he nat thus, ne do no fors32 of dremes? Now, sire,' quod she, 'whan we flee fro the hemes. For Goddes love, as33 tak som laxatyf ; Up peril of my soule, and of my lyf, I counseille yow the beste, I wol nat lye. That both of colere, and of malencolye^o Ye purge yow; and for ye shul nat tarie, Though in this toun is noon apotecarie, I shal my-self to herbes techen yow, 129 That shul ben for your hele, and for your prow84 ; And in our yerd tho herbes shal I fynde. The whiche han of here propretee, by kyndess, To purgen yow bincthe, and eek above. Forget not this, for Goddes owene love! Ye been ful colerik of compleccioun. Ware3« the sonne in his ascencioun Ne fynde yow nat repleet of humours bote; 28 their 26 arrows 27 glenms 28 contest 20 Due to excess of bile. :io bulls 81 nionyslus Cato rii t'lko no notice 3S do now (pleonastic) 34 profit ss nature 30 beware 16 liberal 17 trusty 18 weapon HI boaster 20 temperaments 21 The four causes and classes of disease (see Proloyui, 420). 22 too 28 dreamed 24 red cholera (caused by too much bile and blood) GEOrFKEY CHAUCER 55 And if it do, I dar wel leye a grotei, That ye shul have a fevere terciane^, Or an agu, that may be youre bane. 140 A day or two ye shul have digestyves Of wormes, er ye take your laxatyves, Of lauriol, centaure, and fumetere^, Or elles of ellebor*, that groweth there, Of eatapucea, or of gaytres* beryis. Of erbe yve, growing in our yerd, that mery is; Pekke hem up right as they growe, and ete hem in. Be mery, housbond, for your fader kyn! Dredeth no dreem ; I can say yow namore. ' 'Madame,' quod he, ' graunt mercy'! of your lore. But natheles, as touching dauns Catoun, 151 That hath of wisdom such a gret renoun. Though that he bad no dremes for to drede, By God, men may in olde bokes rede Of many a man, more of auctoritee Than evere Catoun was, so moot I thee^, That al the reversio seyn of this sentence^. And han wel founden by experience, That dremes ben significaciouns. As wel of loye as tribulaciouns 160 That folk enduren in this lyf present. Ther nedeth make of this noon argument ; The verray preve^^ sheweth it in dede. Oon of the gretteste auctours that men redeia Seith thus, that whylom two felawes wente On pilgrimage, in a ful good entente; And happed so, thay come into a toun, Wher as ther was swich congregacioun Of peple, and eek so streiti* of herbergageis, That they ne founde as muche as o cotage, 170 In which they bothe mighte y-logged be. Wherfor thay mosten, of necessitee. As for that night, departen compaignye; And ech of hem goth to his hostelrye, And took his logging as it wolde falle. That oon of hem was logged in a stalle, Feris in a yerd, with oxen of the plough; That other man was logged wel y-nough. As was his aventurei^, or his fortune, That us governeth alle as in communeis. 180 And so bifel, that, long er it were day. This man mette in his bed, ther as he lay. How that his felawe gan up-on him calle. And seyde, 'alias! for in an oxes stalle 1 wager a groat (four pence) 2 tertian (every third day) 3 laurel, centaury, fumi- tory 4 hellebore 5 spurge « dog-wood 7 great thanks 8 lord, master (Latin dominua) 9 so may I thrive (a strong affirmative ; cp. 1. 246) 10 opposite 11 opinion 12 proof IS Cicero 14 scant 15 lodging-places 16 afar 17 luck 18 Jn general This night I shal be mordred theri» I lye. Now help me, dere brother, or I dye; In alle haste com to me,' he sayde. This man out of his sleep for fere abraydeso; But whan that he was wakned of his sleep. He turned him, and took of this no keep2i, 190 Him thoughte22 his dreem nas but a vanitee. Thus twyes in his sloping dremed he. And atte thridde tyme yet his felawe Com, as him thoughte, and seide, 'I am now slawe23 ; Bihold my bloody woundes, depe and wyde! Arys up erly in the morwe-tyde24, And at the west gate of the toun,' quod he, *A carte ful of donge ther shaltow see. In which my body is hid ful prively; Do thilke carte arresten25 boldely. 200 My gold caused my mordre, sooth to sayn ; ' And tolde him every poynt how he was slayn. With a ful pitous face, pale of hewe. And truste wel, his dreem he fond ful trewe; For on the morwe, as sone as it was day, To his felawes in he took the way; And whan that he cam to this oxes stalle, After his felawe he bigan to calle. The hostiler answerde him anon, And seyde, 'sire, your felawe is agon, 210 As sone as day he wente out of the toun.' This man gan fallen in suspecioun, Kemembring on his dremes that he mette. And forth he goth, no longer wolde he lette2«, Unto the west gate of the toun, and fond A dong-carte, as it were to donge lond. That was arrayed in that same wyse As ye han herd the dede man devyseZT; And with an hardy herte he gan to crye Vengeaunce and lustiee of this felonye: — 220 'My felawe mordred is this same night, And in this carte he lyth gapinge upright. I crye out on the minL5tres28, ' quod he, 'That sholden kepe and reulen this citee; Harrow ! alias ! her lyth my felawe slayn ! ' What sholde I more unto this tale saynf The peple out-sterte, and caste the cart to grounde. And in the middel of the dong they founde The dede man, that mordred was al newe. 229 'O blisful God, that art so lust and trewe! Lo, how that thou biwreyest29 mordre alway! Mordre wol out, that se we day by day. Mordre is so wlatsomso and abhominable To God, that is so lust and resonable, 19 murdered where 20 started up 21 heed 22 it seemed to him 23 slain 24 morning-time 25 have . . stopped 26 delay 27 relate 28 officers 29 makest kaown 30 hateful 56 FOUETEENTH CENTUEY That he ne wol nat suffre it heledi be ; Though it abyde a yeer, or two, or three, Mordre wol out, this2 my conclusioun. And right anoon, ministres of that toun Han hent the carter, and so sore him pyneda, And eek the hostiler so sore engyned*-, 240 That thay biknewes hir wikkednesse anoon, And were an-hanged by the nekke-boon. 'Here may men seen that dremes been to drede. And certes, in the same book I rede, Bight in the nexte chapitre after this, (I gabbes nat, so have I loye or blis,) Two men that wolde han passed over see, For certeyn cause, into a fer contree, If that the wind ne hadde been contrarie. That made hem in a citee for to tarie, 250 That stood ful mery upon an haven-syde. But on a day, agayn^ the even-tyde, The wind gan chaunge, and blew right as hem leste. lolif and glad they wente un-to hir reste. And casten hems ful erly for to saille; But to that ooo man fel a greet mervailleio. That oon of hem, in sleping as he lay. Him mette a wonder dreem, agayn^ the day; Him thoughte a man stood by his beddes syde, And him comaunded, that he sholde abyden, And seyde him thus, *if thou to-morwe wende, 261 Thou shalt be dreynti2; my tale is at an ende. ' He wook, and tolde his felawe what he mette, And preyde him his viage for to letteiS; Asi* for that day, he preyde him to abyde. His felawe, that lay by his beddes syde, Gan for to laughe, and scorned him ful faste. 'No dreem,' quod he, 'may so myn herte agasteis, That I wol letteis for to do my thingesis. I sette not a straw by thy dreminges, 270 For swevenes been but vanitees and lapesi^. Men dreme al-dayis of owles or of apes, And eek of many a maseis therwithal; Men dreme of thing that nevere was ne shal. But sithzo I gee that thou wolt heer abyde, And thus for-8leuthen2i wilfully thy tyde, God wot it reweth22 me; and have good day.' And thus he took his leve, and wente his way. But er that he hadde halfe his cours v-seyled. 1 hidden 2 this is a tormented 4 racked R confeHsed • lie 7 townrd N planned » one 10 marvel 11 tarry 12 drowned 18 delay 1* at least 15 frighten 16 business matters IT Jests 18 all the time 10 wild fancy 20 since 21 lose through sloth 22 grievcth Noot23 I nat why, ne what mischaunce it eyled24^ But casuelly25 the shippes botme rente, 281 And ship and man under the water wente In sighte of othere shippes it byside. That with hem seyled at the same tyde. And therfor, faire Pertelote so dere, By swiche ensamples olde maistow26 lere^i, That no man sholde been to recchelees28 Of dremes, for I sey thee, doutelees. That many a dreem ful sore is for to drede. 'Lo, in the lyf of seint Kenelm, I rede, 290 That was Kenulphus sone, the noble king Of Mercenrike29, how Kenelm mette a thing; A lyteso er he was mordred, on a day. His mordre in his avisiounsi he say32. His norice33 him expouned every del His swevene, and bad him for to kepe him wel For34 traisoun; but he nas but seven yeer old. And therfore litel taless hath he told3« Of any dreem, so holy was his herte. By God, I hadde leveres^ than my sherte 300 That ye had radss his legende, as have I. Dame Pertelote, I sey yow trewely, Macrobeus, that writ the avisiounss In Affrike of the worthy Cipioun, Affermeth dremes, and seith that they been Warning of thinges that men after seen. And forther-more, I pray yow loketh wel In the olde testament, of Daniel, If he held dremes any vanitee. Reed eek of loseph, and ther shul ye see 310 Wher40 dremes ben somtyme (I sey nat alle) Warning of thinges that shul after falle. Loke of Egipt the king, daun*i Pharao, His bakere and his boteler-*2 also, Wher^o they ne felte noon effect in dremes. Who so wol seken actes^s of sondry remes** May rede of dremes many a wonder thing. 'Lo Cresus, whiQh that was of Lyde^s king, Mette he nat that he sat upon a tree, Which signified he sholde anhanged bef 320 Lo heer Andromacha, Ectores wyf, That day that Ector sholde lese^s his lyf, She dremed on the same night biforn, How that the lyf of Ector sholde be lorn*'. 23 know not 24 ailed it 26 accidentally 20 mayest thou 27 learn 28 careless 28 Mercla 30 little 31 vision 32 saw 33 nurse 34 for fonr of 86 heed 36 taken 87 rather 88 read 89 Cicero's Dream of Scipio, annotated by the grammarian Macroblus. 40 whether 41 lord 42 butler 48 the history 44 realms 46 Ly d 1 a (In Asia Minor) 46 lose 47 lost GEOFFREY CHAUCER 57 If thilke day he wente in-to bataille; She warned him, but it mighte nat availle; He wente for to fighte natheles, But he was slayn anoom of2 Achilles. But thilke tale is al to long to telle, And eek it is nys day, I may nat dwelle. 330 Shortly I seye, as for conclusioun, That I shal han of this avisioun Adversitee; and I seye forther-more, That I ne telle of laxatyves no store*. For they ben venimouss, I woot it wel; I hem defye, I love hem nevere a del. 'Now let us speke of mirthe, and stinte al this; Madame Pertelote, so have I bliss, Of o thing God hath sent me large grace; For whan I see the beautee of your face, 340 Ye ben so scarlet-reed about youre yen, It maketh al my drede for to dyen; For, also siker^ as In principio, Mulier est hominis conftisio^; Madame, the sentence of this Latin is — Womman is mannes loye and al his blis; I am so ful of loye and of solas 350 That I defye bothe sweven and dreem. ' And with that word he fley^ doun fro the beem. For it was day, and eek his hennea alle; And with a chuk he gan hem for to calle. For he had founde a corn, lay in the yerd. Roial he was, he was namore aferd; He loketh as it were a grim leoun; And on his toos he rometh up and doun, 360 Him deynedio not to sette his foot to grounde. He chukketh, whan he hath a corn y-founde, And to him rennenii thanne his wyves alle. Thus roial, as a prince is in his halle, Leve I this Chauntecleer in his pasture; And after wol I telle his aventure. Whan that the month in which the world bigan. That highte March, whan God first maked man, Was complet, and y-passed were also. Sin March bigan, thritty dayes and two, 370 Bifel that Chauntecleer, in al his pryde. His seven wyves walking by his syde. Caste up his eyen to the brighte sonne. That in the signe of Taurus hadde y-ronne Twenty degrees and oon, and somwhat more; And knew by kynde, and by noon other lore. 1 quickly 2by 3 nigh 4 set no value upon laxatives 5 poisonous 6 as I hope for bliss 7 sure 8 In the beginning wo- man is man's de- struction. 9 flew 10 he deigned 11 run That it was prymeiz, and crew with blisful steveneis. ' The Sonne, ' he sayde, * is clomben up on hevene Fourty degrees and oon, and more, y-wis. Madame Pertelote, my worldes blis, 380 Herkneth thise blisful briddesi* how they singe. And see the fresshe floures how they springe; Ful is myn hert of revel and solas.' But sodeinly him fil a sorweful casis; For evere the latter ende of loye is wo. God woot that worldly loye is sone agoi8; And if a rethori^ coude faire endyteis. He in a chronique sauflyi^ mighte it write, As for a sovereyn notabilitee2o. 389 Now every wys man, lat him herkne me; This storie is also trewe, I undertake2i. As is the book of Launcelot de Lake^a^ That wommen holde in ful gret reverence. Now wol I torne agayn to my sentence. A col23-fox, ful of sly iniquitee. That in the grove hadde woned yeres three, By heigh imaginacioun forn-cast24. The same night thurgh-out the heggesss brast26 Into the yerd, ther Chauntecleer the faire Was wont, and eek his wyves, to repaire; 400 And in a bed of wortes^^ stille he lay. Til it was passed undern28 of the day, Wayting his tyme on Chauntecleer to falle As gladly doon thise homicydes alle. That in awayt liggen29 to mordre men. O false mordrer, lurking in thy den! O newe Scariotso, newe Genilonsi! False dissimilour32, O Greek Sinonss, That broghtest Troye al-outrely3* to sorwe! O Chauntecleer, acursed be that morwe, 410 That thou into that yerd flough fro the hemes! Thou were ful wel y-warned by thy dremes, That thilke day was perilous to thee. But what that God forwotss mot nedes be, After the opinioun of certeyn clerkis. Witnesse onss him, that any perfit clerk is, That in scole is gret altercacioun In this matere, and greet disputisoun, 12 nine o'clock 13 voice 14 birds 15 fate 16 gone 17 rhetorician 18 relate 19 safely 20 a thing especially worthy to be known 21 affirm 22 A romance of chiv- a 1 r y, obviously false. 23 coal black 24 pre-ordained by the supreme conception 25 hedges 26 burst 27 herbs 28 about eleven a. m. 29 lie 30 Judas I sea riot 31 The traitor that caused the defeat of C h a r 1 emagne and the death of Roland. 32 deceiver 33 Designer of the wooden horse by which Troy was entered. 34 entirely 35 foreknows 36 by 58 FOURTEENTH CENTURY And hath ben of an hundred thousand men. But I ne can not bulte it to the breni, 420 As can the holy doctour Augustynz, Or Boece3, or the bishop Bradwardyn<, Whether that Goddes worthy forwiting Streyneths me nedely for to doon a thing, (Nedely clepe I simple necessitee) ; Or elles, if free choys be graunted me To do that same thing, or do it noght, Though God forwot it, er that it was wroght; Or if his witing streyneth nevere a del But by necessitee condicionels. 430 I wol not han to do of swich matere; My tale is of a cok, as ye may here, That took his counseil of his wyf, with sorwe, To walken in the yerd upon that morwe That he had met the dreem, that I of tolde. Wommennes counseils been ful ofte colde^; Wommannes counseil broghte us first to wo, And made Adam fro paradys to go, Ther as he was ful mery, and wel at ese. But for I noots, to whom it mighte displese. If I counseU of wommen wolde blame, 441 Passe over, for I seyde it in my game^. Rede auctours, wher they trete of swich matere, And what thay seyn of wommen ye may here. Thise been the cokkes wordes, and nat myne; I can noon harme of no womman divyne. Faire in the sond, to bathe hire merily, Lyth Pertelote, and alle hir sustres by, Agaynio the sonne; and Chauntecleer so free Song merier than the mermayde in the see ; 450 For Phisiologus" seith sikerly. How that they singen wel and merily. And so bifel, that as he caste his JB^^, Among the wortes, on a boterflye. He was war is of this fox that lay ful lowe. No-thing ne liste him thanne for to crowe. But cryde anon, 'cok, cok,' and up he sterte, As man that was aflfrayed in his herte. For naturelly a beest desyreth flee Fro his contraries, if he may it see, 460 Though he never erst had seyn it with his ye. This Chauntecleer, whan he gan him espyeis, 1 boult it to the bran ; i. e., thoroughly sift the question 2 St. Augustine s Boetbius, a Roman statesman and philosopher of the fifth century A. I). 4 Chancellor at Oxford in the fourteenth century. 8 foreknowledge con- strains 6 except by conditional (as opposed to sim- ple or absolute) necessity (The old question whether foreknowledge con- stitutes foreordina- tion.) 7 baneful 8 know not » Jest 10 In 11 Theobaldus" PhyHo- loauH, or "Natural History of Twelve Animals." 1 2 eyes 18 aware 14 opponent, foe 18 to espy He wolde han fled, but that the fox anon Seyde, 'Gentil sire, alias! wher wol ye gonf Be ye aflfrayed of me that am your freendf Now certes, I were worse than a feend. If I to yow wolde harm or vileinye. I am nat come your counseil for tespye; But trewely, the cause of my cominge Was only for to herkne how that ye singe. 470 For trewely ye have as mery a stevenei«, As eny aungel hath, that is in hevene; Therwith ye han in musik more felinge Than hadde Boece, or any that can singe. My lord your fader (God his soule blesse!) And eek your moder, of hir gentilesse, Han in myn hous y-been, to my gret esei^; And certes, sire, ful fayn wolde I yow plese. But for men speke of singing, I wol saye, So mote I broukeis wel myn eyen tweye, 480 Save yow, I herde nevere man so singe, As dide your fader in the morweninge; Certes, it was of herteis, al that he song. And for to make his voys the more strong, He wolde so peyne himzo, that with both his yen He moste winkezi, so loude he wolde cryen. And stonden on his tiptoon therwithal, And strecche forth his nekke long and smal. And eek he was of swich discrecioun, That ther nas no man in no regioun 490 That him in song or wisdom mighte passe. I have weel rad in daun22 Burnel the Asse, Among his vers, how that ther was a cok. For that a prestes sone yaf him a knok Upon his leg, whyl he was yong and nyce^s, He made him for to lese his benefyces*. But certeyn, ther nis no comparisoun Bitwix the wisdom and discrecioun Of your fader, and of his subtiltee. Now singeth, sire, for seinte charitee, 500 Let se, conne ye your fader countref ete f ' This Chauntecleer his winges gan to bete, As man that coude his tresoun nat espye, So was he ravisshed with his flaterye. Alias! ye lordes, many a fals flatourss Is in your eourtes, and many a lo3engeour2«. That plesen yow wel more, by my feith. Than he that soothfastnesse unto yow seith. Redeth EcclesiastezT of flaterye; Beth war, ye lordes, of hir trecherye. 510 16 voice 17 to my great pleas- ure ; 1. e., the fox had eaten them 18 have the use of 18 from his heart 20 strain himself 21 he must shut both eyes 22 lord (This was an old story.) 2.t foolish 24 1. e., by crowiuK so late that the youth did not awake in time 2R flatterer 20 deceiver 27 EccU'8ia8tic»8, xll. 10. GEOFFBEY CHAUCER 59 This Chauntecleer stood hye upon his toos, Strecehing bis nekke, and held his eyeu cloos, And gan to crowe loude for the nonesi ; And daun Russel^ the foxe sterte up at ones, And by the gargats hente Chauntecleer, And on his bak toward the wode him beer*, For yet ne was ther no man that him sewed^. O destinee, that mayst nat ben eschewed! Alias, that Chauntecleer fleigh fro the hemes! Alias, his wyf ne roghte^ nat of dremes! S20 And on a Friday fil al this meschaunce. O Venus, that art goddesse of plesaunce, Sin that thy servant was this Chauntecleer, Why woldestow suffre him on thy day to dye? O Gaufred, dere mayster soverayn^, That, whan thy worthy king Richard was slayn With shot, compleynedest his deth so sore. Why ne hadde I now thy sentence^ and thy lore. The Friday for to chide, as diden ye I 531 (For on a Friday sooth ly slayn was he.) Than wolde I sliewe yow how that I coude pleynefl For Chauntecleres drede, and for his peyne. Certes, swich cry ne lamentacioun Was nevere of ladies maad, whan Ilioun Was wonne, and Pirrusio with his streiten swerd. Whan he hadde hent king Priam by the berd, And slayn him (as saith us Eneydos)^-, As maden alle the hennes in the closis^ 540 Whan they had seyn of Chauntecleer the sighte. But sovereynlyi* dame Pertelote shrightei^^ Ful louder than dide Hasdrubalesis wyf, Whan that hir housbond hadde lost his lyf, And that the Romayns hadde brend Cartage, She was so ful of torment and of rage. That wilfully into the fyr she stertei^, And brendeis hir-selven with a stedfast herte. O woful hennes, right so cryden ye. As, whan that Nero brende the citee 550 Of Rome, cryden senatoures wyves. For that hir housbondes losten alle hir lyres; Withouten gilti9 this Nero hath hem slayn. Now wol I tome to my tale agayn: This sely2o widwe, and eek hir doghtres two. 1 occasion 2 As the ass was called Burnel because he is brown, so the fox was called Rus- sell because he is red. 3 throat 4 bore 5 followed 6 did not care for 7 Chaucer is making fun of an old writer, Geoffrey de Vin- sauf. 8 power of expression 9 complain 10 Pyrrhus 11 drawn 12 The Aeneid. 13 enclosure 14 surpassingly 15 shrieked 16 A king of Carthage. 17 leaped 18 burned 19 guilt 20 pious Herden thise hennes crye and maken wo, And out at dores sterten thay anoon, And syen the fox toward the grove goon, And bar upon his bak the cok away; And cryden, 'Out! harrow! and weylaway! 560 Ha, ha, the fox ! ' and after him they ran, And eek with staves many another man; Ran CoUe our dogge, and Talbot2i, and Ger- land2i, And Malkin22j with a distaf in hir hand; Ran cow and calf, and eek the verray hogges So were they fered for berking of the dogges And shouting of the men and wimmen eke, They ronne so, hem thoughte hir herte breke. They yelleden as feendes doon in helle; The dokes cryden as men wolde hem quelless; The gees for fere flowen over the trees; 571 Out of the hyve^ cam the swarm of bees ; So hidous was the noyse, a ! benedicite !-* Certes, he lakke Strawss^ and his meyneess^ Ne maden nevere shoutes half so shrille. Whan that they wolden any Fleming kille. As thilke day was maad upon the fox. Of bras thay broghten bemes27 and of box28j Of horn, of boon, in whiche they blewe and pouped29^ And therwithal thay shryked and they houpedso ; It semed as that hevene sholde falle. 581 Now, gode men, I pray yow herkneth alle! Lo, how fortune turneth sodeinly The hope and pryde eek of hir enemy! This cok, that lay upon the foxes bak. In al his drede, un-to the fox he spak, And seyde, 'sire, if that I were as ye. Yet sholde I seyn (as wissi God helpe me), Turneth agayn, ye proude cherles aUe! A verray pestilence up-on yow falle! 590 Now am I come un-to this wodes syde, Maugree32 your heed, the cok shal heer abyde; I wol him ete in f eith, and that anon. ' — The fox answerde, 'In feith, it shal be don,' — And as he spak that word, al sodeinly This cok brak from his mouth deliverlysa^ And heighe upon a tree he fleigh anon. And whan the fox saugh that he was y-gon, ' Alias ! ' quod he, ' O Chauntecleer, alias ! I have to yow,' quod he, 'y-doon trespas, 600 Tn-as-muche as I maked yow aferd, Whan I yow hente, and broghte out of the yerd; 21 a dog ( ?) 22 a servant girl 23 kill 24 bless ye 25 Jack Straw, leader with Wat Tyler in the Peasants' Re- volt of 1381 : said t o have killed "many Flemings," c o m p e t i tors in trade. 26 followers 27 horns 28 wood 2!) made a noise with a horn 30 whooped 31 certainly 32 in spite of 33 quickly 60 FOURTEENTH CENTURY 610 him 620 But, sire, I dide it in no wikkei entente; Cora doun, and I shal telle yow what I mente. I shal seye sooth to yow, God help me so.' * Nay than, ' quod he, ' I shrewes us bothe two, And first I shrewe my-self, bothe blood and bones. If thou bigyle me ofter than ones. Thou shalt namore, thurgh thy flaterye Do3 me to singe and winke with myn ye. For he that winketh, whan he sholde see, Al wilfully, God lat him never thee*! 'Nay,' quod the fox, 'but God yive meschaunce. That is so undiscreet of governaunce. That iangleths whan he sholde holde his pees.' Lo, swich it is for to be recchelees, And necligent, and truste on flaterye. But ye that holden this tale a folye, As of a fox, or of a cok and hen, Taketh the moralitee therof, good men. For seint Paul seith, that al that writen is, To our doctrynes it is y-write, y-wis. Taketh the fruyt, and lat the chaf be stille. Now, gode God, if that it be thy wille, As seith my lord, so make us alle good men; And bringe us to his heighe blisse. Amen". From THE LEGEND OF GOOD WOMEN. The Story of Thisbe op Babylon, Martyr Incipit Legende Tesha Bdbilon, Martiris At Babiloyne whilom fil it* thus, — The whiche toun the queene Semyramuss Leet dichen al about, and walles makeio Ful hye, of harde tiles wel y-bake: 709 There were dwellynge in this noble toune Two lordes, which that were of grete renoune, And wonedenii so neigh upon a grene, That ther nas but a stoon wal hem betwene, As ofte in grette tounes is the wone. And sooth to seyn, that o man had a sone, Of al that londe oon of the lustieste; That other had a doghtre, the faireste That esteward in the worlde was thoi2 dwellynge. 7 IS The name of everyeheis gan to other spryngei*, By wommen that were neyghebores aboute; For in that contre yit, withouten doute. 1 wicked 2 curse 3 cause 4 prosper 5 chatters 6 inRtructioD 7 A sort of tK'nedlctlon : the "my lord" re- fers probably to the Archbishop of Canterbury. 8 it happened B Bemiramis, wife of Xlnus, the myth- ical king and founder of Nine- veh. 10 caused to be sur- rounded by ditclies uud walls 11 dwelt (wone In 714 •—custom) 12 then IS each 14 came to the ears of the other Maydens ben y-kept for jelousye Ful streyteis, leste they diden somme folye. This yonge man was cleped Piramus, And Tesbe highte the maide, — Nasoi" seith thus. And thus by reporte was hir name y-shovei^. That as they wex in age, wex hir love. And certeyn, as by reson of hir age, Ther myghte have ben betwex hem mariage, But that hir fadres nokUs it not assente, 730 And both in love y-like score they brenteio, That noon of al hir frendes myghte it lette-o. But prevely2i somtyme yit they mette By sleight, and spoken somme of hir desire, As wre the glede22 and hotter is the fire; Forbeede a love, and it is ten so woode23. This wal, which that bitwixe hem bothe stoode, Was cloven a-two, right fro the toppe adoun, Of olde tyme, of his foundacioun. 739 But yit this clyfte was so narwe and lite24 It was nat seene, deere ynogh a myte^s; But what is that that love kannat espye? Ye lovers two, if that I shal nat lye, Ye founden first this litel narwe clifte, And with a soune as softe as any shryfte28, They leete hir wordes thurgh the clifte pace, And tolden, while they stoden in the place, Al hire compleynt of love, and al hire wo. At every tyme whan they dorste so. 749 Upon the o syde of the walle stood he, And on that other syde stood Tesbe, The swoote soun of other to receyve. And thus here27 wardeyn wokle they disceyve, And every day this walle they wolde threetezs^ And wisshe to God that it were doun y bete. Thus wolde they seyn: 'Alias, thou wikked walle ! Thurgh thyn envye thow us lettest29 alle! Why nyltow cleve3o, or fallen al a-two? Or at the leeste, but thow wouldest sosi, Yit woldestow but ones let us meete, 760 Or ones that we myghte kyssen sweete, Than were we covered^a of oure cares colde. But natheles, yit be we to thee holdess, In as muche as thou suffrest for to goon Our wordes thurgh thy lyme and eke thy stoon; 15 strictly 10 Ovid (Publius Ovid- lus Naso) in Meta- morphoses iv 55, flf., whence this story is taiipn. 17 their names were brought forward (literally pushed) 18 would not 10 burned •JO prevent 21 secretly 22 cover the glowing coal 23 ten times as pas- sionate 24 little 25 scarcely at all 20 confession 27 their 28 threaten 20 hinderest 30 wilt thou not cleave in two 81 if thou wouldest not do that 32 recovered S3 beholden GEOFFEEY CHAUCER 61 Yet oghte we with the ben wel apayedei.' And whan these idel wordes weren sayde, The colde walle they wolden kysse of stoon, And take hir leve, and forth they wolden goon. And this was gladly in the evetyde, 770 Or wonder erly, lest men it espyede. And longe tyme they wroght in this manere, Til on a day, whan Phebuss gan to cleres — Aurora with the stremes of hire hete* Had dried uppe the dewe of herbes wete — Unto this clyfte, as it was wont to be, Come Piramus, and after come Tesbe. And plighten trouthes fully in here faye^, That ilke same nyght to Steele awaye, And to begile hire wardeyns everychone, 780 And forth out of the citee for to gone. And, for the feeldes ben so broode and wide, For to meete in o place at o tyde They sette markes, hire metyng sholde bee TherT kyng Nynus was gravens, under a tree, — For olde payenss, that ydOles heriedeio, Useden tho in feeldes to ben beriedeii, — And faste by his grave was a welle. And, shortly of this tale for to telle. This covenaunt was aflfermed wonder faste, 790 And longe hem thoghte that the sonne laste, That it nere goonis under the see adoun. This Tesbe hath so greete affeceioun. And so grete lykynge Piramus to see, That whan she seigh hire tyme myghte bee, At nyght she staleis awey ful prevely. With hire face y-wympled subtilly. For al hire frendes, for to save hire trouthe. She hath forsake; alias, and that is routhei*, That ever woman wolde be so trewe 800 To trusten man, but she the bet hym knewei^ ! And to the tree she goth a ful goode paas^o, For love made hir so hardy in this caas; And by the welle adoun she gan hir dresseiT. Alias! than comith a wilde leonesse Out of the woode, withouten more arresteis. With blody mouth, of strangelynge of a beste, To drynken of the welle ther as she sat. And whan that Tesbe had espyed that. She rysti9 hir up, with a ful drery herte, 810 And in a cave with dredful foot she sterte. For by the moone she saugh it wel withalle. And as she ranne, hir wympel leet she falle, And tooke noon hede, so sore she was awhaped20j 1 pleased 2 Apollo, the sun-god s shine clearly 4 heat 5 troth 6 faith 7 where 8 burled » pagans 10 worshipped 11 then used to be buried in fields 12 were not gone 13 stole 14 pity 15 unless she knew him better 16 quickly 17 took her station 18 delay 18 riseth And eke so glade that she was escaped; And ther she sytte, and darketh^i wonder stille. Whan that this lyonesse hath dronke hire fille, Aboute the welle gan she for to wynde22^ And ryght anon the wympil gan she fynde, And with hir blody mouth it al to-rente. 820 Whan this was don, no lenger she ne stente23, But to the woode hir wey than hath she nome24. And at the laste this Piramus is come. But al to longe, alias, at home was hee! The moone shone, men myghte wel y-see, And in his wey, as that he come ful faste, His eyen to the grounde adoun he caste; And in the sonde as he behelde adoun2">, He seigh the steppes broode of a lyoun; And in his herte he sodeynly agroos^u, 830 And pale he wex, therwith his heer aroos, And nere he come, and founde the wympel tome. 'Alias,' quod he, 'the day that I was borne! This nyght wol us lovers bothe slee! How shulde I axen mercy of Tesbee, Whan I am he that have yow slayne, alias? My byddyng hath i-slayn yow in this caas! Alias, to bidde a woman goon by nyghte In place ther as27 peril fallen myghte! And I so slowe! alias, I ne hadde be28 840 Here in this place, a furlong wey or ye29 ! Now what lyon that be in this foreste. My body mote he rentenso^ or what beste That wilde is, gnawen mote he now my herte ! ' And with that worde he to the wympel sterte. And kiste it ofte, and wepte on it ful sore; And seyde, 'Wympel, alias! ther nys no moresi. But thou shalt feele as wel the blode of me. As thou hast felt the bledynge of Tesbe. ' And with that worde he smot hym to the herte; 850 The blood out of the wounde as brode sterte As water, whan the conduyte broken is. Now Tesbe, which that wyste32 nat of this, But syttyng in hire drede, she thoghte thus: 'If it so falle that my Piramus Be comen hider, and may me nat y-fynde, He may me holden f als, and eke unkynde. ' And oute she comith, and after hym gan espien Bothe with hire herte and with hire eyen; And thoghte, *I wol him tellen of my drede, Bothe of the lyonesse and al my dede. ' 861 And at the laste hire love than hath she founde, Betynge with his helisss on the grounde, Al blody; and therwithal abak she sterte, 20 amazed 21 lies hid 22 roam 23 stopped 24 taken 25 looked down 26 shuddered 27 where 28 that I had not been 29 a short time before you 30 may he rend 31 nothing remains 32 who knew •13 i. e., still pulsating FOURTEENTH CENTURY And lyke the wawesi quappez gan hir herte, And pale as boxes she wax, and in a throwe* Avised hirs, and gan him wel to knowe, That it was Piramus, hire herte dere. Who koude write which a dedely chere Hath Tesbe nowf and how hire heere^ she rente? 870 And how she gan hir-selve to turmentef And how she lyth and swowneth on the groundet And how she wepe of teres f ul his wounde ? How medleth^ she his blood with hir com- pleyntet How with his blood hir-selven gan she peyntel How clippeths she the dede corps? alias! How doth this woful Tesbe in this cas? How kysseth she his frosty mouthe so colde? Who hath don this? and who hath ben so bolde 879 To sleen my leefe? O speke, Piramus! I am thy Tesbe, that thee calleth thus ! ' And therwithal she lyfteth up his heed. This woful man, that was nat fully deed. Whan that he herde the name of Tesbe crien», On hire he caste his hevy dedely eyen, And doun agayn, and yeldeth up the goste. Tesbe rist uppe, withouten noyse or bosteio, And saugh hir wympel and his empty shethe, And eke his swerde, that him hath don to dethe. Than spake she thus: * Thy woful hande, ' quod she, 890 'Is strong ynogh in swiche a werke to me; For love shal me yive strengthe and hardy- nesse, To make my wounde large ynogh, I gesse. I wole then folowen ded, and I wol be Felawe and cause eke of thy deeth, ' quod she. 'And thogh that nothing save the deth only Myghte the fro me departed 2 trewely, Thou shal no more departe now fro me Than fro the deth, for T wol go with the. 'And now, ye wrecched jelouse fadres oure, W6, that weren whilome children youre, 901 We prayen yow, withouten more envye. That in o grave i-fereis we moten lye, Syn love hath broght us to this pitouse ende. And ryghtwis God to every lover sende, That loveth trewely, more prosperite Than ever hadde Piramus and Tesbe. And let no gentile woman hire assure. To putten hire in swiche an fiventure. But God forbede but a woman kan 910 Ben also trewe and lovynge as a man, And for my parte I shal anon it kythei* ! ' And with that worde his swerde she took as switheis, That warme was of hire loves blood, and hole, And to the herte she hire-selven smote. And thus are Tesbe and Piramus agoie. Of trewe men I fynde but fewe mo In al my bookes, save this Piramus, And therfore have I spoken of hym thus For it is deyntee to us men to fyncie 920 A man that kan in love be trewe and kynde. Here may ye seen, what lover so he be, A woman dar and kan as wel as he. THE COMPLEYNT OF CHAUCER TO HIS PURSE To you, my purse, and to noon other wyght Compleyne I, for ye be my lady dere! I am so sorry now that ye been light ; For, eertes, but ye make me hevy cherei^^ Me were as leef be leyd upon my bereis. For whiche unto your mercy thus I crye, — Bethi9 hevy ageyn, or elles motzo I dye! Now voucheth sauf2i this day or hit22 be nyght, That I of you the blisful soun23 may here24. Or see your colour lyk the sonne bright, 10 That of yelownesse hadde never peress, Ye be my lyf ! ye be myn hertes stere26! Quene of comfort and of good companye! Beth hevy ageyn, or elles mot I dye. Now, purse, that be to me my lyves light And saveour, as doun27 in this worlde here. Out of this toun help me throgh your myght, Syn28 that ye wole not been my tresorere2C; For I am shave as nye as is a freres". But yet I pray unto your curtesye, 20 Beth hevy ageyn, or elles mot I dye! L'Envoye De Chaucer O conquerour of Brutes AlbiounSi, Which that by lyne and free eleccioun Ben verray kyng, this song to you I sende. And ye that mowenS2 al myn harm amende. Have mynde upon my supplicacioun ! 1 WflTPS 2 flutter « box-wood 4 moment • coDildered « hair 7 mlngleth 8 embracetb 9 spoken 10 outcry 11 thee 12 separate 18 together 14 show 15 quickly 16 gone 17 unless you put on for me a lieavy look (with a play on the word heavy, which usually in this connection means sad) 18 I would as soon he laid upon my bier 19 be 20 must 21 vouchsafe, grant 22 before it 23 sound 24 hear 26 peer 26 helm, guide 27 down 28 since 29 treasurer so shaven as close ns a friar (terribly hard pinched) 31 Henry IV. had just been made king. Brutus was a legendary klnu <>f England (Albion). .12 can THE TRAVELS OF SIR JOHN MANDEVILLE 63 From THE TRAVELS OF SIR JOHN MANDEVILLE* Prologue Forasmuch as the land beyond the sea, that is to say the Holy Land, that men call the Land of Promission or of Behesti, passing all other lands, is the most worthy land, most excellent, and lady and sovereign of all other lands, and is blessed and hallowed of the precious body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ; in the which land it liked him to take flesh and blood of the Virgin Mary, to environs that holy land with his blessed feet; . . . and forasmucli as it is long time passed that there was no general passage ne voyage over the sea; ami many men desire for to hear speak of the Holy Land, and have thereof great solace and com fort; — I, John Mandeville, Knight, albeit I be not worthy, that was born in England, in the town of St, Albans, and passed the sea in the year of our Lord Jesu Christ, 1322, in the day of St. Michael; and hitherto have been long time over the sea, and have seen and gone through many diverse lands, and many prov- inces and kingdoms and isles; and have passed throughout Turkey, Armenia the little and the great; through Tartary, Persia, Syria, Arabia, Egypt the high and the low; through Libya, Chaldea, and a great part of Ethiopia; through Amazonia, Ind the less and the moret, a great part; and throughout many other isles that be about Ind, where dwell many diverse folks, and of diverse manners and laws, and of diverse shapes of men; ... I shall tell the way that they shall hold thither. For I have oftentimes passed and ridden that way, with good company of many lords. God be thanked ! And ye shall understand that^ I have put this book out of Latin into French, and trans- lated it again out of French into English, that every man of my nation may understand it. But lords and knights and other noble and worthy men that cons Latin but little, and 1 Land of Promise 3 know 2 go about • This book, which was extremely popular in its day, was accepted then and long after In good faith. We now know it to be mainly a com- pilation from other books of travel, Ingeniously passed off as a record of original experience. "Mandeville" is probably a fictitious name. The oldest MS. is in French, dated 1371. The English translation from which our selec- tions are taken was made after 1400, and therefore represents the language of the gen- eration succeeding Chaucer. The spelling is modernized. See Eng. Lit., p. 44. t Mandeville here couples the fabulous land of the Amazons with the actual Lesser and Greater India. have been beyond the sea, know and under- stand if I say truth or no, and if I err in devising*, for forgetting or else, that they may redress it and amend it. For things passed out of long time from a man 's mind or from his sight, turn soon into forgetting; because thats the mind of man ne may not be com- prehended ne withholden, for the frailty of mankind.J Of the Ceoss op due Loed Jesu Cheist At Constantinople is the cross of our Lord Jesu Christ, and his coat without seams, that is elept tunica inconsutilis^, and the sponge, and the reed, of the which the Jews gave our Lord eisel'' and gall, ins the cross. And there is one of the nails that Christ was nailed with on the cross. And some men trow that half the cross, that Christ was done on, be in Cyprus, in an abbey of monks, that men call the Hill of the Holy Cross; but it is not so. For that cross, that is in Cyprus, is the cross in the which Dismas the good thief was hanged on. But all men know not that; and that is evil y-done9. For for profit of the offering they say that it is the cross of our Lord Jesu Christ. And ye shall understand that the cross of our Lord was made of four manner of trees, as it is contained in this verse, — In cruce -fit pahna, cedrus, cypressus, oliva. For that piece that went upright from the earth to the head was of cypress; and the piece that went over- thwart, to the which his hands were nailed, was of palm; and the stock, that stood within the earth, in the which was made the mortise, was of cedar; and the table above his head, that was a foot and an half long, on the which the title was written in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin, that was of olive. . . . And the Christian men, that dwell beyond the sea, in Greece, say that the tree of the cross, that we call cypress, was of that tree that Adam ate the apple off; and that find they written. And they say also that their scripture saith that Adam was sick, and said to his son Seth, that he should go to the angel that kept Paradise, that he would send him oil of mercy, for to anoint with his members, that he might have health. And Seth went. But the angel would not let him come in; but said 4 relating 5 because 6 called "the tunic nn- sewn" 7 vinegar t Possibly "Sir John" means to give the reader a sly hint here that it is also one of the frail- ties of mankind to tell big stories. 8 on 9 Old past participle ; y equals German ge. 64 FOURTEENTH CENTUEY to him, that he might not have the oil of mercy. But he took hira three grains of the same tree that Ids father ate the apple off; and bade hiin, as soon as his father was dead, that he should put these three grains under his tongue, and graved hira so: and so he did. And of these three grains sprang a tree, as the angel said that it should, and bare a fruit, through the which fruit Adam should be saved. And when Seth came again, he found his father near dead. And when he was dead, he did with the grains as the angel bade him; of the which sprung three trees, of the which the cross was made, that bare good fruit and blessed, our Lord Jesu Christ; through whom Adam and all that come of him should be saved and deliv- ered from dread of death without end, but2 it be their own default. How Roses came first into the World And a little from Hebron is the mount of Mamre, of the which the valley taketh his name. And there is a tree of oak, that the Saracens clepes Dirpc, that is of Abraham's time: the which men clepe the Dry Tree, And they say that it hath been there since the be- ginning of the world, and was some-time green and bare leaves, unto the time that our Lord died on the cross, and then it dried: and so did all the trees that were then in the world. And some say, by their prophecies, that a lord, a prince of the west side of the world, shall win the Land of Promission, that is the Holy Land, with help of Christian men, and he shall do sing* a mass under that dry tree; and then the tree shall wax green and bear both fruit and leaves, and through that miracle many Jews and Saracens shall be turned to Christian faith: and therefore they do great worship thereto, and keep it full busily^. And, albeit so, that it be dry, natheless^ yet he^ beareth great virtue, for certainly he that hath a little thereof upon him, it healeth him of the falling evil, and his horse shall not be afoundered. And many other virtues it hath; wherefore men hold it full precious. From Hebron men go to Bethlehem in half a day, for it is but five mile; and it is full fair way, by plains and woods full delectable. Bethlehem is a little city, long and narrow and well walled, and in each side enclosed with good ditches: and it was wont to be clept Ephrata, as holy writ saith, Ecce, audivimus eum in Ephrata, that is to say, 'Lo, we heard 1 bury 2 linlPKS s call 4 cause to be sung 8 very attentively 6 nevertheless Tit him in Ephrata.' And toward the east end of the city is a full fair church and a gracious, and it hath many towers, pinnacles and cor- ners, full strong and curiously made; and within that church be forty-four pillars of marble, great and fair. And between the city and the church is the field Floridus, that is to say, the 'field flour- isheds. ' Forasmuch as a fair maiden was blamed with wrong, and slandered; for which cause she was demned to death, and to be burnt in that place, to the which she was led. And as the fire began to burn about her, she made her prayers to our Lord, that as wisely» as she was not guilty of that sin, that he would help her and make it to be known to all men, of his merciful grace. And when she had thus said, she entered into the fire, and anon was the fire quenched and out; and the brands that were burning became red rose-trees, and the brands that were not kindled became white rose-trees, full of roses. And these were the first rose-trees and roses, both white and red, that ever any man saw; and thus was this maiden saved by the grace of God. And there- fore is that field clept the field of God flour- ished, for it was full of roses. How the Earth and Sea be of round Form AND Shape, by proof of the Star that IS CLEPT Antarctic, that is FIXED IN the South* In that land, ne in many other beyond that, no man may see the Star Transmontane, that is clept the Star of the Sea, that is unmovable and that is toward the north, that we clepe the Lode-star. But men see another star, the con- trary to hira, that is toward the south, that is clept Antarctic. And right as the ship-men take their advice here and govern them by the Lode-star, right so do the men beyond those parts by the star of the south, the which star appeareth not to us. And this star that is toward the north, that we clepe the Lode-star, ne appeareth not to them. For which cause men may well perceive that the land and the sea be of round shape and form; for the part of the firmament showeth in one country that showeth not in another country. And men may well prove by experience and subtle compass- ment of wit, that if a man found passages by ships that would go to search the world, men might go by ship all about the world and above and beneath. s In flower » certainly • An example of the speculations that were rire long before Columbus undertook his voyage. THE TRAVELS OF SIR JOHN MANDEVHiLE 65 The which thing I prove thus after that I have seen. For I have been toward the parts of Brabanti, and beholden the Astrolabe that the star that is clept the Transmontane is fifty- three degrees high ; and more further in Al- mayne2 and Bohemia it hath fifty-eight de- grees; and more further toward the parts sep- tentrionals it is sixty- two degrees of height and certain minutes; for I myself have measured it by the Astrolabe. Now shall ye know, that against the Transmontane is the tother star that is clept Antartie, as I have said before. And those two stars ne move never, and by them turneth all the firmament right as doth a wheel that turneth by his axle-tree. So that those stars bear the firmament in two equal parts, so that it hath as much above as it hath beneath. After this I have gone toward the parts merid- ional, that is, toward the south, and I have found that in Libya men see first the star Antarctic. And so far I have gone more fur- ther in those countries, that I have found that star more high; so that toward the High Libya it is eighteen degrees of height and certain minutes (of the which sixty minutes make a degree). After going by sea and by land to- ward this country of that I have spoken, and to other isles and lands beyond that country, I have found the Star Antarctic of thirty-three degrees of height and more minutes. And if I had had company and shipping for to go more beyond, I trow well, in certain, that we should have seen all the roundness of the firmament all about. . . . And wit well, that, after that* I may per- ceive and comprehend, the lands of Prester John,* Emperor of Ind, be under us. For in going from Scotland or from England toward Jerusalem men go upwards always. For our land is in the low part of the earth toward the west, and the land of Prester John is in the low part of the earth toward the east. And they have there the day when we have the night; and also, high to the contrary, they have the night when we have the day. For the earth and the sea be of round form and shape, as I have said before; and that that men go upward to one coasts, men go downward to another coast. Also ye have heard me say that Jerusalem is in the midst of the world. And that may men prove, and show there by a spear, that is 1 Holland * And know well that, 2 Germany according to what 3 north 5 and that as men go upward to one re- gion • Prester is "presbyter," an elder or priest. This fabulous Christian monarch was supposed to have conquered the Saracens in the East. pights into the earth, upon the hour of mid- day, when it is equinox, that showeth no shad- ow on no side. And that it should be in the midst of the world, David witnesseth it in the Psalter, where he saith, Deus operatus est salutem in medio terraeJ Then, they that part from those parts of the west for to go toward Jerusalem, as many joumeys^ as they go upward for to go thither, in as many jour- neys may they go from Jerusalem unto other confines of the superficialty of the earth be- yond. And when men go beyond those jour- neys toward Ind and to the foreign isles, all is environings the roundness of the earth and of the sea under our countries on this half. And therefore hath it befallen many times of one thing that I have heard countedio when I was young, how a worthy man departed some- time from our countries for to go search the world. And so he passed Ind and the isles be- yond Ind, where be nore than 5000 isles. And so long he went by sea and land, and so en- vironed the world by many seasons, that he found an isle where he heard speak his own language, calling an oxen in the plough such words as men speak to beasts in his own coun- try; whereof he had great marvel, for he knew not how it might be. But I say that he had gone so long by land and by sea, that he had environed all the earth ; that he was come again environing, that is to say, going about, unto his own marchesii, and if he would have passed further, he would have found his country and his own knowledge. But he turned again from thence, from whence he was come from. And so he lost much painful labor, as himself said a great whUe after that he was come home. For it befell after, that he went into Norway. And there tempest of the sea took him, and he arrived in an isle. And when he was in that isle, he knew well that it was the isle where he had heard speak his own language before, and the calling of oxen at the plow; and that was possible thing. But now it seemeth to simple men unlearned, that men ne may not go under the earth, and also that men should fall toward the heaven from under. But that may not be, upon less thani2 we may fall toward heaven from the earth where we be. For from what part of the earth that men dwell, either above or beneath, it seemeth always to them that dwell that they 6 set 7 The Lord wrought sal- vation In the midst lO recounted of the earth. (See n borders Psalms, 74 :12.) 12 unless 8 days' travel 9 they are all the while encircling 66 FOURTEENTH CENTURY go more right than any other folk. And right as it seemeth to us that they be under us, right so it seemeth to them that we be under them. For if a man might fall from the earth unto the firmament, by greater reason the earth and the sea that be so great and so heavy should fall to the firmament: but that may not be, and therefore saith our Lord God, Non timeas me, qui suspendi terrain ex nihilo!^^ And albeit that it be possible thing that men may so environ all the world, natheless, of a thousand persons, one ne might not happen to return into his country. For the greatness of the earth and of the sea, men may go by a thousand and a thousand other ways, that no man could ready himi* perfectly toward the parts that he came from, but if it were by ad- venture and hap, or by the grace of God. For the earth is full large and full great, and holds in roundness and about environis, by above and by beneath, 20425 miles, after the opinion of old wise astronomers; and their sayings I reprove nought. But, after my little wit, it seemeth me, saving their reverence, that it is more. And for to have better understanding I say thus. Be there- imagined a figure that hath a great compass. And, about the point of the great compass that is clept the centre, be made another little compass. Then after, be the great compass devised by lines in many parts, and that all the lines meet at the centre. So, that in as many parts as the great compass shall be departedis, in as many shall be de- parted the little, that is about the centre, albeit that the space be less. Now then, be the great compass represented for the firma- ment, and the little compass represented for the earth. Now then, the firmament is devised by astronomers in twelve signs, and every sign is devised in thirty degrees; that is, 360 degrees that the firmament hath above. Also, be the earth devised in as many parts as the firmament, and let every part answer to a de- gree of the firmament. And wit it well, that, after the authors of astronomy, 700 furlongs of earth answer to a degree of the firmament, and those be eighty-seven miles and four fur- longs. Now be that here multiplied by 360 Bithes'T, and then they be 31,500 miles everyis of eight furlongs, afterJ» miles of our country. So much hath the earth in roundness and of 18 Have no fear of me, who hanged the earth upon nothing. (See Job, 26:7.) 14 direct himself 15 approximately 16 divided 17 timos i« each 10 according to height environ, after mine opinion and mine understanding. Op the Trees that Bear Meal, Honey, Wine, AND Venom; and of Other Marvels After that isle, in going by sea, men find another isle, good and great, that men clepe Patheni, that is a great kingdom full of fair cities and full of towns. In that land grow trees that grow meal, whereof men make good bread and white and of good savor; and it seemeth as it were of wheat, but it is not al- Iinges2 of such savor. And there be other trees that bear honey good and sweet, and other trees that bear venom, against the which there is no medicine but one; and that is to take their propers leaves and stamp them and temper them with water and then drink it, and else he shall die; for triacle* will not avail, ne none other medicine. Of this venom the Jews had let seek ofs one of their friends for to em- poison all Christianity, as I have heard them say in their confession before their dying: but thanked be Almighty God ! they failed of their purpose ; but always theyo make great mortality of people. And other trees there be also that bear wine of noble sentiment^. And if you like to hear how the meal cometh out of the trees I shall say you. Men hew the trees with an hatchet, all about the foot of the tree, till that the bark be parted in many parts, and then cometh out thereof a thick liquor, the which they receive in vessels, and dry it at the heat of the sun; and then they have it to a mill to grind and it becometh fair meal and whites. And the honey and the wine and the venom be drawn out of other trees in the same manner, and put in vessels for to keep. In that isle is a dead sea, that is a lake that hath no ground^: and if anything fall into that lake it shall never come up again. In that lake grow reeds, that be canes, that they clepe Thabyio, that be thirty fathoms long; and of these canes men make fair houses. And there be other canes that be not so long, that grow near the land and have so long roots that en- dure well a four quarters" of a furlong or lelon of the I<]ast Indies ; the island described just before this is .Tava. But India and China are themselves spoken of as islands. ■i altogether ■5 own » Or treacle ; a com- pound in ancient medicine supposed to be a universal antidote. 5 had caused to be sought by a i.e., the venomous trees 7 taste 8 Tapioca is prepared thus from cassava roots. 9 bottom 10 bamboos 11 extend quite one- fourth (?) THE TRAVELS OF SIB JOHN MANDEVILLE 67 more; and at the knots of those roots men find precious stones that have great virtues. And he that beareth any of them upon him, iron ne steel may not hurt him, ne draw no blood upon him; and therefore, they that have those stones upon them fight full hardily both upon sea and land, for men may not harm them on no part. And therefore, they that know the manner, and shall fight with them, they shoot to them arrows and quarrels without iron or steel, and so they hurt them and slay them. And also of those canes they make houses and ships and other things, as we have here, making houses and ships of oak or of any other trees. And deem no man that I say it but for a trifle, for I have seen of the canes with mine own eyes, full many times, lying upon the river of that lake, of the which twenty of our fellows ne might not lift up ne bear one to the earth. Or THE Paradise Terbestbial And beyond the land and the isles and the deserts of Prester John's lordship, in going straight toward the east, men find nothing but mountains and rocks, full great. And there is the dark region, where no man may see, neither by day ne by night, as they of the country say. And that desert and that place of darkness dure from this coast unto Paradise terrestrial, where thati Adam, our foremostz father, and Eve were put, that dwelled there but little while; and that is towards the east at the be- ginning of the earth. But that is not that east that we clepe our east on this half, wh<»re the sun riseth to us. For when the sun is east in those parts towards Paradise terrestrial, it is theti midnight in our part on this half, for the roundness of the earth, of the which I have toucheds to you of before. For our Lord God made the earth all round in the mid place of the firmament. And there asi mountains and bills be and valleys, that is not but only of* Noah's flood, that wasted the soft ground and the tender, and fell down into valleys, and the hard earth and the rocks abide' mountains, Mhen the soft earth and tender waxed nesh« through the water, and fell and became valleys. Of Paradise ne can I not speak properly. For I was not there. It is far beyond. And that forthinketh me^. And also I was not worthy. But as I have heard say ofs wise men beyond, I shall tell you with good wilL 1 where 5 remained 2 first « soft 3 related 7 causes me regret 4 from nothing else than s by Paradise terrestrial, as wise men say, is the highest place of earth, that is in all the world. And it is so high that it toucheth nigh to the circle of the moon, there as the moon maketh her turn; for she is so high that the flood of Xoah ne might not come to her, that would have covered all the earth of the world all about and above and beneath, save Paradise only alone. And this Paradise is enclosed all about with a wall, and men wit not whereof it is; for the walls be covered all over with moss, as it seemeth. And it seemeth not that the wall is stone of nature, ne of none other thing that the wall is. And that wall stretcheth from the south to the north, and it hath not but one entry that» is closed with fire, burning; so that no man that is mortal ne dare not enter. And in the most high place of Paradise, even in the middle place, is a well that casteth out the four floods that run by divers lands. Of the which the first is clept Pison, or Ganges, that is all one; and it runneth throughout Ind or Emlak, in the which river be many precious stones, and much of lignum aloes lo and much gravel of gold. And that other river is clept Nilus or Gison, that goeth by Ethiopia and after by Egypt. And that other is clept Tigris, that runneth by Assyria and by Armenia the great. And that other is clept Euphrates, that runneth also by Media and Armenia and by Persia. And men there beyond say, that all the sweet waters of the world, above and be- neath, take their beginning of the well of Para- dise, and out of that well all waters come and go. The first river is clept Pison, that is to say in their language, Assembly; for many other rivers meet them there, and go into that river. And some men clepe it Ganges, for a king that was in Ind, that hight" Gangeres, and that it ran throughout his land. And that water is in some place clear, and in some place troubled, in some place hot, and in some place cold. The second river is clept Nilus or Gison; for it is always troubleiz; and Gison, in the lan- guage of Ethiopia, is to say, tronble, and in the language of Egypt also. The third river, that is clept Tigris, is as much for to say as, fast-running; for he run- neth more fast than any of the tother; and also there is a beast, that is clept Tigris, that is fast-running. The fourth river is clept Euphrates, that is to say, well-bearing; for here grow many goods 9 which 10 A fragrant oriental wood. 11 was called 12 troabled, murky 6S FOUKTEENTH CENTUEY upon that river, as corn, fruits, and other goods enough plenty. And ye shall understand that no man that is mortal ne may not approach to that Paradise. For by land no man may go for wild beasts that be in the desert, and for the high moun- tains and great huge rocks that no man may pass by, for the dark places that be there, and that many. And by the rivers may no man go. For the water runneth so rudely and so sharply, because that it cometh down so outrageously from the high places above, that it runneth in so great waves, that no ship may not row ne sail against it. And the water roareth so, and maketh so huge a noise and so great tempest, that no man may hear other in the ship, though he cried with all the craft that he could in the highest voice that he might. Many great lords have assayed with great will, many times, for to pass by those rivers towards Paradise, with full great companies. But they might not speed on their voyage. And many died for weariness of rowing against those strong waves. And many of them became blind, and many deaf, for the noise of the water. And some were perished and lost within the waves. So that no mortal man may approach to that place, without special grace of God, so that of that place I can say you no more; and therefore I shall hold me still, and return to that that I have seen. Conclusion And ye shall understand, if it like you, that at mine home-coming I came to Rome, and showed my life to our holy father the pope, and was assoiledi of all that lay in my conscience, of many a diverse grievous point; as men must needs that be in company, dwelling amongst so many a diverse folk of diverse sect and of be- lief, as I have been. And amongst all I showed him this treatise, that I had made after in- 1 absolved formation of men that knew of things that I had not seen myself, and also of marvels and customs that I had seen myself, as far as God would give me grace; and besought his holy fatherhood that my book might be examined and proved by the advice of his said council. And our holy father, of his special grace, re- mitted my book to be examined and proved by the advice of his said counsel. By the which my book was proved for true, insomuch that they showed me a book, that my book was ex- amined by, that comprehended full more, by an hundred part, by the which the Mappa Mundi2 was made after. And so my book (albeit that many men ne list not to give credence to nothing but to that that they see with their eye, ne be the author ne the person never so true) is affirmed and proved by our holy father, in manner and form as I have said. And I, John Mandeville, knight, abovesaid (although I be unworthy), that departed fr bosh withstand twelve 20 broom (heather) 13 it pleases me 21 for 14 sboot for a penny 22 shoes 15 linden 2S strange i« unless for each one ** gave the lie to that 70 FIFTEENTH AND EARLY SIXTEENTH CENTURIES 'Thou shuldis by25 hit ful sore; Get the a man wher thou wit, For thou getis me no more.' 16 Then Robyn goes to Notyngham, Hym selfe mornyng allone, And LituU John to mery Scherwode, The pathes he knew ilkone^^. 17 Whan Eobyn came to Notyngham, Sertenly withouten layn27, He prayed to God and myld Mary To bryng hym out savezs agayn. 18 He gos in to Seynt Mary chirch, And kneled down before the rode29; Alle that ever were the church within Beheld wel Eobyn Hode. 19 Beside hym stod a gret-hedid munke, I pray to God wooso he be! Fful sone he knew gode Eobyn, As sone as he hym se. 20 Out at the durre he ran, Fful sone and anon; Alle the gatis of Notyngham He made to be sparredsi everychon. 21 'Else up,' he seid, 'thou prowde schereff, Buske''2 the and make the bownesa ; I have spyed the kynggis felon, Ffor sothe he is in this town. 22 'I have spyed the false felon. As he stondis at his masse; Hit is longs* of the,' seide the munke, 'And35 ever he fro us passe. 23 'This traytur name is Eobyn Hode, Under the grene-wode lynde; He robbyt me onysao of a hundred pound, Hit shalle never out of my mynde. ' 24 Up then rose this prowde shereff. And radlyST made hym yare^s; Many was the moder son To the kyrk with hym can fare. 25 In at the durres thei throlys* thrast, With staves ful gode wones*; 2B aby. atone for 26 pach one 2T lying 28 safe 29 rood, cro88 so unhappy 81 barred •2 prepare thee S8 ready S4 because 86 If 86 once 87 quickly 88 stoutly 8» number 'Alas, alas,' seid Eobyn Hode, ' Now mysse I Litull John. ' 26 But Eobyn toke out a too-hond sworde. That hangit down be his kne; Ther asi the schereff and his men stode thyckust, Thedurwarde wolde he. 27 Thryes thorowout them he ran then For sothe as I yow sey. And woundyt mony a moder son, And twelve he slew that day. 28 His sworde upon the schireff hed Sertanly he brake in too; 'The smyth that the made,' seid Eobyn, 'I pray God wyrke hym woo. 29 'Ffor now am I weppynlesse, ' seid Eobyn, 'Alasse! agayn my wylle; But if2 I may fle these traytors fro, I wot thei wil me kyll. ' 30 Eobyn in to the churche ran, Throout hem everilkon,* 31 Sum3 fel in swonyng as thei were dede, And lay stil as any stone; Non of theym were in her mynde But only Litull Jon. 32 'Let be your rule*,* seid Litull Jon, 'Ffor his luf that dyed on tre. Ye that shulde be dughty men; Het is gret shame to se. 33 'Oure maister has bene hard bystodes And yet scapyd away; Pluk up your hertis, and leve this mone, And harkyn what I shal say. 34 'He has servyd Oure Lady many a day, And yet wil, securlyS; Therfor I trust in hir speciaJy No wyckud deth shal he dye. 35 'Therfor be glad,' seid Litul John, 'And let this mournyng be; And I shal be the munkis gyde, With the myght of mylde Mary. 4 foUv ? Some would read dulc grief) s pressed 6 surely 1 where 2 unless 3 Uobln Hood's men. who have heard ol the capture of Rob- * A leaf is missing, some twelve stanzas gaps occur later. Similnr BALLADS 71 'We •will go but we too; And I mete hjm, ' seid Litul John, 37 'Loke that ye kepe wel owre tristil-treT, Under the levys smale, And spare non of this venyson, That gose in thys vale.' 38 Fforthe then went these yemen too, Litul John and Moche on feres, And lokid on Moch emys hows^, The hye way lay full nere. 39 Litul John stode at a wyndow in the mornyng, And lokid forth at a stageio; He was war wher the niunke came ridyng, And with hym a litul page. 40 'Be my feith,' seid Litul John to Moch, 'I can the tel tithyngusn gode; I se wher the munke cumys rydyng, I know hym be his wyde hode. ' 41 They went in to the way, these yemen bothe. As curtes men and hendei2; Thei spyrredia tithyngus at ^* the munke, As they hade bene his frendeis. 42 *Ffro whens come ye?' seid Litull Jon, 'Tel us tithyngus, I yow pray, Oflf a false owtlay, callid Eobyn Hode, Was takyn yisterday. 43 'He robbyt me and my felowes bothe Of twenti markers in serten; If that false owtlay be takyn, Ffor sothe we wolde be fayni^. ' 44 'So did he me,' seid the munke, Of a hundred pound and more; I layde furst hande hym apon. Ye may thonke me therfore.' 45 ' I pray God thanke you, ' seid Litull John, 'And we will when we may; We will go with you, with your leve, And bryng yow on your way. T trystlng-tree 8 In company 9 In on Much's uncle's house 10 f r o m an (upper) story u tidings 12 civil 13 asked 14 of 15 friends 16 A mark was 13s. 4d 17 glad 46 'Ffor Eobyn Hode base many a wilde felow, I tell you in certen; If thei wist ye rode this way, In feith ye shulde be slayn.' 47 As thei went talking be the way, The munke and Litull John, John toke the munkis horse be the hede, Fful sone and anon. 48 Johne toke the munkis horse be the bed, Ffor sothe as I yow say; So did Much the litull page, Ffor he shulde not scape away. 49 Be the golettis of the hode John pulled the munke down; John was nothyng of hym agast. He lete hym falle on his crown. 50 Litull John was sore agrevyd, And drew owt his swerde in hye; This munke saw he shulde be ded, Lowd mercy can he crye. 51 ' He was my maister, ' seid Litull John, 'That thou hase browght in baleio; Shalle thou never cum at our kyng, Ffor to telle hym tale.* 52 John smote of the munkis hed, No longer wolde he dwell; So did Moch the litull page, Ffor ferd lest he wolde tell. 53 Ther thei beryed hem bothe. In nouther mosse nor lyngso, And Litull John and Much infere Bare the letturs to oure kyng. He knelid down upon his kne: 'God yow save, my lege lorde, Jhesus yow save and sel 55 ' God yow save, my lege kyng ! ' To speke John was full bolde; He gaf hym the letturs in his bond, The kyng did hit unfold. 56 The kyng red the letturs anon, And seid, 'So mot I the2i, Ther was never yoman in mery Inglond I longut so sore to se. 18 throat-band 19 tiarm 20 neither moss heather :i may I thrive n FIFTEENTH AND EARLY SIXTEENTH CENTURIES 67 'Wher is the munke that these shuld have brought!' Oure kyng can say: 'Be my trouth,' seid Litull John, 'He dyed aftersz the way.' 68 The kyng gaf Moch and Litul Jon Twenti pound in sertan, And made theim yemen of the crown, And bade theim go agayn. 69 He gaf John the seel in hand, The sheref for to bere, To bryng Kobyn hym to, And no man do hym dere23, 60 John toke his leve at24 oure kyng, The sothe as I yow say; The next way to Notyngham To take, he yede^s the way. 61 Whan John came to Notyngham The gatis were sparred ychon; John callid up the porter, He answerid sone anon. 62 'What is the cause,' seid Litul Jon, 'Thou sparris the gates so fast?' ' Because of Robyn Hode, ' seid the porter, 'In depe prison is cast. 63 'John and Moch and Wyll Scathlok, Ffor sothe as I yow say, Thei slew oure men upon our wallis, And sawten26 us every day.' 64 Litull John spyrred after the schereff. And sone he hym fonde; He oppyned the kyngus prive seell. And gaf hym in his honde. 65 Whan the scheref saw the kyngus seell, He did of27 his hode anon: ' Wher is the munke that bare the letturs ? ' He seid to Litull John. 66 'He28 ig so fayn of 28 hym,' seid Litul John, 'Ffor sothe as I yow say, He has made hym abot of Westmynster, A lorde of that abbay. ' 67 The scheref made John gode chere. And gaf hym wyne of the best; ssapon 28 barm 24 of 2» went At nyght thei went to her bedde, And every man to his rest. 68 When the scheref was on slepe, Dronken of wyne and ale, Litul John and Moch for sothe Toke the way unto the jale. 69 Litul John callid up the jayler. And bade hym rise anon; He seyd Eobyn Hode had brokyn prison, And out of hit was go^n. 70 The porter rose anon sertan. As sone as he herd John calle; Litul John was redy with a swerd, And bare hym to the walle. 71 'Now wil I be porter,' seid Litul John, ' And take the keyes in honde ': He toke the way to Eobyn Hode, And sone he hym unbonde. 72 He gaf hym a gode swerd in his bond. His hed therwith for to kepei. And ther as2 the walle was lowyst Anon down can thei lepe. 73 Be that the cok began to crow, The day began to spryng; The scheref fond the jaylier ded. The comyns bell made he ryng. 74 He made a crye thoroout al the town, Wheder he be yoman or knave, That cowthe bryng hym Eobyn Hode, His warison* he shuld have. 75 'Ffor I dar never,' said the scheref, 'Cum before oure kyng; Ffor if I do, I wot serten Ffor sothe he wil me heng.' 76 The scheref made to seke Notyngham, Bothe be strete and styeS, And Eobyn was in mery Scherwode, As light as lef on lynde*. 77 Then bespake gode Litull John, To Eobyn Hode can he say, 'I have done the a gode turn for an evyll, QuyteT the whan thou may. 78 'I have done the a gode turne,' seid Litull John, clear the 2« aaunit I f^iard 5 alley 27 put off 2H 1. c. the king 2 where 6 linden tree 3 public 7 quit (1. C. 2B pleased with i reward debt) BALLADS 73 *Ffor sothe as I yow say; I have brought the under grene-wode lyne« ; Ffare wel, and have gode day.' 79 ' Nay, be my trouth, ' seid Bobyn Hode, 'So shall hit never be; I make the maister,' seid Bobyn Hode, '0£E alle my men and me.' 80 'Nay, be my trouth,' seid LituU John, 'So shalle hit never be; But lat me be a felow, ' seid Litull John, ' No noder kepe I bes. ' 81 Thus John gate Robyn Hod out of prison; Sertan withoutyn layns, Whan his men saw hym hoi and sounde, Ffor sothe they were full fayne. 82 They filled in wyne, and made hem 'glad, Under the levys smale, And geteio pastes of venyson. That gode was with ale. 83 Than worde came to oure kyng How Eobyn Hode was gon. And how the scheref of Notyngham Durst never loke hym upon. 84 Then bespake oure eumly kyng. In an angur hye: 'Litull John hase begyled the schereff. In faith so hase he me. 85 'Litul John has begyled us bothe. And that full wel I se; Or ellis the schereff of Notyngham Hye hongutii shulde he be. 86 *I made hem yemen of the crowne. And gaf hem feei2 with my hond; I gaf hem grithis^' seid oure kyng, 'Tborowout all mery Inglond. 87 'I gaf theym grith, ' then seid oure kyng; * I say, so mot I the, Ffor sothe soch a yeman as he is oni* In all Inglond ar not thre. 88 ' He is trew to his maister, ' seid our kyng ; *I sey, be swete Seynt John, He lovys better Robyn Hode Then he dose us ychon. 8 no other care I to be » lying (i, e., truly) 12 money 10 got 13 Becurlty 11 banged 14 one 89 'Eobyn Hode is ever bond to hym, Bothe in strete and stalleis; Speke no more of this mater,' seid oure kyng, 'But John has begyled us alle.' 90 Thus endys the talkyng of the munke And Robyn Hode i-wyssei8; God, that is ever a crowned kyng, Bryng us all to his blisse.' THE HUNTING OF THE CHEVIOT* 1 The Persei owtz off Northombarlonde, and avowe to God mayd he That he wold hunte in the mowntayns off Chyviat within days thre, In the magger ofs doughte Dogles, and all that ever with him be. 2 The fattiste hartes in all Cheviat he sayd he wold kyll, and cary them away: "Be my feth," sayd the dougheti Doglas agayn, "I wyll let* that hontyng yf that I may. ' ' 3 Then the Perse owt off Banborowe cam, with him a myghtee meanys, With fifteen hondrith archares bold off blood and bone; the8 wear chosen owt of shyars^ thre. 4 This begane on a Monday at morn, in Cheviat the hUIys so he; The chylde may rue that ys unborn, it wos the more pitte. 5 The dryvarss thorowe the woodes went, for to reas the dear; Bomen byckarteo uppone the bentio with ther browd aros cleared. 6 Then the wyldiz thorowe the woodes went, on every syde shearis; Greahondes thorowe the grevisi* glentis^ for to kyll thear dear. 13 i. e., abroad and at home 1 6 Indeed 1 The family of Percy was an old one of northern England. 2 came out 3 maugre, in spite of 4 prevent 5 band 6 they 7 shires 8 stalkers 9 skirmished 10 field 11 bright 12 game 13 sevoral, separate 14 groves 15 darted •Probably old in 1550. Sidney mentions "the olde song of Percy and Duglas." There is a later version which is commonly known as Chevy Chace. u FIFTEENTH AND EARLY SIXTEENTH CENTURIES 7 This begane in Chyviat the hyls abonei«, yerlyiT on a Monnyn-day; Be thatis it drewe to the oware off none, a hondrith fat hartes ded ther lay. 8 The blewe a mortis uppone the bent, the semblyde on sydis shear; To the quyrry2o then the Perse went, to se the bryttlyngezi off the deare. 9 He sayd, "It was the Duglas promys, this day to met me hear; But I wyste he wolde f aylle, verament22 ; ' ' a great oth the Perse swear. 10 At the laste a squyar off Northomberlonde lokyde at his hand full ny; He was war a the doughetie Doglas commynge, with him a myghtte meany. 11 Both with spear, byllezs, and brande, yt was a myghtti sight to se; Hardyar men, both off hart nor hande, wear not in Cristiante. 12 The wear twenti hondrith spear-men good, withoute any feale24. The wear borne along be the watter a Twyde, yth25 bowndes of Tividale. 13 "Leave of the brytlyng of the dear," he sayd, "and to your boys2e lock ye tayk good hede ; For never sithe ye wear on your mothars borne had ye never27 so mickle nede. " 14 The dougheti Dogglas on a stede, • >'• he rode alle his men beforne; His armor glytteryde as dyd a glede28; a boldar bame2» was never bom. 15 "Tell me whos men ye ar," he says, "or whos men that ye be: Who gave youe leave to hunte in this Chyviat chays, in the spyt of myn and of me." 16 The first manei that ever him an answear mayd, yt was the good lord Perse: * ' We wyll not tell the2 whoyss men we ar, ' ' he says, "nor whos men that we be; But we wyll hounte hear in this chays, in the spyt of thyne and of the. 17 "The fattiste hartes in all Chyviat we have kyld, and cast^ to carry them away. ' ' Be my troth, ' ' sayd the doughete Dogglas agayn, "therfor the tons of us shall de« this day." 18 Then sayd the doughte Doglas unto the lord Perse: *"To kyll alle thes giltles men, alas, it wear great pittel 19 "But, Perse, thowe art a lord of lande, I am a yerle callyd within my contre; Let all our men uppone a parti^ stande, and do8 the battell off the and of me." 20 "Nowe Cristes cors^ on his crowneio," sayd the lord Perse, "who-so-ever ther-to says nay; Bell my troth, doughtte Doglas," he says, "thow «halt never se that dayi2. 21 "Nethar in Ynglonde, Skottlonde, nar France, nor for no man of a woman bornis. But, andi* fortune be my chance, I dar met him, onis man for oni5. " 22 Then bespayke a squyar off Northombar- londe, Richard Wytharyngton was his nam: " It shall never be told in Sothe- Ynglonde, " he says, "to Kyng Herry the Fourth for sham. 23 "I wati« youe byni' great lordes twaw, I am a poor squyar of lande: I wylle never se my captayne fyght on a fylde, and stande my selffe and loocke on, But whylle I may my weppone welde, I wylle not f ayle both hart and hande. ' ' lA above 17 early 18 by the time i» d<-ath-note 20 filauKhtered game 21 cutting up 22 truly 28 Bword 24 fall 25 In the 20 bOW8 27 ever 28 glowing coal 29 man 1 man 7 to one side 2 thee 8 let us do s whose 8 curse 4 Intend lo head 5 one 11 by 6 die 12 sc, when I say nay 13 sc, will I shrink 14 If 15 cue lA know 17 be BALLADS 76 24 That day, that day, that dredfull day! the first fit 18 here I fynde; Andi9 youe wyll here any mor a2o the hountyng a the Chyviat, yet ys ther mor behynde. 25 The Yngglyshe men hade ther bowys yebent, ther hartes wer good yenoughe; The first ofif arros that the2i shote off, seven skore spear-men the sloughe. 26 Yet byddys22 the yerle Doglas uppon the bent, a captayne good yenoughe, And that was sene verament, for he wrought hom23 both woo and wouche2*. 27 The Dogglas partyd his ostzs in thre, lyk a cheffe chef ten off pryde; With suar spears off myghtte treze, the2i cum in on every syde: 28 Thrughe our Yngglyshe archery27 gave many a wounde fulle wyde; Many a doughetess the2i garde29 to dy, which ganyde them no pryde. 29 The Ynglyshe men let ther boys be, and pulde owt brandes that wer brighte; It was a hevy syght to se bryght swordes on basnitesso lyght. 30 Thorowe ryche malesi and myneyeple32, many sterness the2i strocke donea* streght ; Many a freykess that was fulle fress, ther undar foot dyd lyght. 31 At last the Duglas and the Perse met, lyk to captayns of myght and of mayne; The2i swapte37 togethar tylle the both swat38, with swordes that wear of fyn myllan39. 32 Thes worthe freckys for to fyght, ther-to*o the wear fulle fayne*i, 18 division of the song so helmets 19 If 31 armor 20 of 32 gauntlet 21 they 33 stubborn ones 22 abides 34 down 23 them 35 man 24 harm se noble 25 host 37 smote 26 wood 38 sweat 27 archers 39 Milan 3teel as doughty man 40 1. e., to fight 20 caused 4i glad Tylle the bloode owte off thear basnetes 8prente42 as ever dyd heal*3 or rayn. 33 "Yelde the, Perse," sayde the Doglas, "and i feth** I shalle the brynge Wher thowe shalte have a yerls wagis*' of Jamy our Skottish kynge. 34 "Thou shalte have thy ransom fre, I hight48 the hear*^ this thinge; For the manfuUyste man yet art thowe that ever I conqueryd in filde fight- tynge. ' ' 35 "Nay," sayd the lord Perse, "I tolde it the befome. That I wolde never yeldyde be to no man of a woman born." 36 With that ther cam an arrowe hastely, forthe off a myghtte wane-tS; Hit hathe strekene the yerle Duglas in at the brest-bane. 37 Thorowe lyvar and longesi bathe2 the sharpe arrowe ys gane. That never after in all his lyffe-days he spayke mo wordes but ane: That was, "Fyghte ye, my myrry men, whyllys ye may, for my lyff-days ben gan." 38 The Perse leanyde on his brande, and sawe the Duglas de; He tooke the dede mane by the hande, . and sayd, "Wo ys me for the! 39 "To have savyde thy lyffe, I wolde have partyde with my landes for years thre, For a better man, of hart nare of hande, was nat in all the north contre. " 40 Off all that se3 a Skottishe knyght, was callyd Ser Hewe the Monggom- byrry*; He sawe the Duglas to the deth was dyghts, he spendyd8 a spear, a trusti tre. 41 He rod uppone a corsiare^ throughe a hondrith archery: 42 sprang 43 hall 44 In faith 45 earl's wages 46 promise 47 here 48 multitude ( ? Skeat) 1 lungs 2 both 3 saw 4 Montgomery 5 doomed 6 spanned, seized 7 courser w FIFTEENTH AND EARLY SIXTEENTH CENTURIES He never stynttyde*, nar never bkine», tylle he earn to the good lord Perse. 42 He set uppone the lorde Perse a dynte that was full scare; "With a suar spear of a myghtte tre clean thorow the body he the Perse berio, 43 All the tothar syde that a man myght se a large cloth-yard and mare: Towe bettar captayns wear nat in Cris- tiante then that day slan wear ther. 44 An archar off Northomberlonde 8ayi2 slean was the lord Perse; He bar a bende bowe in his hand, was made off trusti tre. 45 An arow, that a cloth-yarde was lang, to the harde stele halydeia he; A dynt that was both sad and soar he sati* on Ser Hewe the Monggombyrry. 46 The dynt yt was both sad and sar, that he of Monggomberry sete; The swane-fethars that his arrowe bar with his hart-blood the wear wete. 47 Ther was never a freakei' wone foot wolde fle, but still in stouri* dyd stand, Heawyng on yche othar, whylle the myghte dreiT, with many a balfull brande. 48 This battell begane in Chyviat an owar befor the none, And when even-songe bell was rang, the battell was nat half done. 49 The tockeis ... on ethar hande be the lyght off the mone; Many hade no strenght for to stande, in Chyviat the hillys abon. 50 Of fifteen hondrith archars of Ynglonde went away but seventi and thre; Of twenti hondrith spear-men of Skotlonde, but even five and fifti. 51 But all wear slayne Cheviat within; the hade no strengthe to stand on hy; • stopped • ceased M set 10 pl«rced is man 11 on 10 stress of battle IS saw that i7 endure Mdrew istbey took (count?) The chylde may rue that ys unborne, it was the mor pitte. 52 Thear was slayne, withe the lord Perse, Sir Johan of Agerstone, Ser Eogar, the hindei» Hartly, Ser Wyllyam, the bolde Hearone. 53 Ser Jorg, the worthe Loumle, a knyghte of great renowen, Ser Eaff20, the ryche Eugbe, with dyntes wear beaten dowene. 54 For Wetharryngton my harte was wo, that ever he slayne shulde be; For when both his leggis wear hewyne in to, yet he knyled and fought on hys kny. 55 Ther was slayne, with the dougheti Duglas. Ser Hewe the Monggombyrry, Ser Davy Lwdale, that worthe was, his sistars son was he. 56 Ser Charls a Murrezi in that place, that never a foot wolde fle; Ser Hewe Maxwelle, a lorde he was, with the Doglas dyd he dey. 57 So on the morrowe the mayde them byears22 off birch and hasell so gray; Many wedous, with wepyng tears, cam to fache ther makys23 away. 58 59 Tivydale may carpe off** care, Northombarlond may mayk great mon. For towe such captayns as slayne wear thear, on the March-parti26 shall never be non. Word ys commen to Eddenburrowe, to J amy the Skottische kynge, That dougheti Duglas, lyff-tenant of the Marches, he lay slean Chyviot within. 60 His handdes dyd he weal2« and wryng, he sayd, "Alas, and woe ys me! Such an othar captayn Skotland within," he sayd, "ye-feth shuld never be."* iBeentle 2S mates 20 Ralph 24 SlDK of 21 Murray 25 border side 22 biers 28 clench * This lament, contrasted with King Harry's boast that follows, may be taken as an amusing in- dication of English authorship of the ballad. BALLADS 77 61 Worde ys commyn to lovly Londone, tiller the fourth Harry our kynge, That lord Perse, leyff-tenante of the Marchis, he lay slayne Chyviat within. 62 "God have merci on his soUe," sayde Kyng Harry, "good Lord, yf thy will it be! I have a hondrith captayns in Ynglonde, " he sayd, "as good as ever was he: But, Perse, and I brookss my lyffe, thy deth well quyte2» shall be." 63 As our noble kynge mayd his avowe, lyke a noble prince of renowen, For the deth of the lord Perse he dyde the battell of Hombyll-down ; 64 Wher syx and thritte Skottishe knyghtes on a day wear beaten down: Glendale glytteryde onso ther armor bryght, over castille, towar, and town. 65 This was the hontynge off the Cheviat, that tears 1 begane this spurns 2, Old men that knowen the grownde well yenoughe call it the battell of Otterburn. 66 At Otterburn begane this sporne uppone a Monnynday; Ther was the doughte Doglas slean, the Perse never went away. 67 Ther was never a tym on the Marche- partes senS3 the Doglas and the Perse met. But yt ys mervele ands* the rede blude ronne not, as the reane doysss in the stret. 68 Jhesue Crist our balysse beteST, and to the blys us bryngel Thus was the hountynge of the Chivyat: God send us alle good endyng! SIR PATRICK SPENS 1 The king sits in Dumferling tounei, Drinking the blude-reid wine: "O whar will I get guid sailor, To sail this schip of minet" 27 to 32 trouble 28 if I enjoy 33 since 29 paid for 34 if 30 in, with (Humbleton 35 rain does is in Glendale dis- se evil trict) 37 remedy, better 31 that ere, erewhile 1 Dunfermline, northwest of Edinburgh, once a royal residence. 2 Up and spak an eldern^ knicht, Sat at the kings richt kne: "Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor. That sails upon the se." 3 The king has written a braids letter, And signd it wi his hand, And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence, Was walking on the sand. 4 The first line that Sir Patrick red, A loud lauch-t lauched he; The next line that Sir Patrick red, The teir blinded his ee. 5 "O wha is this has don this deid. This ill deid don to me, To send me out this time 0' the yeir. To sail upon the se! 6 "Mak hast, mak haste, my mirry men all, Our guid schip sails the morne: ' ' "O say na sae, my master deir. For I feir a deadlie storme. 7 "Late, late yestreen I saw the new moone, Wi the auld moone in hir arme. And I feir, I feir, my deir master. That we will cum to harme. " 8 O our Scots nobles wer richt laith To weet their cork-heild schoone; Bots lang owre^ a' the play wer playd, Thair hats they swam aboone^. 9 lang, lang may their ladies sit, Wi thair fans into their hand. Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence Cum sailing to the land. 10 O lang, lang may the ladies stand, Wi thair gold kems* in their hair, Waiting for thair ain deir lords, For they'll se thame na mair. 11 Haf owre, haf owre to Aberdour, It's fiftie fadom deip, And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence, Wi the Scots lords at his feit. JOHNIE COCK.* 1 Up Johnie raise in a May morning, Calld for water to wash his hands 2 old 8 before 3 broad, open 7 swam in over their 4 laugh hats (so to speak) 5 but 8 combs • Our text of this vigorous ballad follows the ad mirable combination made by Professor F. B. Gummere from various versions. 78 FIFTEENTH AND EARLY SIXTEENTH CENTURIES And he has calld for his gude gray hunds That lay bund in iron bands, bands, That lay bund in iron bands. 2 'Ye'U buski, ye '11 busk my noble dogs, Ye '11 busk and mak them bounz, For I'm going to the Braidscaur hill To dings the dun* deer doun.' 3 Johnie's mother has gotten word o that, And care-bed she has taen^: ' O Johnie, for my benisons, I beg you'l stay at hame; For the wine so red, and the well-baken bread. My Johnie shall want nane. 4 'There are seven forsters at Pickeram Side, At Pickeram where they dwell. And for a drop of thy heart 's bluid They wad ride the fords of hell. ' 5 But Johnie has cast off the black velvet, And put on the Lincoln twine^. And he is on to gude greenwud As fast as he could gang. , 6 Johnie lookit east, and Johnie lookit west, And he lookit aneath the sun, And there he spied the dun deer sleeping Aneath a buss o whuns. 7 Johnie shot, and the dun deer lap». And she lap wondrous wide, Until they came to the wan water, And he stemdio her of her pride. 8 He 'as taen out the little pen-knife, 'Twas full three quarters" long. And he has taen out of that dun deer The liver boti2 and the tongue. 9 They eat of the flesh, and they drank of the blood. And the blood it was so sweet, Which caused Johnie and his bloody hounds To fall in a deep sleep. 10 By then came an old palmer. And an ill death may he die! For he's away to Pickram Side As fast as he can drieis. 1 make ready 7 cloth 2 ready 8 bush of furze 8 Rtrike • leaped * dark brown lo strlpt SI. e.. Is sick wltb anx- ii of a yard iety 12 as well as • blessing is hold out 11 'What news, what news?' says the Seven ForstersJ 'What news have ye brought to me! ' 'I have noe news,' the palmer said, 'But what I saw with my eye. 12 'As I cam in by Braidisbanks, And down among the whuns. The bonniest youngster eer I saw Lay sleepin amang his hunds. 13 'The shirt that was upon his back Was o the hollandi* fine; The doubletis which was over that Was o the Lincoln twine.* 14 Up bespake the Seven Forsters, Up bespake they ane and a': 'O that is Johnie o Cockleys Well, And near him we will draw. ' 15 the first stroke that they gae him, They struck him off by the knee; Then up bespake his sister's son: 'O the next '11 gar is him die! ' 16 'O some they count ye well-wighti^ men. But I do count ye nane; For you might well ha wakend me, And askd gin I wad be taen. 17 ' The wildest wolf in aw this wood Wad not ha done so by me; She'd ha wet her foot ith wan water. And sprinkled it oer my braeis^ And if that wad not ha wakend me, She wad ha gone and let me be. 18 'O bows of yew, if ye be true, In London, where ye were bought, Fingers five, get up beliveis, Manhuid shall fail me nought.' 19 He has killd the Seven Forsters, He has killd them all but ane. And that wan2o scarce to Pickeram Side, To carry the bode-words2i hame. 20 'Is there never a [bird] in a' this wood That will tell what I can say; That will go to Cockleys Well, Tell my mither to fetch me awayf 21 There was a fbird] into that wood. That carried the tidings away. And many ae22 was the well-wight man At the fetching o Johnie away. 14 linen 15 waistcoat 16 make IT very brave 1 8 brow 19 quick 20 won, made hla way 21 message 32 a one BALLADS 79 BONNIE GEORGE CAMPBELL. 1 High upon Highlands, and low upon Tay, Bonnie George Campbell rade out on a day. 2 Saddled and bridled and gallant rade he; Home cam his guid horse, but never cam he. 3 Out cam his auld mither greeting fu' sairi, And out cam his bonnie bride livings her hair. 4 Saddled and bridled and booted rade he; Toom3 hame cam the saddle, but never cam he. B 'My meadow lies green, and my corn is unshorn, My barn is to build, and my babe is unborn.' 6 Saddled and bridled and booted rade he; Toom hame cam the saddle, but never cam he. THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL. There lived a wife at Usher 's Well, And a wealthy wife was she; She had three stout and stalwart sons, And sent them oer the sea. They hadna been a week from her, A week but barely ane. When word came to the carline* wife That her three sons were gane. They hadna been a week from her, A week but barely three, When word came to the carlin wife That her sons she'd never see. ' I wish the wind may never cease. Nor fashess in the flood, Till my three sons come hame to me, In earthly flesh and blood.' It fell about the Martinmasss, When nights are lang and mirk^. 1 weeping full sore 2 tearing 3 empty «old 5 troubles (storms) 6 November 11 7 dark The carlin wife's three sons came hame, And their hats were o the birks. It neither grew in syke^ nor ditch. Nor yet in ony sheughio, But at the gates o Paradise, That birk grew fair eneugh. 'Blow up the fire, my maidens! Bring water from the well! For a' my house shall feast this night. Since my three sons are well.' And she has made to them a bed, She's made it large and wide, And she's ta'en her mantle her about. Sat down at the bed-side. 9 Up then crew the red, red cock, And up and crew the gray; The eldest to the youngest said, ' 'Tis time we were away.' 10 The cock he hadna craw 'd but once, And clappd his wings at a'. When the youngest to the eldest said, 'Brother, we must awa. 11 'The cock doth craw, the day doth daw, The channerinii worm doth chide; Gini2 y/Q be mist out o our place, A sair pain we maun bide. 12 'Fare ye weel, my mother dear! Fareweel to bami3 and byrei*! And fare ye weel, the bonny lass That kindles my mother's fire! '* KATHARINE JAFFRAY.f 1 There livd a lass in yonder dale, And doun in yonder glen, O, And Kathrine Jaffray was her name, Well known by many men, O. 2 Out came the Laird of Lauderdale, Out frae the South Countrie, All for to court this pretty maid. Her bridegroom for to be. 8 birch 9 marsh 12 if 10 furrow 18 granary 11 fretting 1 4 stable * "The beauty of reticence in this last farewell is as delicate as anything in literature." — F. B. Gummere. t Scott's "Lochinvar" is based upon this ballad. 80 FIFTEENTH AND EARLY SIXTEENTH CENTURIES 3 He has teldi her father and mither baith, And a' the rest o her kin, And has teld the lass hersell, And her consent has yiin. 4 Then came the Laird of Lochinton, Out frae the English border, All for to court this pretty maid, Well mounted in good order, 5 He's teld her father and mither baith, As I hear sindry say, But he has nae teld the lass her sell. Till on her wedding day, 6 When day was set, and friends were met. And married to be. Lord Lauderdale came to the place. The bridal for to see, 7 * O are you come for sport, young man ? Or are you come for play? Or are you come for a sight o our bride, Just on her wedding day?' 8 'I'm nouther come for sport,' he says, 'Nor am I come for play; But if I had one sight o your bride, I'll mount and ride away,' 9 There was a glass of the red wine Filld up them atween. And ay she drank to Lauderdale, Wha her true-love had been. 10 Then he took her by the milk-white hand. And by the grass-green sleeve. And he mounted her high behind him there, At the bridegroom he askt nae leive, 11 Then the blude run down by the Cowden Banks, And down by Cowden Braes, And ay she^ gards the trumpet sound, 'O this is foul, foul play! ' 12 Now a' ye that in England are. Or are in England born. Come nere to Scotland to court a lass. Or else ye'l get the scorn. 13 They haik ye up* and settle ye by5, Till on your wearady8e. HO Have I doi9 we were in that waye, For, wete thou well, thou shalte make none attournay20. Everyman. Full unredy I am suche reken- ynge to gyve. I knowe the not. What messenger arte thout Dethe. I am Dethe, that no man dredeth. For every man I rest^i, and no man spareth, For it is Goddes commaundement That all to me sholde be obedyent. Everyman. O Dethe, thou comcst whan I had thee leest in mynde! In thy power it lyeth me to save ; 120 Yet of my good wyl I gyve the, if thou wyl be kynde. Ye, a thousande pounde shalte thou have. And dyfferre-2 this mater tyll an other daye. Dethe. Everyman, it may not be by no waye. I set not by-'3 golde, sylver, nor rychesse, Ne by pope, emperour, kynge, duke ne prynees; For, and I wolde receyve gj-ftes grete, All the worlde I myght gete; But my custome is clene contrary. 129 I gyve the no respyte, come hens and not tary. Everyman. Alas! shall I have no lenger respyte ? I may saye Deth geveth no wamynge! To thynke on the it maketh my herte seke; For all unredy is my boke of rekenynge. But, xii yere and I myght have abydynge. My countynge boke I wolde make so elere. That my rekenynge I sholde not nede to fere. Wherfore, Deth, I praye the, for Goddes mercy, Spare me tyll I be provyded of remedy. Dethe. The avayleth not to crye, wcpe and praye. 140 18 leisure -o find no intercessor 19 For "have ado" : have 21 arrest done with, that we 22 defer may be on our way 23 care not for 86 FIFTEENTH AND EARLY SIXTEENTH CENTURIES But hasti the lyghtly that thou were^ gone that journaye. And preve3 thy frendet, yf thou can. For, wete thou well, the tyde abydeth no man, And in the worlde eche lyvynge creature For Adams synne must dye of nature. Everyman, Dethe, yf I sholde this pylgryni- age take, And my rekenynge suerly make, Shewe me, for savnt Charyte, Sholde I not come agayne shortly? Dethe. No, Everyman, and thou be ones there. Thou mayst never more come here, 151 Trust me veryly. Everyman. O graeyous God, in the hye sete celestyall. Have mercy on me in this nioost nedc. — Shall I have no company fro this vale teres- tryall Of myne acqueynce* that way me to lede? Dethe. Ye, yf ony be so hardy That wolde go with the and bere the company. Hye the, that thou were gone to Goddes mag- nyfycence, Thy rekenynge to gyve before His presence. 160 What, wenest thou thy lyve is gyven the And thy worldely gooddes also? Everyman. I had wende so veryle. Dethe. Nay, nay, it was but lende the, For as soone as thou arte go. Another a whyle shall have it and than go ther fro. Even as thou hast done. Everyman, thou arte made^! Thou hast thy wyttes fyve. And here on erthe wyll not amende thy lyve ! For sodeynly I do come, 170 Everyman. O wretched caytyfes, wheder shall I flee, That I myght scape this endles sorowe? Now; gentyll Deth, spare me tyll to morowc, That I may amende me With good advysement. Dethe, Naye, thereto I wyll not consent, Nor no man wyll I respyte; But to the herte sodeynly I shall smyte Without ony advysement. And now out of thy syght I wyll mc hy. 180 Se thou make the redy shortely, For thou mayst save this is the dayc That no man lyvynge may scape awaye. Everyman, Alas! I may well wepe with syghea depe; Now have I no maner of company 1 haste 2 may be a prove 4 acqiiaintanco r> mad captive, wretch To helpe me in my journey, and me to kepe; And also my wrytynge^ is full uuredy. How shall I do now for to excuse me? I wolde to God I had never begetes! 189 To my soule a full grete profyte it had be, For now I fere paynes huge and grete. The tyme passeth, Lorde, helpe, that all wrought ! For though I mourne it avayleth nought. The day passeth, and is almoost ago», I wote not well what for to do. To whome were I best my complaynt to make ? What and I to Felawshyp therof spake. And shewed hym of this sodeyne chauuceJ For in hym is all myne affyauncei^*. 199 We have in the worlde so many a daye Be good frendes in sporte and playe. I se hym yonder ccrtaynely; I trust that he wyll bere me company, Therfore to hym wyll I speke to ese my sorowo. Well mette, good Felawshyp, and good morowe. FeIjAWSHyf speketh: Everyman, good moro we I By this day, Syr, why lokest thou so pyteously? If ony thynge be a mysse I praye the me save. That I may helpe to remedy. Everyman. Ye, good Felawshyp, ye, -lO I am in greate jeoparde. Fela'wshyp. My true frende. shewe to nic your mynde; I wyll not forsake the to my lyves ende, In the waye of good company. Everyman, That was well spoken, and lovyngly, Felawshyp, Syr, I must nedos knowe your hevynesse, I have pyteii to se you in ony dystresse. If ony have you wronged ye sliall revenged be, Thoughe I on the grounde be slayne for the, Though that I knowe before that I sholde dye, 220 Everyman, Veryly, Felawshyp, gramercy'^. Felawshyp. Tusshe! by thy thankes I set not a strawe, Shewe me your grefe and save no more, Everyman, If I my herte sholde to you breke, And than you to tourne your mynde fro me. And wolde not me coraforte whan ye here me speke, Than sholde I ten tymes soryer be. Felawshyp, Syr, I sayc as I wyll do in dede. Everyman. Than be you a good frende at nede, I have founde you true here before, 230 7 (his account) ■s been born gone 10 trust 11 pity 12 great thanks EVERYMAN 87 Felawshyp. And so ye shall evermore, For, in fayth, and thou go to hell I wyll not forsake the by the waye. Everyman. Ye speke lyke a good frende, I byleve you well, I shall deserve it, and I may. Felawshyp. I speke of no deservynge, by this daye, For he that wyll saye and nothynge do Is not worthy with good company to go. Therfore shewe me the grefe of your mynde As to your frende mooste lovynge and kynde. 240 EvEKYMAN. I shall shewe you how it is : Commaunded I am to go a journaye, A long waye, harde and daungerous. And gyve a strayte counte, without delaye, Before the hye Juge Adonays. Wherfore, I pray you, bere me company, As ye have promysed, in this journaye. Felawshyp. That is mater in dede ! Promyse is duty. But and I sholde take suche a vyage on me, I knowe it well, it shulde be to my payne; 250 Also it make me aferde, certayne. But let us take counsell here as well as we can, For your wordes wolde fere* a stronge man. Everyman. Why, ye sayd, yf I had nede, Ye wolde me never forsake, quycke^ ne deed, Thoughe it were to hell, truely. Felawshyp. So I sayd certaynely. But such pleasures bes set a syde the sothe^ to saye. And also, yf we toke suche a journaye, Whan sholde we come agayne? 260 Everyman. Naye, never agayne, tyll the daye of domes. Felawshyp. In fayth, than wyll not I come there. Who hath you these tydynges brought! Everyman. In dede, Deth was with me here. Felawshyp. Now, by God that all hathe bought. If Deth were the messenger, For no man that is lyvynge to daye I wyll not go that lothe^ journaye. Not for the fader that bygate me. 269 Everyman. Ye promysed other wyse, pardeio. Felawshyp. I wote well I sayn so. truely, And yet yf thou wylte ete, drynke and make good chere Or haunt to women the lusty company, I wolde not forsake you, whyle the daye is clere, 3 God 8 judgment 4 frighten 9 loathsome 5 alive 10 One of the many forms 8 are (now) of the oath pardieu 7 truth 11 said Truste me veryly. Everyman. Ye, therto ye wolde be redy : To go to myrthe, solas, and playe, Your mynde wyll soner apply. Than to bere me company in my longe jour- naye. Felawshyp. Now, in good fayth, I wyll not that waye; 280 But, and thou wyll murder, or ony man kyll. In that I wyll helpe the with a good wyll. Everyman. O that is a sympleis advyse in dede! Gentyll felawe, help me in my necessyte; We have loved longe, and now I nede! And now, gentyll Felawshyp, remembre me. Felawshyp. Wheder ye have loved me or no. By saynt John, I wyll not with the go. Everyman. Yet I pray the, take the labour and do so moche for me, To brynge me forwarde, for saynt Charyte, 290 And comforte me tyll I come without the towne. Felawshyp. Nay, and thou wolde gyve me a newe gowne, I wyll not a fote with the go; But and thou had taryed, I wolde not have lefte the so: And as now, God spede the in thy journaye ! For from the I wyll departe as fast as I maye. Everyman. Wheder a waye, Felawshyp? wyll thou forsake me? Felawshyp. Ye, by my fayeis! To God I betakei* the. Everyman. Farewell, good Fellawshyp! For the my herte is sore! A dewe for ever, I shall se the no more. 300 Felaavshyp. In fayth, Everyman, fare well now at the ende. For you I wyll remembre that partynge is mournynge. Everyman. A lacke! shall we thus departeds in dede? A! Lady, helpe! without ony more comforte, Lo, Felawshyp forsaketh me in my moost nede. For helpe in this worlde wheder shall I re- sorte? Felawshyp here before with me wolde mery make. And now lytell sorowe for me dooth he take. It is sayd, in prosperyte men frendes may fynde Whiche in adversyte be full unkynde. 310 Now wheder for socoure shall I flee, Syth that Felawshyp hath forsaken me? To my kynnesmen I wyll truely, Prayenge them to helpe me in my necessyte. 12 foolish 13 faith 14 commend 15 separate 88 I'lFTEENTH AND EARLY SIXTEENTH CENTUKIES I byleve that they wyll do so, For kynde2 wyll crepe where it may not go3. I wyll go saye; for yonder I se them go: — Where be ye now, my frendes and kynnesmen? Kynrede. Here be we now at your coni- maundement. Cosyn, I praye you, shewe us your entent 320 In ony wyse, and not spare. Cosyn. Ye, Everyman, and to us declare If ye be dysposed to go ony whyder; For, wete you well, wyll lyve and dye to gyder. Kynrede. In welth and wo we wyll with you holde; For over his kynne a man may be bolde. Everyman. Gramercy, my frendes and kynnes- men kynde ! Now shall I shewe you the grcfe of my mynde. I was commaunded by a messenger. That is a hye kynges chefe oifycer; 330 He bad me go a pylgrymage to my payne. And, I kno\\e well, I shall never come agayne. Also I must gyve a rekenynge strayte; For I have a grete enemy that hath me in wayte*, Whiche entendeth me for to hynder. Kynrede. What a counte is that whiche ye must render? That wolde I knowe. Everyman. Of all my workes I must shewe, How I have lyved, and my dayes spent; Also of yll dedes that I have used 340 In my tyme, syth lyfe was me lent. And of all vertues that I have refused. Therefore, I praye you, go thyder with me To helpe to make rayn accounte, for saynt Charyte. Cosyn. What, to go thyder! Is that the mater f Nay, Everyman, I had levers fast^ brede and water, All this fyve yere and more. Everyman. Alas, that ever I was bore^. For now shall I never be mery. If that you forsake me. 350 Kynrede. A ! syr, what, ye be a mery man ! Take good herte to you, and make no mone. But one thynge I warne you, by saynt Anne, As for me ye shall go alone. Everyman. My Cosyn, wyll you not with me go? Co.syn. No, by our Lady! I have the crampe in my to: Trust not to me; for, so God me spede, 2 natiir<>, kinnhip 8 walk (1. (>., will do all a rather In ItH power) « fast on 4 is lying in wait for mc 7 born I wyll deceyve you in your moost nede. Kynrede. It avayleth not us to tyse^: 359 Ye shall have my mayde, with all my herte; She loveth to go to feestes there to be nyse», And to daunce, and a brode to stertei", I wyll gyve her leve to helpe you in that journey. If that you and she may a gree. Everyman. Now shewe me the very effecte of your mynde; Wyll you go with me, or abyde be hynde? Kynrede. Abyde behynde! ye", that wyll I and I maye; Therfore farewell tyll another daye. Everyman. Howe sholde I be mery or gladde ? For fayre promyses men to me make, 370 But, whan I have moost nede, they me for- sake; I am deeeyved, that maketh me sadde. Cosyn. Cosyn Everyman, farewell now, For, veryly, I wyll not go with you. Also of myne owne an unredy rekenynge I have to accounte, therfore . I make taryenge; Now God kepe the, for now I go. Everyman. A! Jesus, is all come here to? Lo, fayre wordes maketh fooles fayne; 379 They promyse, and nothynge wyll do certayne. My kynnesmen promysed me faythfully For to a byde with me stedfastly; And now fast a waye do they flee; Even so Felawshyp promysed me. What frende were best me of to provyde? I lose my tyme here longer to abyde; Yet in my mynde a thynge there is, — All my lyfe I have loved ryches; Yf that my Good now helpe me myght, He wolde make my herte full lyght; 390 I wyll speke to hym in this dystresse, — Where arte thou, my Gooddes and Ryches? Goodes. Who callcth me? Everyman? What hast thou haste? I lye here in corners, trussed and pyled so hye. And in chestes I am locked so fast. Also sacked in bagges, thou mayst se with thyn eye, I can not styre; in packes lowe I lye. What wolde ye have? Lyghtly me saye. J]vERYMAN. Conic liyder. Good, in al the hast thou may, For of counseyll I must desyre the. 4(iO Goodes. Syr, and ye in the worldo have sorowe or adversyte, That can I helpe yoti to remedy shortly. Everyman. It is another dj-sease that greveth 8 entire 9 wanton 10 abroad to run 11 yea EVERYMAN 89 In this worlde it is not, I tell the so, I am sent for an other way to go, To gyve a strayte counte generall Before the hyest Jupyter of all. And all my lyfe I have had joye and pleasure in the, Therfore I pray the go with me; For, paraventure, thou mayst before God al- myghty 41 My rekenynge helpe to clene, and puryfye, For it is sayd ever amongei That money maketh all ryght that is wronge. GooDES. Nay, Everyman, I synge an other soiige ; I folowe no man in suche vyages, For, and I wente with the, Thou shokles fare moche the worse for me: For bycause on me thou dyd set thy mynde. Thy rekenynge I have made blotted and blynde. That thyne aecounte thou can not make truly; And that hast thou for the love of me. 421 Everyman. That wolde greve me full sore, Whan I sholde come to that ferefull answere. Up! let us go thyther to gyder. GooDES. Nay, not so: I am to brytell2, I may not endure: I wyll folowe [no] man one fote be ye sure. EvEKYMAN. Alas, I have the loved, and had grete pleasure All my lyfe dayes on good and treasure. GooDES. That is to thy dampnacyon without lesynges, 429 For my love is contrary to the love ever- lastynge ; But yf thou had me loved moderately durynge* As to the poore gyve parte of me, Than sholdest thou not in this dolour be, Nor in this grete sorowe and care. Everyman. Lo, now was I deeeyvod or I was ware, And all I may wytes my spendynge of tyme. GoODEs. What, wenest thou that I am thyne ? Everyman. I had went« so. GooDEs. Naye, Everyman, I saye no: As for a wh3'le I was lente the; 440 A season thou hast had me in prosperyte; My eondycyon is mannes soule to kyll. If I save one a thousande I do spyll^. Wenest thou that I wyll folowe thef Nay, fro this worlde not veryle. Everyman. I had wende otherwyse. GooDES. Therfore to thy soule Good is a thefe, For whan thou arte deed, this is my gyse^: 1 everywhere 2 brittle 3 without lying, I. e., truly 4 the while 5 blame to 6 thought 7 destroy Another to deeeyve in this same wyse As I have done the, and all to his soules reprefe». 450 Everyman. O false Good, cursed thou be. Thou traytour to God, that hast deceyved me And caught me in thy snare. GooDES. Maryio, thou brought thy self in care, Wherof I am gladde; I must nedes laugh, I can not be sadde. Everyman. A! Good, thou hast had Innge my hertely love; I gave the that whiche sholde be the Lordes above: But wylte thou not go with me in dede? I praye the trouth to saye. 460 GooDES. No, so God me spede; Therfore fare well, and have good daye. Everyman. O to whome shall I make my mone For to go with me in that hevy journaye? Fyrst Felawshyp sayd he wolde with me gone; His wordes were very pleasaunte and gaye, But afterwarde he lefte me alone. Than spake I to my kynnesmen all in despayre, And also they gave me wordes fayre, — They lacked no fayre spekynge; 470 But all forsake me in the endynge. Than wente I to my Goodes, that I loved best. In hope to have comforte, but there had I leest ; For my Goodes sharpely dyd me tell That he bryngeth many in to hell. Than of my selfe I was ashamed, And so I am worthy to be blamed. Thus may I well my selfe hate. Of whome shall I now eounseyll takef I thynke that I shall never spede Tyll that I go to my Good-dede. But, alas, she is so weke That she can nother gon nor speke. Yet wyll I venter on her now. — My Good-dedes, where be you? GooD-DEDES. Here I lye, eolde in the grounde ; Thy synnes hath me sore bounde That I can not sterei2, Everyman. O Good-dedes, I stande in fere; I must you pray of eounseyll, 490 For helpe now sholde come ryght well. Good-dedes. Everyman, Ihaveunderstandynge That ye be somoned a counte to make Before Myssyasia of Jherusalem kynge, And you do by meK that journay with you wyli i take. 8 custom 13 Messiah 9 reproof i* if you will art by my 10 An oath by the ViJgin advice (Pollard. Or Mary. possibly bi/ = buy, II neither walk ransom : if yon de- ls stir liver me.) 90 FIFTEENTH AND EARLY SIXTEENTH CENTURIES Everyman. Therefore I come to you my moone to make. I pray you that ye wyll go with me. GiOOD-DEDEs. I wolde full fayne, but I can not stande veryly. Everyman. Why, is there ony tliynge on you fall? GooD-DEDES. Ye, syr, I may thanke you of all. 500 If ye had parfytely cheredi me, Your boke of counte full redy had be. Loke, the bokes of your workes and dedes eke A! se how they lye under the fete, To your soules hevynes. Everyman. Our Lord Jesus, helpe me, For one letter here I can not se. Good-dedes. There is a blynde rekenynge in tyme of dystress. Everyman. Good-dedes, I praye you helpe me in this nede, Or elles I am for ever dampned in dede; 510 Therfore helpe me to make rekenynge Before the Redemer of all thynge, That kynge is, and was, and ever shall. Good-dedes. Everyman, I am sory of your fall, And fayne wolde I helpe you, and I were able. Everyman. Good-dedes, your counseyll I pray you gyve me. Good-dedes. That shall I do veryly, Thoughe that on my fete I may not go. I have a syster that shall with you also, 519 Called Knowledge, whiche shall with you abyde. To help you to make that drcdefull rekenynge. Knowledge. Everyman, I wyll go with the, and be thy gyde. In thy moost nede to go by thy ayde. Everyman. In good condycyon I am now in every thynge. And am hole content with this good thynge, Thanked by2 God my creature''. Good-dedes. And whan he hath brought you there. Where thou shalte hele the of thy smarte. Than go you with your rekenynge and your good dedes togyder, For to make you joyful! at herte 530 Before the blessyd Trynyte. Everyman. My Good-dedes, graniercy; I am well content certaynly With your wordes swete. Knowledge. Now go we togyder lovyngly To Confessyon, that clensynge ryvere, Everyman. For joy I wepe: I wolde we were there; 1 entertained •-■ be 8 creator But, I pray you, gyve me cognycyon* Where dwelleth that holy man Confessyon? Knowledge. In the hous of salvacyon ; 540 We shall fynde hym in that place, That shall us comforte by Goddes grace. — Lo, this is Confessyon; knele downe, & aske mercy. For he is in good conceytes with God alniyghty. Everyman. O gloryous fountayne that all unclennes doth claryfy, Wasshe fro me the spottes of vyee unclene. That on me no synne may be sene; 1 come with Knowlege for my redempcyon, Redempte with herte and full contrycyon, 549 For I am commaunded a pylgrymage to take, And grete accountes before God to make. Now I praye you, Shryfteo, moder of sal- vacyon, Helpe my good dedes for my pyteous ex- clamacyon. Confessyon. I knowe your sorowe well, Everyman: Bycause with Knowlege ye come to me, I wyll you comforte as well as I can; And a preeyous jowell I wyll gyve the, Called penaunce, [voyce] voyder^ of adversyte; Therwith shall your body chastysed be With abstynence and perseveraunce in Goddes sprvyc-o: 560 Here shall you receyve that scourge of me Whiche is penaunce stron'ge that ye must en- dure, To remembre thy Savyour was scourged for the With sharpe scourges, and suffred it pacyently; So must thou, or thou scape that paynful pylgrymage. — Knowledge, kepe hym in this vyage. And by that tyme Good-dedes wyll be with the; But in ony wyse be seker of mercy, For your tyme draweth fast; and ye wyll saved be, Aske God mercy, and he wyll graunte truely: Whan with the scourge of penaunce man doth hym bynde, 571 The oyle of forgyvenes than shall he fynde. Everyman. Thanked be God for his gracyous werke. For now I wyll my penaunce begyn; This hath rejoysed and lyghted my herte, Though the knottes be paynfull and harde within. Knowledge. Everyman, loke your penaunce that ye fulfyll. What payne that ever it to you be; 4 Informnlion .'• favor absolution r expeller ( vopcr is prob- ably an error) EVERYMAN 91 And Knowledge shall gyre you counseyll at wyU, How your accounte ye shall make clerely. 580 Everyman. O eternall God, O hevenly fygure, O way of ryghtwysnes, O goodly vysyon, Whiehe descended downe in a vyrgyn pure Because he wolde Everyman redeme, Whiehe Adam forfayted by his dysobedyence, O blessyd Godheed, electe and hye devyne, Forgyve my grevous offence; Here 1 erye the mercy in this presence; O ghostly treasure, O raunsomer and redemer! Of all the worlde, hope and conduyteri, 590 Myrrour of joye, foundatours of mercy, Whiehe enlumyneth heven and erth therby, Here my clamorous complaynt, though it late be! Receyve my prayers; unworthy in this hevy lyfe Though I be, a synner moost abhomynable. Yet let my name be wryten in Moyses table.s Mary, praye to the maker of all thynge Me for to helpe at my endynge, And save me fro the power of my enemy; For Deth assayleth me strongly: 600 And, Lady, that I may by meane of thy prayer Of your sones glory to be partynere, By the meanes of his passyon*, I it crave; 1 beseehe you, helpe mj' soule to save! — Knowledge, gyve me the scourge of penaunce, My flesshe therwith shall gyve acqueyntaunce; I wyll now begyn, yf God gyve me grace. Knowledge. Everyman, God gyve you tyme and space; Thus I bequeth you in the handes of our Savyour ; Now may you make your rekenynge sure. 610 EVEBYMAN. In the name of the holy Trynyte My body sore punysshyd shall be. Take this, body, for the synne of the flesshe ; Also thou delytest to go gay and fresshe; And in the way of dampnacyon thou dyd me brynge ; Therfore suffre now strokes of punysshynge; Now of penaunce I wyll wade the water clere, To save me from purgatory, that sharpe fyre. GooD-DEDES. I thanke God, now I can walke and go, 619 And am delyvered of my sykenesse and wo; Therfore with Everyman I wyll go, and not spare. His good workes T wyll helpe hym to declare. Knowledge. Now, Everyman, be mery and glad; 1 leader 2 founder 3 Apparently m e a nlng tte Book of Life 4 death on the cross Your Good-dedes cometh now, ye may not be sad; Now is your Good-dedes hole and sounde, Goynge upryght upon the grounde. Everyman. My herte is lyght, and shalbe evermore ; Now wyll I smyte faster than I dyde before. Good-dedes. Everyman, pylgryme, my spe- cyall frende, Blessyd be thou without ende; 630 For the is preparate the eternall glory. Ye have me made hole and sounde, Therfore I will byde by the in every stoundes. Everyman. Welcome, my Good-dedes! Now I here thy voyce I wepe for very sweteness of love. Knowledge. Be no more sad, but ever rejoyce. God seeth thy lyvynge in his trone above; Put on this garment to thy behove^, Whiehe is wette with your teres, Or elles before God you may it mysse, 640 Whan ye to your journeys ende come shall. Everyman. Gentyll Knowledge, what do ye it call? Knowledge. It is a garmente of sorowe, Fro payne it wyll you borowe'^; Contrycyon it is. That getteth forgyvenes. He pleasyth God passynge well. Good-dedes. Everyman, wyll you were it for your helesf Everyman. Now blessyd be Jesu, Maryes sone, For now have I oh true contrycyon, 650 And lette us go now without taryenge. — Good-dedes, have we clere our rekenynge! Good-dedes. Ye, in dede, I have here. Everyman. Than I trust we nede not fere. Now, frendes, let us not parte in twa/ne. Kynrede.9 Nay, Everyman, that wyll we not certayne. Good-dedes. Yet must thou ledio with t Thre persones of grete myght. Everyman. Who sholde they be? Good-dedes. Dyscrecyon and Strength they hyghtii, 660 And thy Beaute may not abyde behynde. Knowledge. Also ye must call to mynde Your Fyve-wyttesi2, as for your counseylours. Good-dedes. You must have them redy at all houres. Everyman. Howe shall I gette them hyderf 5 hour 9 Probably error for 6 profit Knowledge 7 redeem lo lead s wear It for your heal- n are called ing I- The five senses 82 FIFTEENTH AND EARLY SIXTEENTH CENTURIES Kynbeoe. You must call them all togyder, And they wyll here you in contynenti. Everyman. My frendes, eome hyder, and be present, Dyscrecyou, Strengthe, my Fyve-wyttes and Beaute. Beaute. Here at your wyll we be all redy. What wyll ye that we sholde do? 671 GooD-DEDEs. That ye wolde with Everyman go, And helpe hym in his pylgrymage. Advyse you, wyll ye with him or not in that vyage? Strengthe. We wyll brynge hym all thydor To his helpe and oomforte, ye may beleve me. Dyscrecyon. So wyll we go with hym all togyder. Everyman. Almyghty God, loved myght thou be; I gyve the laude2 that I have hyder brought Strength, Dyscrecyon, Beaute, & Fyve-wyttes, lacke I nought: 680 And my Good-dedes, with Knowledge clere, All be in my company at my wyll here; I desyre no more to my besynes. Strengths. And I, Strength, wyll by you stande in dystres, Though thou wolde in batayle fyght on the ground. Fyve-wyttss. And though it were thrugh the worlde rounde, We wyll not departe for swete ne soure, Beaute. No more wyll I unto dethes houre. What so ever therof befall. Dyscrecyon. Everyman, advyse you fvrst of all, ' " 690 Go with a good advysement and delyberacyon. We all gyve you vertuous monycyons That all shall be well. Everyman. My frondes, harken what I wyll tell; I praye Go where •I out of IiIh power And receyve of him in ony wyse The holy sacrament and oyntement togyder, Than shortly se ye tourne agayue hyder, 7]0 We wyll all abyde you here. Fyve-wyttes. Ye, Everyman, hye you that ye redy were^. There is no Emperour, King, Duke, ne Baron That of God hath commycyon As hath the leest preest in the worlde beyngC*; For of the blessyd sacramentes pure and benynge He bereth the keyes, and thereof hath the cure». For mannes retlempcyon it is ever sure Whiche God for our soules medycyne 719 Gave us out of his herte with grete payne. Here in this transytory lyfe, for the and me The blessyd sacramentes vii. there be : Baptym, confyrmacyon, with preesthode good, And the sacrament of Goddes preeyous flesshe and blod, Maryage, the holy extreme unccyonio and pen- aunce: These seven be good to have in remembraunce, Gracyous sacramentes of hye devynyte. Evkryman. Fayne wolde I receyve that holy body And mekely to my ghostly fader I wyll go. Fyve-wyttes. Everyman, that is the best that ye can do; 730 God wyll you to salvacyon brynge, For preesthode excedeth all other tiiyng To us holy scrypture they do teche, And converteth man fro synne, heven to reehe; God hath to them more power gyven Than to ony aungell that is in heven. With V. wordes he may consecrate Goddes body in flesshe and blode to make, And handeleth his Maker bytwene his handes. The preest byndeth and unbyndeth all bandes Both in erthe and in heven. 741 Thou mynystres'i all the sacramentes seven. Though we kysse thy fete thou were worthy. Thou arte surgyon that cureth synne deedly. No remedy we fynde under God Bute all onely preesthode. Every man, God gave preest that dygnyte And setteth them in his stede amonge us to be. Thus be they above aungelles in degree. Knowledge. If preest es be good, it is so suerly, "^^0 But whan .Te.su hanged on the crosse with grete smarte, There he gave out of his blessyd herte The same sacrament in grete tourment; 7 hasto that vo may be 8 care ready m inst nnointing s IIvIhr II nilinlnisterpst EVERYMAN 93 He solde them not to us, that Lorde omnyp- otent ; Therfore saynt Peter the apostell dothe save That Jesus curse hath all they Whiche God theyr Savyour do byi or sell, Or they fors ony money do take or tell^. Synfull preestes gyveth the synners example bad; . . . These be with synne made blynde. 763 Fyve-wyttes. I trust to God, no suche may we fyude ; Therfore let us preesthode honour, And folowe theyr doctryne for our soules sccoure. We be theyr shepe, and they shepeherdes be. By whome we all be kepte in suerte. — Peas! for yonder I se Everyman come. Which hath made true satysfaccyon. 770 GooD-DEDES. Me thynke, it is he in dede. Everyman. Now Jesu be your alder spede-*! 1 have receyved the sacrament for my re- dempcyon, And than myne extreme unccyon. Blessyd be all thev that counseyled me to take it! And now frendes, let us go without longer respyte. I thanke God, that ye have taryed so longe. Now set eche of you on this rodde^ your honde. And shortely fclowe me. I go before there I wolde be. God be your gyde. " 780 Strength. Everyman, we wyll not fro you go Tyll we have done this vyage longe. DvscRECYON. I, Dyscrecyon, wyll byde by you also. Knowledge. And though this pylgrymage be never so stronge« I wyll never parte you fro. Everyman, I wyll be as sure by the As ever I dyde by Judas Machabee^. Everyman. Alas! I am so faynt I may not stande, My lymmes under me doth folde. Prendes, let us not tourne agayne to this lande. Not for all the worldes golde, 791 For in to this cave must I crepe. And tourne to erth and there to slepe. Beaute. What, in to this grave, alas! Everyman. Ye, there shall ye consume, more and lesse.8 1 buy 7 Leader of the Jews 2 Tossibly fhri) for should against the Syrians be therfor. iu the recovery of 3 count Jerusalem, 164 B. C. 4 tlie help of you all See I. Maccahees, 5 rood, cross 111. 6 difficult 8 high and low alike Beaute. And what, sholde I smoder here? Everyman. Ye, by my fayth, and never more appere! In this worlde lyve no more we shall, But in heven before the hyest Lorde of all. Beaute. I crosse out all this! adewe, by saynt Johan! 800 I take my tappe» in my lappe, and am gone. Everyman. What, Beaute, whyder wyll yo? Beaute. Peas! I am defe, I loke not be- hynde me, Not and thou woldest gyve me all the golde in thy chest. Everyman. Alas! whereto may I truste? Beaute gothe fast awaye fro me. She promysed with me to lyve and dye. Strengthe. Everyman, I wyll the also for- sake and denye, Thy game lykethio me not at all. Everyman. Why than ye wyll forsake me all! ' 810 Swete Strength, tary a lytell space. Strengthe. Nay, syr, by the rode of grace, I wyll hye me from the fast. Though thou wepe to" thy herte to brasti^. Everyman. Ye wolde ever byde by me, ye sayd. Strengthe. Ye, I have you ferreis ynoughe conveyde. Ye be olde ynoughe, I understande. Your pylgrymage to take on hande. I repent me, that I hyder came. Everyman. Strength, you to dysplease I am to blame ; 820 Wyll ye breke promyse that is dettei*? Strengths. In fayth, I care not! Thou arte but a foole to eomplayne; \ou spende your speche, and wast your brayne; Go, thrystis the into the grounde! Everyman. I had wendeis surer I shulde you have founder He that trusteth in his Strength, She hym deceyveth at the length; Bothe Strength and Beaute forsaketh me, Yet they promysed me f ayre and lovyngly. 830 Dyscrecion. Everyman, I wyll after Strength be gone; As for me I wyll leve you alone. Everyman. Why, Dyscrecyon, wyll ye for- sake me? = Dyscrecion. Ye. in fayth, I wyll go fro the ; For whan Strength goth before, I folowe after ever more. !• bunch of tow (for 12 break to pieces spinning : an old i3 far wives' saying) i* See 1. 248. 10 pleases is thrust 11 until i« weened, thought 94 FIFTEENTH AND EARLY SIXTEENTH CENTURIES Everyman. Yet, I pray the, for the love of the Trynyte, Loke in my grave ones pyteously. Dyscrecion. Nay, so nye wyll I not come! Fare well, everychone.i 840 Everyman. O all thynge fayleth, save God alone, Beaute, Strength, and Dyscrecyon; For, whan Detli bloweth his blast. They all renne fro me full fast. Fyve-wyttes. Everyman, my leve now of the I take; I wyll folowe the other, for here I the for- sake. Everyman. Alas, than may I wayle and wepe, For I toke you for my best frende. Fyve-wyttes. I wyll no lenger the kepe; Now farewell, and there an ende. 850 Everyman. Jesu, helpe! all hath forsaken me. GooD-DEDES. Nay, Everyman, I wyll byde with the, I wyll not forsake the in dede; Thou shalte fynde me a good frende at nede. Everyman. Gramercy, Good-dedes, now may I true frendes se; They have forsaken me everyehone, I loved them better than my Good-dedes alone. Kuowlege, wyll ye forsake me also? Knowledge. Ye, Everyman, whan ye to deth shall go ; But not yet for no maner of daunger. 860 Everyman. Grameroy, Knowledge, with all my herte. Knowledge. Nay, yet I wyll not from hens2 departe, Tyll I se where ye shall be fonie. Everyman. Me thynko, alas, that I must be gone To make my rekenynge and my dettes paye ; For I se my tyme is nye spent awaye. — Take example, all ye that this do here or se. How they that I love best do forsake me, Excepte my Good-dedes, that bydeth truely. Good-dedes. All erthly thynges is but vanyte, 870 Beaute, Strength, and Dyscrecyon, do man for- sake, Folysshe frendes, and kynnesmen that fayro spake, All fleeth save Good-dedes and that am T. Everyman. Have mercy on me, God moost myghty,— And stande by me, thou moder & mayde, holy Mary. 1 pvory one honoe Good-dedes. Fere not, I wyll speke for the. Everyman. Here I crye, God mercy. Good-dedes. Shorted our ende and myn- ysshe* our payne; Let us go and never come agayne. Everyman. Into thy handes, Lorde, my soule I commende, 880 Receyve it, Lorde, that it be not lost! As thou me boughtest, so me defende. And save me from the fendes boosts. That I may appere with that blessyd boost That shall be saved at the Jay of dome. In manus tuas^, of myghtes moost. For ever commendo spiritum meum^. Knowledge. Now hath he suffred that** we all shall endure, The Good-dedes shall make all sure. Now hath he made endynge, 890 Me thynketh that I here aungelles synge, And make grete joy and melody. Where every mannes soule receyved shall be. The Aungell. Come excellente electe spouse to Jesu! Here above thou shalt go, Bycause of thy synguler vertue. Now the soule is taken the body fro Thy rekenynge is crystall clere; Now shalte thou in to the hevenly spere. Unto the whiche all ye shall come 900 That lyveth well before the daye of dome. DocTOUR.* This morall, men may have in mynde; Ye herers, take it of worth, olde and yonge. And forsake Pryde, for he deceyveth you in the ende, And remembre Beaute, Fyve-wyttes, Strength, and Dyscrecyon, They all at the last do Everyman forsake, Save" his Good-dede» there doth he take. But be ware, andio they be small. Before God he hath no helpe at all. None excuse may be there for Everyman! 910 Alas! how shall he do than? For after dethe amendes may no man make. For than mercy and pyte doth hym forsake; If his rekenynge be not clere whan he doth come, God wyll saye — Ite maledicti, in ignem aeter- numii. And he that hath his accounte hole and sounde Hye in heven he shall be crounde; 8 shorten 8 what 4 diminish » only 5 fiend's boast lofor If « Into Thy hands u Ko, ye ncoursed. Into 7 I commend my spirit everlasting flre •To the Doctour (1. c.. learned man, or teacher) Is assigned the epilogue, which emphasizes the moral of the play. WILLIAM CAXTON 95 Unto whiche place God brynge us all thyder, That we may lyve body and soule togyder! Therto helpe the Trynyte ! 920 Amen, saye ye, for saynt Charyte! Finis Thus endeth this morall playe of Evevyman. WILLIAM CAXTON (1422?- 149 1) THE RECUYELL OF THE HISTORIES OF TROY.* Peologue When I remember that every man is bounden by the commandment and counsel of the wise man to eschew sloth and idleness, which is mother and nourisher of vices, and ought to put myself unto virtuous occupation and busi- ness, then I, having no great change of occu- pation, following the said counsel took a French book, and read therein many strange and mar- vellous historiesi, wherein I had great pleasure and delight, as well for the novelty of the same, as for the fair language of the French, which was in prose so well and compendiously set and written, which methought I understood the sentences and substance of every matter. And for so much of this book was new and late made and drawn into French, and never had seen it in our English tongue, I thought in myself it should be a good business to translate it into our English, to the end that it might be had as well in the royaumes of England as in other lands, and also for to pass therewith the time, and thus concluded in my- self to begin this said work. And forthwith took pen and ink, and began boldly to run forth as blind Bayardf in this present work, which is named * ' The Recuyell of the Trojan Histories. ' ' And afterward when I remem- bered myself of my simpleness and unperfect- ness that I had in both languages, that is to wit in French and in English, for in France was I never, and was born and learned my Eng- lish in Kent, in the Weald, where I doubt not is spoken as broad and rude English as in any place of England; and have continued by the space of thirty years for the most part in the 1 stories 2 sense 3 realm • "The collection of the stories of Troy." This book, printed at Bruges in Flanders about 1474, was tlie first book printed in English. See Eng. Lit., p. 68. The spelling is here modernized. t A legendary horse in the Charlemagne romances. "As bold as l>lind Bayard" was an old proverb for recklessness. countries of Brabant, Flanders, Holland, and Zealand; and thus when all these things came before me, after that* I had made and written five or six quires, I fell in despair of this work, and purposed no more to have continued there- in, and those laid apart, and in two years after labored no more in this work, and was fully in will to have left it, till on a time it for- tuned that the right high, excellent, and right virtuous princess, my right redoubted Lady, my Lady Margaret, by the grace of God sister unto the King of England and of France, my sovereign lord. Duchess of Burgundy, of Lotryk, of Brabant, of Limburg, and of Lux- embourg, Countess of Flanders, of Artois, and of Burgundy, Palatine of Hainault, of Hol- land, of Zealand, and of Namur, Marquesse of the Holy Empire, Lady of Frisia, of Salins, and of Mechlin, sent for me to speak with her good Grace of divers matters, among the which I let her Highness have knowledge of the foresaid beginning of this work, whichs anon commanded me to show the said five or six quires to her said Grace ; and when she had seen them, anon she found a default in my English, which she commanded me to amend, and moreover cominanded me straitlys to con- tinue and make an end of the residue then not translated; whose dreadful^ commandment I durst in no wise disobey, because I am a serv- ant unto her said Grace and receive of her yearly fee and other many good and great benefits, (and also hope many more to receive of her Highness), but forthwith went and la- bored in the said translation after my simple and poor cunning, alsos nigh as I can follow my author, meekly beseeching the bounteous Highness of my said Lady that of her benev- olence lists to accept and take in greeio this simple and rude work here following; and if there be anything written or said to her pleas- ure, I shall think my labor well employed, and whereasii there is default, that she arettei2 it to the simpleness of my cunning, which is full small in this behalf; and require and pray all them that shall read this said work to correct it, and to hold me excused of the rude and simple translation. And thus I end my prologue. Epilogue to Book III. Thus end I this book, which I have trans- lated after mine Author as nigh as God hath 4 after 5 who strictly 7 revered » Just as 9 she please 10 graciously 11 whore 12 may she attribute 9o FIFTEENTH AND EARLY SIXTEENTH CENTURIES given me cunning, to. whom be given the laud and praising. And for as much as in the writ- ing of the same my pen is worn, my hand weary and not steadfast, mine eyne dimmed with overmuch looking on the white paper, and my courage not so prone and ready to labor as it hath been, and that age creepeth on me daily and f eebleth all the body, and also be- cause I have promised to divers gentlemen and to my friends to addressis to them as hastily as I might this said book, therefore I have practised and learned at my great charge and dispense to ordaini* this said book in print, after the manner and form as ye may here see, and is not written with pen and ink as other books be; to the end that every man may have them at once. For all the books of this story, named "The Recule of the His- tories of Troy" thus imprinted as ye here see, were begun in one day and also finished in one day, which book I have presented to my said redoubted Lady, as afore is said. And she hath well accepted it, and largely rewarded me, wherefore I beseech Almighty God to re- ward her everlasting bliss after this life, pray- ing her said Grace and all them that shall read this book not to ilisdain the simple and rude work, neither to reply against the saying of the matters touched in this book, though it accord not unto the translation of others which have written it. For divers men have made divers books which in all points accord not, as Dictes, Dares,! 5 and Homer. For Dictes and Homer, as Greeks, say and write favorably for the Greeks, and give them more worship than to the Trojans; and Dares writeth other- wise than they do. And also as for the proper names, it is no wonder that they accord not, for some one name in these days have divers equivocations after the countries that they dwell in; but all accord in conclusion the gen- eral destruction of that noble city of Troy, and the death of so many noble princes, as kings, dukes, earls, barons, knights, and common peo- ple, and the ruin irreparable of that city that never since was re-edified; which may be ex- ample to all men during the world how dread- ful and jeopardous it is to begin a war, and what harms, losses, and death followeth. Therefore the Apostle saith: "All that is written is written to our doetrine><>," which doctrine for the common weal I beseech God may be taken in such place and time as shall Mpr»pare which, though pop- Ki Ucpiilod authofR of ular in tlio MIddic Trojan taieH which AgcH, havo Hiinic are found only In Into oiwcurlty. late Latin, and in for our InHtructlon be most needful in increasing of peace, love, and charity; which grant us He that suffered for the same to be crucified on the rood tree. And say we all Amen for charity! SIR THOMAS MALORY (d. 1471) From LE MORTE DARTHUR.* How Arthur Was Chosen King. Book I. Chapters IY-VII And then King Uther fell passingi sore sick, so that three days and three nights he was speechless: wherefore all the barons made great sorrow, and asked Merlin2 what counsel were best. There is none other remedy, said Merlin, but God will have his will. But look ye all barons be before King Uther to-morn, and God and I shall make him to speak. So on the morn all the barons with Merlin came be- fore the king; then Merlin said aloud unto King Uther, Sir, shall your son Arthur be king after your days, of this realm with all the ap- purtenance? Then Uther Pendragon turned him, and said in hearing of them all, I give but God will have his will. But look ye all barons be before King Uther to-morn, and that he claim the crown upon forfeiture of my blessing ; and therewith he yielded up the ghost, and then was he interred as longed to a king. Wherefore the queen, fair Igraine, made great sorrow, and all the barons. Then stood the realm in great jeopardy long while, for every lord that was mighty of men made him strong, and many weened to have been king. Then Merlin went to the Arch- bishop of Canterbury, and counselled him for to send for all the lords of the realm, and all the gentlemen of arms, that they should to London come by Christmas, upon pain of curs ing; and for this cause, that Jesus, that was born on that night, that he would of his great mercy show some miracle, as he was come to be 1 exceeding (surpassing) 2 A nmu'Ulan, Arthur's advisor. • Of the hundred books printed by Caxton, this was In every way one of the most important — In size. In Intrinsic literary value, and in the influence It was destined to have upon succeeding literature. Its author compiled it out of the enormous amount of material which had grown up In Western Kurope about the legends of King Arthur and of the Holy Grall. drawing mainly from French sources, but bringing to It original construc- tive and Imaginative elements and In particu- lar an admirable narrative style. See KHf/. Ijit., p. (5S. The spelling of our text, as in all the succeeding prose of this volume, is modernized. SIR THOMAS MALORY 97 king of mankind, for to show some miracle who should be rightwise king of this realm. So the Archbishop, by the advice of Merlin, sent for all the lords and gentlemen of arms that they should come by Christmas even unto Lon- don. And many of them made them clean of their life^, that their prayer might be the more acceptable unto God. So in the greatest church of London, whether it were Paul's* or not the French book maketh no mention, all the estates* were long ors day in the church for to pray. And when matins and the first mass was done, there was seen in the churchyard, against the high altar, a great stone four square, like unto a marble stone, and in midst thereof was like ans anvil of steel a foot on high, and therein stuck a fair sword, naked, by the point, and letters there were written in gold about the sword that said thus: — Whoso pulleth out this sword of this stone and anvil, is rightwise king born of all Eng- land. Then the people marvelled, and told it to the Archbishop. T command, said the Arch- bishop, that ye keep you within your church, and pray unto God still ; that no man touch the sword till the high mass be all done. So when all masses were done all the lords went to be- hold the stone and the sword. And when they saw the scripture, some assayed^ ; such as would have been king. But none might stir the sword nor move it. He is not here, said the Arch- bishop, that shall achieve^ the sword, but doubt not God will make him known. But this is my counsel, said the Archbishop, that we let pur- vey9 ten knights, men of good fame, and they to keep this sword. So it was ordained, and then there was made a cry, that every man should assay that would, for to win the sword. And upon New Year 's Day the barons let make a jousts' <> and a tournament, that all knights that would joust or tourney there might play, and all this was ordained for to keep the lords together and the commons, for the Archbishop trusted that God would make him 3 wero shriven of their 7 tried sins 8 attain 4 The tlirw estates, cler- 8 cause to be provided fry. lords, and com- lo tiltlng-matth (usually nions. single combat, as 5 bcfoH' distinct from a tour- 6a kind of ney or tournament). ♦ The present site of St. raul's has been occupied by various churclies ; there is even a tradition that before the introduction of Christianity a temple of Diana stood on the spot. King Ethelbert erected a cathedral there in 607 and dedicated it to St. Paul. It was burned in 1086. Then was built the old St. Paul's which Malory knew, and which lasted until the great fire of 1666, to be followed by the present structure designed by Sir Christopher vVren. known that should win the sword. So upon New Year's Uay, when the service was done, the barons rode unto the field, some to joust and some to tourney, and so it happened that Sir Ector, that had great livelihood about London, rode unto the jousts, and with him rode Sir Kay his son, and young Arthur that was his nourished' 1 brother; and Sir Kay wasi2 made knight at All Hallowmass afore. So as they rode to the jousts-ward, Sir Kay lost his sword, for he had left it at his father 's lodging, and so he prayed young Ar- thur for to ride for his sword. I will well, said Arthur, and rode fast after the sword, and when he came home, the lady and all were out to see the jousting. Then was Arthur wroth, and said to himself, I will ride to the church- yard, and take the sword with me that sticketh in the stone, for my brother Sir Kay shall not be without a sword this day. So when he came to the churchyard, Sir Arthur alit and tied his horse to the stile, and so he went to the tent, and found no knights there, for they were at the jousting; and so he handled the sword by the handles, and lightly and fiercely pulled it out of the stone, and took his horse and rode his way until he came to his brother Sir Kay, and delivered him the sword. And as soon as Sir Kay saw the sword, he wistis well it was the sword of the stone, and so he rode to his father Sir Ector, and said: Sir, lo here is the sword of the stone, where- fore I must be king of this land. When Sir Ector beheld the sword, he returned again and came to the church, and there they alit all three, and went into the church. And anon he made Sir Kay to swear upon a book how he came to that sword. Sir, said Sir Kay, by my brother Arthur, for he brought it to me. How gat ye this sword? said Sir Ector to Arthur. Sir, I will tell you. When I came home for my brother's sword, I found nobody at home to deliver me his sword, and so I thought my brother Sir Kay should not be swordless, and so I came hither eagerly and pulled it out of the stone without any pain. Found ye any knights about this sword? said Sir Ector. Nay, said Arthur. Now, said Sir Ector to Arthur, I understand ye must be king of this land. Wherefore I, said Arthur, and for what cause? Sir, said Ector, for God will have it so, for there shoukU* never man have drawn out this sword, but he that shall be rightwise king of this land. Now let me see whether ye can put the sword there as it was, and pull it out again. 11 foster 12 had been 13 knew 14 could (was fated) 98 FIFTEENTH AND EAKLY SIXTEENTH CENTURIES That is no masteryi', said Arthur, and so he put it in the stone, wherewithal Sir Ector as- sayed to pull out the sword and failed. Now assay, said Sir Ector unto Sir Kay. And anon he pulled at the sword with all his might, but it would not be. Now shall ye assay, said Sir Ector to Arthur. I will well, said Arthur, and pulled it out easily. And therewithal Sir Ector knelt down to the earth, and Sir Kay. Alas, said Arthur, my own dear father and brother, why kneel ye to me? Nay, nay, my lord Arthur, it is not so; I was never your father nor of your blood, but I wot well ye are of an higher blood than I weened ye were. And then Sir Ector told him all, how he was betakenie him for to nourish him, and by whose commandment, and by Mer- lin 's deliverance. Then Arthur made great dole when he understood that Sir Ector was not his father. Sir, said Ector unto Arthur, will ye be my good and gracious lord when ye are king? Else were I to blame, said Arthur, for ye are the man in the world that I am most beholden to, and my good lady and mother your wife, that as well as her own hath fostered me and kept. And if ever it be God 's will that 1 be king as ye say, ye shall desire of me what I may do, and I shall not fail you, God forbid I should fail you. Sir, said Sir Ector, I will ask no more of you, but that ye will make my son, your foster brother. Sir Kay, seneschal of all your lands. That shall be done, said Arthur, and more, by the faith of my body, that never man shall have that office but he, while he and I live. Therewithal they went unto the Archbishop, and told him how the sword was achieved, and by whom; and on Twelfth-dayi7 all the barons came thither, and to assay to take the sword, who that would assay. But there afore them all, there might none take it out but Ar- thur; wherefore there were many lords wroth, and said it was a great shame unto them all and the realm, to be overgoverned with a boy of no high blood born, and so they fell outis at that time that it was put off till Candle- masi», and then all the barons should meet there again; but always the ten knights were ordained to watch the sword day and night, and so they set a pavilion over the stone and the sword, and five always watched. So at Candlemas many more great lords came thither for to have won the sword, but there might none prevail. And right as Arthur did *6 '("at «lay after Chrlst- i« ••nlniKtcd io msH. 17 The ^'stival ship of knights. im ' •i*IFTEENTH AND EARLY SIXTEENTH CENTURIES Now, fair nephew, said the king unto Sir j Gawaine, assay ye, for my love. Sir, he said, save your good grace-* I shall not do that. Sir, said the king, assay to take the sword and at my commandment. Sir, said Gawaine, your commandment I will obey. And therewith he took up the sword by the handles, but he might not stir it. I thank you, said the king to Sir Gawaine. My lord Sir Gawaine, said Sir Launcelot, now wit ye well this sword shall touch you so sore that ye shall will ye had never set your hand thereto for the best castle of this realm. Sir, he said, I might not with- say mine uncle's will and commandment. But when the king heard this he repented it much, and said unto Sir Percivale that he should as- say, for his love. And he said: Gladly, for to bear Sir Gawaine fellowship. And therewith he set his hand on the sword and drew it strongly, but he might not move it. Then were there [nosc] more that durst be so hardy to set their hands thereto. Now may ye go to your dinner, said Sir Kay unto the king, for a marvellous adventure have ye seen. So the king and all went unto the court, and every knight knew his own place, and set him therein, and young men that were knights served them. So when they were served, and all sieges fulfilled save only the Siege Perilous, anon there befell a marvellous adventure, that^c all the doors and windows of the palace shut by themself. Not for then 27 the hall was not greatly darked; and therewith they [were all25j abashed both one and other. Then King Arthur spake first and said: By God, fair fellows and lords, we have seen this day marvels, but or28 night I suppose we shall see greater marvels. In the mfanwhile came in a good old man, and an ancient, clothed all in white, and there was no knight knew from whence he came. And with him he brought a young knight, both on foot, in red arms, without sword or shield, save a scabbard hanging by his side. And these words he said: Peace be with you, fair lords. Then the old man said unto Arthur: Sir, I bring hero a young knight, the which is of king's lineage, and of the kindretl of Joseph of Aramathie, whereby the marvels of this court, and of strange realms, shall be fully accomplished. The king was right, glad of his words, and said unto the good man: Sir, ye be right welcome, and the young knight with you. 24 A depreratory phraHc. 25 InHt'rtod In the sec- ond edition by Cax- ton'H H II (■ (■ i> K H n r. Wynkyn do Wordc. 20 In that 27 nevertheless 28 ere Then the old man made the young man to unarm him, and he was in a coat of red sen- dal,2» and bare a mantle upon liis shoulder that was furred with ermine, and put that upon him. And the old knight said unto the young knight: Sir, follow me. And anon he led him unto the Siege Perilous, where beside sat Sir Launcelot; and the good man lift up the cloth, and found there letters that said thus: This is the siege of Galahad, the hautao prince. Sir, said the old knight, wit ye well that place is yours. And then he set him down surely in that siege. And then he said to the old man: Sir, ye may now go your way, for well have ye done that ye were commanded to do; and recommend nie unto my grandsire. King Pelles, and unto my lord Petchere, and say them on my behalf, I shall come and see them as soon as ever I may. So the good man departed; and there met him twenty noble squires, and so took their horses and went their way. Then all the knights of the Table Round marvelled greatly of Sir Gala- had, that he durst sit there in that Siege Peril- ous, and was so tender of age; and wist not from Avhence he came but all onlysi by God ; and said: This is he by whom the Sangreal shall be achieved, for there sat never none but he, but he were mischieved.32 Then Sir Launcelot beheld his son and had great joy of him. Then Bors told his fellows: Upon pain of my life this young knight shall come unto great worship.33 This noise was great in all the caurt, so that it came to the queen. Then she ha ] marvel what knight it might be that durst adventure him to sit in the Siege Perilous. Many said unto the queen he resembled much unto Sir Launcelot. I may well suppose, said the queen, that Sir Launce lot, being won by enchantment, had him of King Pelles' daughter, and his name is Gala- had. I would fain see him, said the queen, for he must needs be a noble man, for so is his father, I report me untosi all the Table Round. So when the meat was done that the king and all were risen, the king yedess unto the Siege Perilous and lift up the cloth, and found there the name of Galahad; and then he shewed it unto Sir Gawaine, and said: Fair nephew, now have we among us Sir Galahad, the good knight that shall worshipss us all; and upon pain of my life he shall achieve the Sangreal, right as Sir Launcelot had doners us to understand. Then came King Arthur unto Galahad and said: Sir, ye be welcome, for ye shall move 2» thin silk 80 high 31 iinlesH It were 32 harmed It honor 84 call to witness .tfi went 3« caused SIR THOMAS MALOKY 103 many good knights to the quest of the San- grcal, and ye shall achieve that never knights might bring to an end. Then the king took him by the hand, and went down from the palace to shew Galahad the adventures of the stone. How Sib Launcelot Was Tofore the Door of THE Chamber Wherein the Holy Sangreal Was. Book XVII. Chapters Xni-XV. Now saith the history, that when Launcelot was come to the water of Mortoise, as it is rehearsed before, he was in great peril, and so he laid him down and slept, and took the ad- venture that God would send him. So when he was asleep there came a vision unto him and said: Launcelot, arise up and take thine ar- mour, and enter into the first ship that thou shalt find. And Avhen he heard these words he start up and saw great clearness about him. And then he lift up his hand and blessed him,i and so took his arms and made him ready; and so by adventure he came by a strand, and found a ship the which was without sail or oar. And as soon as he was within the ship there he felt the most sweetness that ever he felt, and he was fulfilled with all thing that he thought on or desired. Then he said: Fair sweet Father, .Jesu Christ, I wot not in what joy I am, for this joy passeth all earthly joys that ever I was in. And so in this joy he laid him down to the ship 's board, and slept till day. And when he awoke he found there a fair bed, and therein lying a gentlewoman dead, the which was Sir Percivale's sister.* And as Launcelot devisedz her, he espied in her right hand a writ, the which he read, the which told him all the adventures that ye have heard to- fore, and of what lineage she was come. So with this gentlewoman Sir Launcelot was a month and more. If ye would ask how he lived, He that fed the people of Israel with manna in the desert, so was he fed; for every day when he had said his prayers he was sus- tained with the grace of the Holy Ghost. So on a night he went to play him by the water side, for he was somewhat weary of the 1 crossed himself 3 where 2 gazed upon •She had given her blood to heal a lady and had made this dying request of her brother : "As soon as I am dead, put me in a boat at the next haven, and let me ro as adventure will lead me ; and as soon as ye three come to the city of Sarras, there to achieve the Holy Grail, ye shall find me under a tower arrived, and there bury me in the spiritual place." ship. And then he listened and heard an horse come, and one riding upon him. And when he came nigh he seemed a knight. And so he let him pass, and went thereas3 the ship was; and there he alit, and took the saddle and the bridle and put the horse from him, and went into the ship. And then Launcelot dressed* unto him, and said: Ye be welcome. And he answered and saluted him again,^ and asked him: What is your name? for much my heart giveth« unto you. Truly, said he, my name is Launcelot du Lake. Sir, said he, then be ye welcome, for ye were the beginner of me in this world. Ah, said he, are ye Galahad? Yea, forsooth, said he; and so he kneeled down and asked him his blessing, and after took off his helm and kissed him. And there was great joy between them, for there is no tongue can tell the joy that they made either of other, and many a friendly word spoken between, as kin would, the which is no need here to be rehearsed. And there every each' told other of their adventures and marvels that were befallen to them in many journeys siths that they departed from the court. Anon, as Galahad saw the gentlewoman dead in the bed, he knew her well enough, and told great worship of her, that she was the best maid living, and it was great pity of her death. But when Launcelot heard how the marvellous sword was gotten, and who made it, and all the marvels rehearsed afore, then he prayed Gala- had, his son, that he would show him the swordt, and so he did; and anon he kissed the pommel, and the hilt, and the scabbard. Truly, said Launcelot, never erst knew I of so high adventures done, and so marvellous and strange. So dwelt Launcelot and Galahad within that ship half a year, and served God daily and nightly with all their power; and often they arrived in isles far from folk, where there re- paired none but wild beasts, and there they found many strange adventures and perilous, which they brought to an end ; but f ors those adventures were with wild beasts, and not in the quest of the Sangreal, therefore the tale maketh here no mention thereof, for it would be too long to tell of all those adventures that befell them. So after, on a Monday, it befell that they ar- rived in the edge of a forest tofore a cross; 4 addressed himself (or 7 each one simply "went") ■ since 5 in return » because 6 goeth out t The sword of King David, which had been put by Solomon Into this miraculous ship, and which maimed or slow all who attempted to ^raw it, until Galahad came. 104 FIFTEENTH AND EAKLY SIXTEENTH CENTURIES and then saw they a knight armed all in white, and was richly horsed, and led in his right hand a white horse; and so he came to the ship, and saluted the two knights on the High Lord's behalf, and said: Galahad, sir, ye have been long enough with your father, come out of the ship, and start upon this horse, and go where the adventures shall lead thee in the quest of the Sangreal. Then he went to his father and kissed him sweetly, and said: Fair sweet father, I wot not when I shall see you more till I see the body of Jesu Christ. I pray you, said Launcelot, pray ye to the High Father that He hold me in His service. And so he took his horse, and there they heard a voice that said: Think for to do well, for the one shall never see the other before the dread- ful day of doom. Now, son Galahad, said Launcelot, syneio we shall depart, and never see other, I pray to the High Father to con- serve me and you both. Sir, said Galahad, no prayer availeth so much as yours. And there- with Galahad entered into the forest. And the wind arose, and drove Launcelot more than a month throughout the sea, where he slept but little, but prayed to God that he might see some tidings of the Sangreal. So it befell on a night, at midnight, he arrived afore a castle, on the back side, which was rich and fair, and there was a postern opened toward the sea, and was open without any keeping, save two lions kept the entry; and the moon shone clear. Anon Sir Launcelot heard a voice that said: Launcelot, go out of this ship and enter into the castle, where thou shalt see a great part of thy desire. Then he ran to his arms, and so armed him, and so went to the gate and saw the lions. Then set he hand to his sword and drew it. Then there came a dwarf suddenly, and smote him on the arm so sore that the sword fell out of his hand. Then heard he a voice say: O man of evil faith and poor belief, wherefore trowestii thou more on thy harness than in thy Maker, for He might more avail thee than thine armour, in whose service that thou art set. Then said Launcelot: Fair Father Jesu Christ, I thank thee of Thy great mercy that Thou reprovest me of my misdeed ; now see I well that ye hold me for your servant. Then took he again his sword and put it up in his sheath, and made a cross in his forehead, and came to the lions, and they made semblantiz to do him harm. Notwithstanding he passed oj them without hurt, and entered into the castle to the chief fortress, and there were they all at rest. Then Launcelot entered in so armed, for he found no gate nor door but it was open. And at the last he found a chamber whereof the door was shut, and he set his hand thereto to have opened it, but he might not. Then he enforced him mickleis to undo the door. Then he listened and heard a voice which sang so sweetly that it seemed none earthly thing; and him thought the voice said: Joy and honour be to the Father of Heaven. Then Launcelot kneeled down tofore the chamber, for well wist he that there was the Sangreal within that chamber. Then said he: Fair sweet Father, Jesu Christ, if ever I did thing that pleased Thee, Lord for Thy pity never have me not in despite for my sins done aforetime, and that thou show me something of that I seek. And with that he saw the chamber door open, and there came out a great clearness, that the house was as bright asi* all the torches of the world had been there. So came he to the chamber door, and would have entered. And anon a voice said to him. Flee, Launcelot, and enter not, for thou oughtest not to do it ; and if thou enter thou shalt forthinkis it. Then he with- drew him aback right heavy.ia Then looked he up in the middes of the chamber, and saw a table of silver, and the holy vessel, covered with red samite, and many angels about it, whereof one held a candle of wax burning, and the other held a cross, and the ornaments of an altar. And before the holy vessel he saw a good man clothed as a priest. And it seemed that he was at the sacring of the mass.i7 And it seemed to Launcelot that above the priest's hands were three men, whereof the two put the youngest by likeness between the priest's hands; and so he lift it up right high, and it seemed to show so to the people. And then Launcelot mar- velled not a little, for him thought the priest was so greatly charged of is the figure that him seemed that he should fall to the earth. And when he saw none about him that would help him, then cfime he to the door a great pace,io and said: Fair Father Jesu Christ, ne take it for no sin though I help the good man which hath great nee