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General Prologue After a brief introduction, describing the journey, Chaucer goes on to describe the pilgrims. The Knight |
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A Knight there was, and he a worthy man, |
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| (5) |
Full worthy was he in his liege1-lord's war, And therein had he ridden (none more far) As well in Christendom as heathenesse, And honoured everywhere for worthiness. At Alexandria, he, when it was won; |
1 feudal lord entitled to allegiance and service |
| (10) |
Full oft the table's roster he'd begun Above all nations' knights in Prussia. In Latvia raided he, and Russia, No christened man so oft of his degree. In far Granada at the siege2 was he |
2 surrounding and attacking a place |
| (15) |
Of Algeciras, and in Belmarie. At Ayas was he and at Satalye When they were won; and on the Middle Sea At many a noble meeting chanced to be. Of mortal battles he had fought fifteen, |
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| (20) |
And he'd fought for our faith at Tramissene Three times in lists, and each time slain his foe. This self-same worthy Knight had been also At one time with the lord of Palatye Against another heathen in Turkey: |
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| (25) |
And always won he sovereign3 fame for prize. Though so illustrious, he was very wise And bore himself as meekly as a maid. He never yet had any vileness said, In all his life, to whatsoever wight4. |
3
supreme authority 4 swift; strong |
| (30) |
He was a truly perfect, gentle Knight. But now, to tell you all of his array, His steeds were good, but yet he was not gay. Of simple fustian5 wore he a jupon6 Sadly discoloured by his habergeon7; |
5
a stout fabric made from cotton and flax 6 a close-fitting tunic worn over armor 7a piece of armor to defend the neck and breast |
| (35) |
For he had lately come from his voyage And now was going on this pilgrimage. With him there was his son, a youthful Squire8, A lover and a lusty bachelor, With locks well curled, as if they'd laid in press. |
8 a young man of noble birth; a gentleman |
| (40) |
Some twenty years of age he was, I guess. In stature he was of an average length, Wondrously active, aye, and great of strength. He'd ridden sometime with the cavalry In Flanders, in Artois, and Picardy, |
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| (45) |
And borne him well within that little space In hope to win thereby his lady's grace. Prinked9 out he was, as if he were a mead10, All full of fresh-cut flowers white and red. |
9
dressed with elaborate care
10 a meadow |
| The Prioress | ||
| There was also a nun, a Prioress, | ||
| (50) |
Who, in her smiling, modest was and coy; Her greatest oath was but By Saint Eloy! And she was known as Madam Eglantine. Full well she sang the services divine, Intoning through her nose, becomingly; |
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| (55) |
And fair she spoke her French, and fluently, After the school of Stratford-at-the-Bow, For French of Paris was not hers to know. At table she had been well taught withal, And never from her lips let morsels fall, |
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| (60) |
Nor dipped her fingers deep in sauce, but ate With so much care the food upon her plate That never driblet fell upon her breast. In courtesy she had delight and zest. Her upper lip was always wiped so clean |
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| (65) |
That in her cup was no iota11 seen Of grease, when she had drunk her draught of wine. Becomingly she reached for meat to dine. And certainly delighting in good sport, She was right pleasant, amiable- in short. |
11a very small quantity |
| (70) |
She was at pains to counterfeit the look Of courtliness, and stately manners took, And would be held worthy of reverence. But, to say something of her moral sense, She was so charitable and piteous |
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| (75) |
That she would weep if she but saw a mouse Caught in a trap, though it were dead or bled |
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| The Clerk | ||
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A Clerk from Oxford was with us also, Who'd turned to getting knowledge, long ago. As meagre12 was his horse as is a rake, |
12 lean; thin | |
| (80) |
Nor he himself too fat, I'll undertake, But he looked hollow and went soberly. Right threadbare was his overcoat; for he Had got him yet no churchly benefice13, Nor was so worldly as to gain office. |
13 a guaranteed fixed amount of income |
| (85) |
For he would rather have at his bed's head Some twenty books, all bound in black and red, Yet, and for all he was philosopher, He had but little gold within his coffer; But all that he might borrow from a friend |
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| (90) |
Of Aristotle and his philosophy Than rich robes, fiddle, or gay psaltery14. Of those who gave him wherewithal for schools. Of study took he utmost care and heed. Not one word spoke he more than was his need; |
14 an ancient stringed musical instrument |
| (95) |
On books and learning he would swiftly spend, And then he'd pray right busily for the souls And that was said in fullest reverence And short and quick and full of high good sense. |
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| The Pardoner | ||
| This Pardoner had hair as yellow as wax, | ||
| (100) |
But lank15 it hung as does a strike of flax; In wisps hung down such locks as he'd on head, But as to hood, for sport of it, he'd none, Though it was packed in wallet all the while. It seemed to him he went in latest style, |
15 straight and limp |
| (105) |
And with them he his shoulders overspread; But thin they dropped, and stringy, one by one. He had a fine veronica16 sewed to cap. His wallet lay before him in his lap, Stuffed full of pardons17 brought from Rome all hot. |
16
an image of the face of Christ as seen on
St. Veronica's cloth 17 written releases of penalties |
| (110) |
Dishevelled, save for cap, his head all bare. As shiny eyes he had as has a hare. A voice he had that bleated like a goat. |
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In the Pardoner's Tale, the pardoner boasts of the ways he tricks people into giving him money through the sale of relics. His main motivation is greed, but he boasts that despite his deceit, he can still tell a moral tale.
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In Flanders, once, there was a company |
1 an ancient guitar | |
| (5) |
They danced and played at dice both day and night. And ate also and drank beyond their might, Whereby they made the devil's sacrifice Within that devil's temple, wicked wise, By superfluity both vile and vain. |
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| (10) |
So damnable their oaths and so profane That it was terrible to hear them swear; Our Blessed Saviour's Body did they tear; They thought the Jews had rent Him not enough; And each of them at others' sins would laugh. |
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| (15) |
Then entered dancing-girls of ill repute, Graceful and slim, and girls who peddled fruit, Harpers2 and bawds3 and women selling cake, Who do their office for the Devil's sake, To kindle and blow the fire of lechery, |
2 people who play
the harp 3 prostitutes |
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The pardoner goes on to talk about people in the Bible who sinned, and the laws of God, before continuing his tale. |
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| (20) |
Great lords may find sufficient other play Seemly enough to while the time away. Now will I speak of oaths both false and great A word or two, whereof the old books treat. Great swearing is a thing abominable, |
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| (25) |
And vain oaths yet more reprehensible. The High God did forbid swearing at all, As witness Matthew; but in especial Of swearing says the holy Jeremiah, Thou shalt not swear in vain, to be a liar, |
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| (30) |
But swear in judgment and in righteousness; But idle swearing is a wickedness. Behold, in the first table of the Law, That should be honoured as High God's, sans flaw, This second one of His commandments plain: |
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| (35) |
Thou shalt not take the Lord God's name in vain. Nay, sooner He forbids us such swearing Than homicide or many a wicked thing; I say that, as to order, thus it stands; 'Tis known by him who His will understands |
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| (40) |
That the great second law of God is that. Moreover, I will tell you full and flat, That retribution will not quit his house Who in his swearing is too outrageous. By God's own precious heart, and by His nails, |
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| (45) |
And by the blood of Christ that's now at Hales, Seven is my chance, and yours is five and trey! By God's good arms, if you do falsely play, This dagger through your heart I'll stick for you! Such is the whelping of the bicched4 bones two: |
4notched or pecked, bicched bones are dice |
| (50) |
Perjury, anger, cheating, homicide. Now for the love of Christ, Who for us died, Forgo this swearing oaths, both great and small; But, sirs, now will I tell to you my tale. Now these three roisterers5, whereof I tell, |
5 noisy, boisterous people who act without restraint |
| (55) |
Long before prime was rung by any bell, Were sitting in a tavern for to drink; And as they sat they heard a small bell clink Before a corpse being carried to his grave; Whereat one of them called unto his knave: |
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| (60) |
Go run, said he, and ask them civilly What corpse it is that's just now passing by, And see that you report the man's name well. Sir, said the boy, it needs not that they tell. I learned it, ere you came here, full two hours; |
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| (65) |
He was, by gad, an old comrade of yours; And he was slain, all suddenly, last night, When drunk, as he sat on his bench upright; An unseen thief, called Death, came stalking by, Who hereabouts makes all the people die, |
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| (70) |
And with his spear he clove his heart in two And went his way and made no more ado. He's slain a thousand with this pestilence; And, master, ere you come in his presence, It seems to me to be right necessary |
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| (75) |
To be forewarned of such an adversary: Be ready to meet him for evermore. My mother taught me this, I say no more. By holy Mary, said the innkeeper, The boy speaks truth, for Death has slain, this year, |
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| (80) |
A mile or more hence, in a large village, Both man and woman, child and hind and page. I think his habitation must be there; To be advised of him great wisdom 'twere, Before he did a man some dishonour. |
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| (85) |
Yea, by God's arms! exclaimed this roisterer, Is it such peril, then, this Death to meet? I'll seek him in the road and in the street, As I now vow to God's own noble bones! Hear, comrades, we're of one mind, as each owns; |
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| (90) |
Let each of us hold up his hand to other And each of us become the other's brother, And we three will go slay this traitor Death; He shall be slain who's stopped so many a breath, By God's great dignity, ere it be night. |
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| (95) |
Together did these three their pledges plight To live and die, each of them for the other, As if he were his very own blood brother. And up they started, drunken, in this rage, And forth they went, and towards that village |
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| (100) |
Whereof the innkeeper had told before. And so, with many a grisly oath, they swore And Jesus' blessed body once more rent- Death shall be dead if we find where he went. When they had gone not fully half a mile, |
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| (105) |
Just as they would have trodden over a stile, An old man, and a poor, with them did meet. This ancient man full meekly them did greet, And said thus: Now, lords, God keep you and see! The one that was most insolent of these three |
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| (110) |
Replied to him: What? Churl6 of evil grace, Why are you all wrapped up, except your face? Why do you live so long in so great age? This ancient man looked upon his visage7 And thus replied: Because I cannot find |
6
a rude or surly person 7 appearance; face |
| (115) |
A man, nay, though I walked from here to Ind, Either in town or country who'll engage To give his youth in barter for my age; And therefore must I keep my old age still, As long a time as it shall be God's will. |
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| (120) |
Not even Death, alas! my life will take; Thus restless I my wretched way must make, And on the ground, which is my mother's gate, I knock with my staff early, aye, and late, And cry: O my dear mother, let me in! |
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| (125) |
Lo, how I'm wasted, flesh and blood and skin! Alas! When shall my bones come to their rest? Mother, with you fain would I change my chest, That in my chamber so long time has been, Aye! For a haircloth rag to wrap me in! |
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| (130) |
But yet to me she will not show that grace, And thus all pale and withered is my face. But, sirs, in you it is no courtesy To speak to an old man despitefully, Unless in word he trespass or in deed. |
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| (135) |
In holy writ you may, yourselves, well read 'Before an old man, hoar upon the head, You should arise.' Which I advise you read, Nor to an old man any injury do More than you would that men should do to you |
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| (140) |
In age, if you so long time shall abide; And God be with you, whether you walk or ride. I must pass on now where I have to go. Nay, ancient churl, by God it sha'n't be so, Cried out this other hazarder, anon8; |
8 at once |
| (145) |
You sha'n't depart so easily, by Saint John! You spoke just now of that same traitor Death, Who in this country stops our good friends' breath. Hear my true word, since you are his own spy, Tell where he is or you shall rue it, aye |
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| (150) |
By God and by the holy Sacrament! Indeed you must be, with this Death, intent To slay all us young people, you false thief. Now, sirs, said he, if you're so keen, in brief, To find out Death, turn up this crooked way, |
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| (155) |
For in that grove I left him, by my fay9, Under a tree, and there he will abide; Nor for your boasts will he a moment hide. See you that oak? Right there you shall him find. God save you, Who redeemed all humankind, |
9 faith |
| (160) |
And mend your ways!- thus said this ancient man. And every one of these three roisterers ran Till he came to that tree; and there they found, Of florins of fine gold, new-minted, round, Well-nigh eight bushels full, or so they thought. |
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| (165) |
No longer, then, after this Death they sought, But each of them so glad was of that sight, Because the florins were so fair and bright, That down they all sat by this precious hoard. The worst of them was first to speak a word. |
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| (170) |
Brothers, said he, take heed to what I say; My wits are keen, although I mock and play. This treasure here Fortune to us has given That mirth and jollity our lives may liven, And easily as it's come, so will we spend. |
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| (175) |
Eh! By God's precious dignity! Who'd pretend, Today, that we should have so fair a grace? But might this gold be carried from this place Home to my house, or if you will, to yours- For well we know that all this gold is ours- |
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| (180) |
Then were we all in high felicity. But certainly by day this may not be; For men would say that we were robbers strong, And we'd, for our own treasure, hang ere long. This treasure must be carried home by night |
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| (185) |
All prudently and slyly, out of sight. So I propose that cuts among us all Be drawn, and let's see where the cut will fall; And he that gets the short cut, blithe10 of heart Shall run to town at once, and to the mart, |
10 joyous; merry |
| (190) |
And fetch us bread and wine here, privately. And two of us shall guard, right cunningly, This treasure well; and if he does not tarry, When it is night we'll all the treasure carry Where, by agreement, we may think it best. |
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| (195) |
That one of them the cuts brought in his fist And bade them draw to see where it might fall; And it fell on the youngest of them all; And so, forth toward the town he went anon. And just as soon as he had turned and gone, |
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| (200) |
That one of them spoke thus unto the other: You know well that you are my own sworn brother, So to your profit I will speak anon. You know well how our comrade is just gone; And here is gold, and that in great plenty, |
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| (205) |
That's to be parted here among us three. Nevertheless, if I can shape it so That it be parted only by us two, Shall I not do a turn that is friendly? The other said: Well, now, how can that be? |
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| (210) |
He knows well that the gold is with us two. What shall we say to him? What shall we do? Shall it be secret? asked the first rogue, then, And I will tell you in eight words, or ten, What we must do, and how bring it about. |
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| (215) |
Agreed, replied the other, Never doubt, That, on my word, I nothing will betray. Now, said the first, we're two, and I dare say The two of us are stronger than is one. Watch when he sits, and soon as that is done |
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| (220) |
Arise and make as if with him to play; And I will thrust him through the two sides, yea, The while you romp with him as in a game, And with your dagger see you do the same; And then shall all this gold divided be, |
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| (225) |
My right dear friend, just between you and me; Then may we both our every wish fulfill And play at dice all at our own sweet will. And thus agreed were these two rogues, that day, To slay the third, as you have heard me say. |
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| (230) |
This youngest rogue who'd gone into the town, Often in fancy rolled he up and down The beauty of those florins new and bright. O Lord, thought he, if so be that I might Have all this treasure to myself alone, |
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| (235) |
There is no man who lives beneath the throne Of God that should be then so merry as I. And at the last the Fiend, our enemy, Put in his thought that he should poison buy With which he might kill both his fellows; aye, |
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| (240) |
The Devil found him in such wicked state, He had full leave his grief to consummate; For it was utterly the man's intent To kill them both and never to repent. And on he strode, no longer would he tarry, |
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| (245) |
Into the town, to an apothecary11, And prayed of him that he'd prepare and sell Some poison for his rats, and some as well For a polecat that in his yard had lain, The which, he said, his capons12 there had slain, |
11
a pharmacy 12 chickens |
| (250) |
And fain he was to rid him, if he might, Of vermin that thus damaged him by night. The apothecary said: And you shall have A thing of which, so God my spirit save, In all this world there is no live creature |
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| (255) |
That's eaten or has drunk of this mixture As much as equals but a grain of wheat, That shall not sudden death thereafter meet; Yea, die he shall, and in a shorter while Than you require to walk but one short mile; |
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| (260) |
This poison is so violent and strong. This wicked man the poison took along With him boxed up, and then he straightway ran Into the street adjoining, to a man, And of him borrowed generous bottles three; |
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| (265) |
And into two his poison then poured he; The third one he kept clean for his own drink. For all that night he was resolved to swink13 In carrying the florins from that place. And when this roisterer, with evil grace, |
13 labor; toil |
| (270) |
Had filled with wine his mighty bottles three, Then to his comrades forth again went he. What is the need to tell about it more? For just as they had planned his death before, Just so they murdered him, and that anon. |
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| (275) |
And when the thing was done, then spoke the one: Now let us sit and drink and so be merry, And afterward we will his body bury. And as he spoke, one bottle of the three He took wherein the poison chanced to be |
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| (280) |
And drank and gave his comrade drink also, For which, and that anon, lay dead these two. I feel quite sure that Doctor Avicena Within the sections of his Canon never Set down more certain signs of poisoning |
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| (285) |
Than showed these wretches two at their ending. Thus ended these two homicides in woe; Died thus the treacherous poisoner also. O cursed sin, full of abominableness! O treacherous homicide! O wickedness! |
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| (290) |
O gluttony, lechery, and hazardry! O blasphemer of Christ with villainy, And with great oaths, habitual for pride! Alas! Mankind, how may this thing betide That to thy dear Creator, Who thee wrought, |
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| (295) |
And with His precious blood salvation bought, Thou art so false and so unkind, alas! Now, good men, God forgive you each trespass, And keep you from the sin of avarice. My holy pardon cures and will suffice, |
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| (300) |
So that it brings me gold, or silver brings, Or else, I care not- brooches, spoons or rings. Bow down your heads before this holy bull! Come up, you wives, and offer of your wool! Your names I'll enter on my roll, anon, |
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| (305) |
And into Heaven's bliss you'll go, each one. For I'll absolve you, by my special power, You that make offering, as clean this hour |
| The Nun's Priest's Tale | ||
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The Nun's Priest describes the chicken yard setting, the owner of the
chickens, and then the hero, Chanticleer the rooster, and his hen
mistress, Pertelote. The Nun's Priest gives animals a human-like
quality. Notice the specific words throughout the excerpts that add to
the mock-heroic style of the tale. |
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His comb was redder than a fine coral, And battlemented like a castle wall. His bill was black and just like jet it shone; Like azure were his legs and toes, each one; |
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| (5) |
His spurs were whiter than the lily flower; And plumage of the burnished gold his dower. This noble cock had in his governance Seven hens to give him pride and all pleasance, Which were his sisters and his paramours |
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| (10) |
And wondrously like him as to colours, Whereof the fairest hued upon her throat Was called the winsome Mistress Pertelote. Courteous she was, discreet and debonnaire, Companionable, and she had been so fair Since that same day when she was seven nights old, |
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| (15) |
That truly she had taken the heart to hold But such a joy it was to hear them sing, Whenever the bright sun began to spring, In sweet accord, My love walks through the land. For at that time, and as I understand, |
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| (20) |
The beasts and all the birds could speak and sing. So it befell that, in a bright dawning, As Chanticleer 'midst wives and sisters all Sat on his perch, the which was in the hall, And next him sat the winsome Pertelote, |
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| (25) |
This Chanticleer he groaned within his throat Like man that in his dreams is troubled sore. And when fair Pertelote thus heard him roar, She was aghast and said: O sweetheart dear, What ails you that you groan so? Do you hear? |
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| (30) |
You are a sleepy herald. Fie, for shame! And he replied to her thus: Ah, madame, I pray you that you take it not in grief: |
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Chanticleer has a dream about a fox entering the chicken yard and is overcome with fear. Pertelote severely scolds him. |
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By God, I dreamed I'd come to such mischief, Just now, my heart yet jumps with sore affright. |
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| (35) |
Now God, cried he, my vision read aright And keep my body out of foul prison! I dreamed, that while I wandered up and down Within our yard, I saw there a strange beast Was like a dog, and he'd have made a feast |
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| (40) |
Upon my body, and have had me dead. His colour yellow was and somewhat red; And tipped his tail was, as were both his ears, With black, unlike the rest, as it appears; His snout was small and gleaming was each eye. |
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| (45) |
Remembering how he looked, almost I die; And all this caused my groaning, I confess. Aha, said she, fie on you, spiritless! Alas! cried she, for by that God above, Now have you lost my heart and all my love; |
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| (50) |
I cannot love a coward, by my faith. For truly, whatsoever woman saith, We all desire, if only it may be, To have a husband hardy, wise, and free, And trustworthy, no niggard1, and no fool, |
1 a miserly or stingy person |
| (55) |
Nor one that is afraid of every tool, Nor yet a braggart, by that God above! How dare you say, for shame, unto your love That there is anything that you have feared? Have you not man's heart, and yet have a beard? |
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| (60) |
Alas! And are you frightened by a vision? Dreams are, God knows, a matter for derision. Visions are generated by repletions And vapours and the body's bad secretions Of humours overabundant in a wight. |
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| (65) |
Surely this dream, which you have had tonight, Comes only of the superfluity Of your bilious2 irascibility3, Which causes folk to shiver in their dreams For arrows and for flames with long red gleams, |
2
problem with the liver 3 easily provoked or angered |
| (70) |
Of Chanticleer, locked in her every limb; He loved her so that all was well with him. For great beasts in the fear that they will bite, For quarrels and for wolf whelps great and slight; Just as the humour of melancholy |
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| (75) |
Causes full many a man, in sleep, to cry, For fear of black bears or of bulls all black, Or lest black devils put them in a sack. Of other humours could I tell also, That bring, to many a sleeping man, great woe; |
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Chanticleer corrects Pertelote and says that dreams are significant and are premonitions of things to come. He tells several stories about people having bad dreams that actually happen. Then the Nun's Priest continues with the tale. |
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| (80) |
This tale is just as true, I undertake, As is the book of Launcelot of the Lake, Which women always hold in such esteem. But now I must take up my proper theme. A brant-fox, full of sly iniquity, |
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| (85) |
That in the grove had lived two years, or three, Now by a fine premeditated plot That same night, breaking through the hedge, had got Into the yard where Chanticleer the fair Was wont, and all his wives too, to repair; |
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| (90) |
And in a bed of greenery still he lay Waiting his chance on Chanticleer to fall, As gladly do these killers one and all Who lie in ambush for to murder men. O murderer false, there lurking in your den! |
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| (95) |
O new Iscariot, O new Ganelon! O false dissimulator4, Greek Sinon That brought down Troy all utterly to sorrow! O Chanticleer, accursed be that morrow When you into that yard flew from the beams! |
4 someone in a disguise |
| (100) |
You were well warned, and fully, by your dreams That this day should hold peril damnably. |
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The Nun's Priest brings up the controversial topic of free will and then dismisses it. |
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My tale is of a cock, as you shall hear, That took the counsel of his wife, with sorrow, To walk within the yard upon that morrow |
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| (105) |
After he'd had the dream whereof I told. Now women's counsels oft are ill to hold; A woman's counsel brought us first to woe, And Adam caused from Paradise to go, Wherein he was right merry and at ease. |
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| (110) |
But since I know not whom it may displease
If woman's counsel I hold up to blame, Pass over, I but said it in my game. Read authors where such matters do appear, And what they say of women, you may hear. |
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| (115) |
These are the cock's words, they are none of mine; No harm in women can I e'er divine. All in the sand, a-bathing merrily, Lay Pertelote, with all her sisters by, There in the sun; and Chanticleer so free |
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| (120) |
Sang merrier than a mermaid in the sea (For Physiologus says certainly That they do sing, both well and merrily). And so befell that, as he cast his eye Among the herbs and on a butterfly, |
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| (125) |
He saw this fox that lay there, crouching low. Nothing of urge was in him, then, to crow; But he cried Cock-cock-cock and did so start As man who has a sudden fear at heart. For naturally a beast desires to flee |
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| (130) |
From any enemy that he may see, Though never yet he's clapped on such his eye. When Chanticleer the fox did then espy, He would have fled but that the fox anon Said: Gentle sir, alas! Why be thus gone? |
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| (135) |
Are you afraid of me, who am your friend? Now, surely, I were worse than any fiend If I should do you harm or villainy. I came not here upon your deeds to spy; But, certainly, the cause of my coming |
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| (140) |
Was only just to listen to you sing. For truly, you have quite as fine a voice |
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The fox heaps compliments and flattery on Chanticleer about his
singing voice and his father's singing voice. |
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This Chanticleer his wings began to beat, As one that could no treason there espy, So was he ravished by this flattery |
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(145)
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Alas, you lords! Full many a flatterer Is in your courts, and many a cozener5, That please your honours much more, by my fay, Than he that truth and justice dares to say. Go read the Ecclesiast on flattery; |
5 one who deceives |
| (150) |
Beware, my lords, of all their treachery! This Chanticleer stood high upon his toes, Stretching his neck, and both his eyes did close, And so did crow right loudly, for the nonce; And Russel Fox, he started up at once, |
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| (155) |
And by the gorget6 grabbed our Chanticleer, Flung him on back, and toward the wood did steer, For there was no man who as yet pursued. O destiny, you cannot be eschewed! Alas, that Chanticleer flew from the beams! |
6 a patch on the throat of a bird or small animal |
| (160) |
Alas, his wife recked nothing of his dreams! And on a Friday fell all this mischance. O Venus, who art goddess of pleasance, Since he did serve thee well, this Chanticleer, And to the utmost of his power here, |
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| (165) |
More for delight than cocks to multiply, Why would'st thou suffer him that day to die? O Gaufred, my dear master sovereign, Who, when King Richard Lionheart was slain By arrow, sang his death with sorrow sore, |
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| (170) |
Why have I not your faculty and lore To chide Friday, as you did worthily? (For truly, on a Friday slain was he). Then would I prove how well I could complain For Chanticleer's great fear and all his pain. |
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| (175) |
Certainly no such cry and lamentation Were made by ladies at Troy's debolation, When Pyrrhus with his terrible bared sword Had taken old King Priam by the beard And slain him (as the Aeneid tells to us), |
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| (180) |
As made then all those hens in one chorus When they had caught a sight of Chanticleer. But fair Dame Pertelote assailed the ear Far louder than did Hasdrubal's good wife When that her husband bold had lost his life, |
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| (185) |
And Roman legionaries burned Carthage; For she so full of torment was, and rage, She voluntarily to the fire did start And burned herself there with a steadfast heart. And you, O woeful hens, just so you cried |
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| (190) |
As when base Nero burned the city wide Of Rome, and wept the senators' stern wives Because their husbands all had lost their lives, For though not guilty, Nero had them slain. Now will I turn back to my tale again. |
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| (195) |
This simple widow and her daughters two Heard these hens cry and make so great ado, And out of doors they started on the run And saw the fox into the grove just gone, Bearing upon his back the cock away. |
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| (200) |
And then they cried, Alas, and weladay! Oh, oh, the fox! and after him they ran, And after them, with staves, went many a man; |
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The farm animals, including dogs, cows, hogs, and geese, as well as a swarm of noisy bees, chase the fox and Chanticleer into the forest. |
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This cock, which lay across the fox's back, In all his fear unto the fox did clack |
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| (205) |
And say: Sir, were I you, as I should be, Then would I say (as God may now help me!), Turn back again, presumptuous peasants all! A very pestilence upon you fall! Now that I've gained here to this dark wood's side, |
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| (210) |
In spite of you this cock shall here abide. I'll eat him, by my faith, and that anon! The fox replied: In faith, it shall be done! And as he spoke that word, all suddenly This cock broke from his mouth, full cleverly, |
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| (215) |
And high upon a tree he flew anon. And when the fox saw well that he was gone, Alas, quoth he, O Chanticleer, alas! I have against you done a base tresspass In that I frightened you, my dear old pard, |
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| (220) |
When you I seized and brought from out that yard; But, sir, I did it with no foul intent; Come down, and I will tell you what I meant. I'll tell the truth to you, God help me so! Nay then, said he, beshrew7 us both, you know, |
7 curse |
| (225) |
But first, beshrew myself, both blood and bones, If you beguile me, having done so once, You shall no more, with any flattery, Cause me to sing and close up either eye. For he who shuts his eyes when he should see, |
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| (230) |
And wilfully, God let him ne'er be free! Nay, said the fox, but, God give him mischance Who is so indiscreet in governance He chatters when he ought to hold his peace. Lo, such it is when watch and ward do cease, |
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| (235) |
And one grows negligent with flattery. But you that hold this tale a foolery, As but about a fox, a cock, a hen, Yet do not miss the moral, my good men. For Saint Paul says that all that's written well |
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| (240) |
Is written down some useful truth to tell. Then take the wheat and let the chaff lie still. And now, good God, and if it be Thy will, As says Lord Christ, so make us all good men And bring us into His high bliss. Amen. |