Canterbury Tales and Other Poems by Geoffrey Chaucer (always you kirsty moseley .txt) 📖

unroot (French, “arracher”); the opposite of “enrace,” to root in, implant.

 

84. It will be remembered that, at the beginning of the first book, Cressida is introduced to us as a widow.

 

85. Diomede is called “sudden,” for the unexpectedness of his assault on Cressida’s heart — or, perhaps, for the abrupt abandonment of his indifference to love.

 

86. Penscel: a pennon or pendant; French, “penoncel.” It was the custom in chivalric times for a knight to wear, on days of tournament or in battle, some such token of his lady’s favour, or badge of his service to her.

 

87. She has been told that Troilus is deceiving her.

 

88. The Roman kalends were the first day of the month, when a change of weather was usually expected.

 

89. Maker, and making, words used in the Middle Ages to signify the composer and the composition of poetry, correspond exactly with the Greek “poietes” and “poiema,” from “poieo,” I make.

 

90. My rather speech: my earlier, former subject; “rather” is the cormparative of the old adjective “rath,” early.

 

91. Up to the hollowness of the seventh sphere: passing up through the hollowness or concavity of the spheres, which all revolve round each other and are all contained by God (see note 5 to the Assembly of Fowls), the soul of Troilus, looking downward, beholds the converse or convex side of the spheres which it has traversed.

 

92. Sorted: allotted; from Latin, “sors,” lot, fortune.

 

93. Rascaille: rabble; French, “racaille” — a mob or multitude, the riff-raff; so Spencer speaks of the “rascal routs” of inferior combatants.

 

94. John Gower, the poet, a contemporary and friend of Chaucer’s; author, among other works, of the “Confessio Amantis.” See note 1 to the Man of Law’s Tale.

 

95. Strode was an eminent scholar of Merton College, Oxford, and tutor to Chaucer’s son Lewis.

 

96. Explicit Liber Troili et Cresseidis: “The end of the book of Troilus and Cressida.”

 

CHAUCER’S DREAM.

 

[This pretty allegory, or rather conceit, containing one or two passages that for vividness and for delicacy yield to nothing in the whole range of Chaucer’s poetry, had never been printed before the year 1597, when it was included in the edition of Speght. Before that date, indeed, a Dream of Chaucer had been printed; but the poem so described was in reality “The Book of the Duchess; or the Death of Blanche, Duchess of Lancaster” —

which is not included in the present edition. Speght says that “This Dream, devised by Chaucer, seemeth to be a covert report of the marriage of John of Gaunt, the King’s son, with Blanche, the daughter of Henry, Duke of Lancaster; who after long love (during the time whereof the poet feigneth them to be dead) were in the end, by consent of friends, happily married; figured by a bird bringing in his bill an herb, which restored them to life again. Here also is showed Chaucer’s match with a certain gentlewoman, who, although she was a stranger, was, notwithstanding, so well liked and loved of the Lady Blanche and her Lord, as Chaucer himself also was, that gladly they concluded a marriage between them.” John of Gaunt, at the age of nineteen, and while yet Earl of Richmond, was married to the Lady Blanche at Reading in May 1359; Chaucer, then a prisoner in France, probably did not return to England till peace was concluded in the following year; so that his marriage to Philippa Roet, the sister of the Duchess Blanche’s favourite attendant Katharine Roet, could not have taken place till some time after that of the Duke. In the poem, it is represented to have immediately followed; but no consequence need be attached to that statement. Enough that it followed at no great interval of time; and that the intimate relations which Chaucer had already begun to form with John of Gaunt, might well warrant him in writing this poem on the occasion of the Duke’s marriage, and in weaving his own love-fortunes with those of the principal figures. In the necessary abridgement of the poem for the present edition, the subsidiary branch of the allegory, relating to the poet’s own love affair, has been so far as possible separated from the main branch, which shadows forth the fortunes of John and Blanche. The poem, in full, contains, with an “Envoy”

arbitrarily appended, 2233 lines; of which 510 are given here.]

(Transcriber’s note: modern scholars believe that Chaucer was not the author of this poem)

 

WHEN Flora, the queen of pleasance,

Had wholly *achiev’d the obeisance won the obedience*

Of the fresh and the new season,

Thorough ev’ry region;

And with her mantle *whole covert wholly covered*

What winter had made discovert, — stripped

 

On a May night, the poet lay alone, thinking of his lady, and all her beauty; and, falling asleep, he dreamed that he was in an island

 

Where wall, and gate, was all of glass, And so was closed round about,

That leaveless* none came in nor out; *without permission Uncouth and strange to behold;

For ev’ry gate, of fine gold,

A thousand fanes,* ay turning, vanes, weathercocks Entuned had, and birds singing *contrived so as to emit Diversely, on each fane a pair, a musical sound With open mouth, against the air; <1>

And *of a suit* were all the tow’rs, of the same plan

Subtilly carven aft flow’rs carved to represent

Of uncouth colours, *during ay, lasting forever*

That never be none seen in May,

With many a small turret high;

But man alive I could not sigh, see Nor creatures, save ladies play, disporting themselves Which were such of their array,

That, as me thought, *of goodlihead for comeliness*

They passed all, and womanhead.

For to behold them dance and sing,

It seemed like none earthly thing;

 

And all were of the same age, save one; who was advanced in years, though no less gay in demeanour than the rest. While he stood admiring the richness and beauty of the place, and the fairness of the ladies, which had the notable gift of enduring unimpaired till death, the poet was accosted by the old lady, to whom he had to yield himself prisoner; because the ordinance of the isle was, that no man should dwell there; and the ladies’ fear of breaking the law was enhanced by the temporary absence of their queen from the realm. Just at this moment the cry was raised that the queen came; all the ladies hastened to meet her; and soon the poet saw her approach — but in her company his mistress, wearing the same garb, and a seemly knight. All the ladies wondered greatly at this; and the queen explained: “My sisters, how it hath befall, befallen I trow ye know it one and all,

That of long time here have I been

Within this isle biding as queen,

Living at ease, that never wight

More perfect joye have not might;

And to you been of governance

Such as you found in whole pleasance, <2>

In every thing as ye know,

After our custom and our law;

Which how they firste founded were,

I trow ye wot all the mannere.

And who the queen is of this isle, —

As I have been this longe while, —

Each seven years must, of usage,

Visit the heav’nly hermitage,

Which on a rock so highe stands,

In a strange sea, out from all lands,

That for to make the pilgrimage

Is call’d a perilous voyage;

For if the wind be not good friend,

The journey dureth to the end

Of him which that it undertakes;

Of twenty thousand not one scapes.

Upon which rock groweth a tree,

That certain years bears apples three; Which three apples whoso may have,

Is *from all displeasance y-save safe from all pain*

That in the seven years may fall;

This wot you well, both one and all.

For the first apple and the hext, highest <3>

Which groweth unto you the next,

Hath three virtues notable,

And keepeth youth ay durable,

Beauty, and looks, ever-in-one, continually And is the best of ev’ry one.

The second apple, red and green,

Only with lookes of your eyne,

You nourishes in great pleasance,

Better than partridge or fesaunce, pheasant And feedeth ev’ry living wight

Pleasantly, only with the sight.

And the third apple of the three,

Which groweth lowest on the tree,

Whoso it beareth may not fail miss, fail to obtain That* to his pleasance may avail. *that which So your pleasure and beauty rich,

Your during youth ever y-lich, alike Your truth, your cunning,* and your weal, *knowledge Hath flower’d ay, and your good heal,

Without sickness or displeasance,

Or thing that to you was noyance. offence, injury So that you have as goddesses

Lived above all princesses.

Now is befall’n, as ye may see;

To gather these said apples three,

I have not fail’d, against the day,

Thitherward to take the way,

*Weening to speed* as I had oft. expecting to succeed

But when I came, I found aloft

My sister, which that hero stands,

Having those apples in her hands,

Advising* them, and nothing said, regarding, gazing on But look’d as she were well apaid: satisfied*

And as I stood her to behold,

Thinking how my joys were cold,

Since I these apples *have not might, might not have*

Even with that so came this knight,

And in his arms, of me unware,

Me took, and to his ship me bare,

And said, though him I ne’er had seen, Yet had I long his lady been;

Wherefore I shoulde with him wend,

And he would, to his life’s end,

My servant be; and gan to sing,

As one that had won a rich thing.

Then were my spirits from me gone,

So suddenly every one,

That in me appear’d but death,

For I felt neither life nor breath,

Nor good nor harme none I knew,

The sudden pain me was so new,

That *had not the hasty grace be had it not been for the Of this lady, that from the tree prompt kindness*

Of her gentleness so bled, hastened Me to comforten, I had died;

And of her three apples she one

Into mine hand there put anon,

Which brought again my mind and breath, And me recover’d from the death.

Wherefore to her so am I hold, beholden, obliged That for her all things do I wo’ld,

For she was leach* of all my smart, physician And from great pain so quit my heart. *delivered And as God wot, right as ye hear,

Me to comfort with friendly cheer,

She did her prowess and her might.

And truly eke so did this knight,

In that he could; and often said,

That of my woe he was *ill paid, distressed, ill-pleased*

And curs’d the ship that him there brought, The mast, the master that it wrought.

And, as each thing must have an end,

My sister here, our bother friend, <4>

Gan with her words so womanly

This knight entreat, and cunningly,

For mine honour and hers also,

And said that with her we should go

Both in her ship, where she was brought, Which was so wonderfully wrought,

So clean, so rich, and so array’d,

That we were both content and paid; satisfied And me to comfort and to please,

And my heart for to put at ease,

She took great pain in little while,

And thus hath brought us to this isle

As ye may see; wherefore each one

I pray you thank her one and one,

As heartily as ye can devise,

Or imagine in any wise.”

 

At once there