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

then men mighte see’n,

A world of ladies fall on kneen

Before my lady, —

 

Thanking her, and placing themselves at her commandment.

Then the queen sent the aged lady to the knight, to learn of him why he had done her all this woe; and when the messenger had discharged her mission, telling the knight that in the general opinion he had done amiss, he fell down suddenly as if dead for sorrow and repentance. Only with great difficulty, by the queen herself, was he restored to consciousness and comfort; but though she spoke kind and hope-inspiring words, her heart was not in her speech,

 

For her intent was, to his barge

Him for to bring against the eve,

With certain ladies, and take leave,

And pray him, of his gentleness,

To *suffer her* thenceforth in peace, let her dwell

As other princes had before;

And from thenceforth, for evermore,

She would him worship in all wise

That gentlenesse might devise;

And pain her wholly to fulfil, make her utmost efforts

In honour, his pleasure and will.

 

And during thus this knighte’s woe, —

Present* the queen and other mo’, (there being) present

My lady and many another wight, —

Ten thousand shippes at a sight

I saw come o’er the wavy flood,

With sail and oar; that, as I stood

Them to behold, I gan marvail

From whom might come so many a sail;

For, since the time that I was born,

Such a navy therebeforn

Had I not seen, nor so array’d,

That for the sight my hearte play’d

Ay to and fro within my breast;

For joy long was ere it would rest.

For there were sailes *full of flow’rs; embroidered with flowers*

After, castles with huge tow’rs, <5>

Seeming full of armes bright,

That wond’rous lusty* was the sight; *pleasant With large tops, and mastes long,

Richly depaint’ and *rear’d among. raised among them*

At certain times gan repair

Smalle birdes down from the air,

And on the shippes’ bounds* about *bulwarks Sat and sang, with voice full out,

Ballads and lays right joyously,

As they could in their harmony.

 

The ladies were alarmed and sorrow-stricken at sight of the ships, thinking that the knight’s companions were on board; and they went towards the walls of the isle, to shut the gates. But it was Cupid who came; and he had already landed, and marched straight to the place where the knight lay. Then he chid the queen for her unkindness to his servant; shot an arrow into her heart; and passed through the crowd, until he found the poet’s lady, whom he saluted and complimented, urging her to have pity on him that loved her. While the poet, standing apart, was revolving all this in his mind, and resolving truly to serve his lady, he saw the queen advance to Cupid, with a petition in which she besought forgiveness of past offences, and promised continual and zealous service till her death. Cupid smiled, and said that he would be king within that island, his new conquest; then, after long conference with the queen, he called a council for the morrow, of all who chose to wear his colours. In the morning, such was the press of ladies, that scarcely could standing-room be found in all the plain. Cupid presided; and one of his counsellors addressed the mighty crowd, promising that ere his departure his lord should bring to an agreement all the parties there present. Then Cupid gave to the knight and the dreamer each his lady; promised his favour to all the others in that place who would truly and busily serve in love; and at evening took his departure. Next morning, having declined the proffered sovereignty of the island, the poet’s mistress also embarked, leaving him behind; but he dashed through the waves, was drawn on board her ship from peril of death, and graciously received into his lady’s lasting favour. Here the poet awakes, finding his cheeks and body all wet with tears; and, removing into another chamber, to rest more in peace, he falls asleep anew, and continues the dream. Again he is within the island, where the knight and all the ladies are assembled on a green, and it is resolved by the assembly, not only that the knight shall be their king, but that every lady there shall be wedded also. It is determined that the knight shall depart that very day, and return, within ten days, with such a host of Benedicts, that none in the isle need lack husbands. The knight Anon into a little barge

Brought was, late against an eve,

Where of all he took his leave.

Which barge was, as a man thought,

Aft* his pleasure to him brought; according to

The queen herself accustom’d ay

In the same barge to play. take her sport It needed neither mast nor rother rudder (I have not heard of such another),

Nor master for the governance; steering It sailed by thought and pleasance,

Withoute labour, east and west;

All was one, calm or tempest. <6>

And I went with, at his request,

And was the first pray’d to the feast. the bridal feast When he came unto his country,

And passed had the wavy sea,

In a haven deep and large

He left his rich and noble barge,

And to the court, shortly to tell,

He went, where he was wont to dwell, —

 

And was gladly received as king by the estates of the land; for during his absence his father, “old, and wise, and hoar,” had died, commending to their fidelity his absent son. The prince related to the estates his journey, and his success in finding the princess in quest of whom he had gone seven years before; and said that he must have sixty thousand guests at his marriage feast. The lords gladly guaranteed the number within the set time; but afterwards they found that fifteen days must be spent in the necessary preparations. Between shame and sorrow, the prince, thus compelled to break his faith, took to his bed, and, in wailing and self-reproach,

 

— Endur’d the days fifteen,

Till that the lords, on an evene, evening Him came and told they ready were,

And showed in few wordes there,

How and what wise they had *purvey’d provided suitably For his estate, and to him said, to his rank*

That twenty thousand knights of name,

And forty thousand without blame,

Alle come of noble ligne line, lineage Together in a company

Were lodged on a river’s side,

Him and his pleasure there t’abide.

The prince then for joy uprose,

And, where they lodged were, he goes,

Withoute more, that same night,

And there his supper *made to dight; had prepared*

And with them bode* till it was day. abode, waited

And forthwith to take his journey,

Leaving the strait, holding the large, Till he came to his noble barge:

And when the prince, this lusty knight, With his people in armes bright,

Was come where he thought to pass, cross to the isle And knew well none abiding was

Behind, but all were there present,

Forthwith anon all his intent

He told them there, and made his cries proclamation Thorough his hoste that day twice,

Commanding ev’ry living wight

There being present in his sight,

To be the morrow on the rivage, shore There he begin would his voyage.

 

The morrow come, the *cry was kept proclamation was obeyed*

But few were there that night that slept, But truss’d and purvey’d for the morrow; packed up and provided

For fault* of ships was all their sorrow; *lack, shortage For, save the barge, and other two,

Of shippes there I saw no mo’.

Thus in their doubtes as they stood,

Waxing the sea, coming the flood,

Was cried “To ship go ev’ry wight!”

Then was but *hie that hie him might, whoever could hasten, did*

And to the barge, me thought, each one They went, without was left not one,

Horse, nor male*, truss, nor baggage, trunk, wallet Salad, spear, gardebrace,** nor page, helmet<7> *arm-shield<8>

But was lodged and room enough;

At which shipping me thought I lough, laughed And gan to marvel in my thought,

How ever such a ship was wrought. constructed For *what people that can increase, however the numbers increased*

Nor ne’er so thick might be the prease, press, crowd But alle hadde room at will;

There was not one was lodged ill.

For, as I trow, myself the last

Was one, and lodged by the mast;

And where I look’d I saw such room

As all were lodged in a town.

Forth went the ship, said was the creed;<9>

And on their knees, *for their good speed, to pray for success*

Down kneeled ev’ry wight a while,

And prayed fast that to the isle

They mighte come in safety,

The prince and all the company.

With worship and withoute blame,

Or disclander* of his name, *reproach, slander Of the promise he should return

Within the time he did sojourn

In his lande biding* his host; *waiting for This was their prayer least and most:

To keep the day it might not be’n,

That he appointed with the queen.

 

Wherefore the prince slept neither day nor night, till he and his people landed on the glass-walled isle, “weening to be in heav’n that night.” But ere they had gone a little way, they met a lady all in black, with piteous countenance, who reproached the prince for his untruth, and informed him that, unable to bear the reproach to their name, caused by the lightness of their trust in strangers, the queen and all the ladies of the isle had vowed neither to eat, nor drink, nor sleep, nor speak, nor cease weeping till all were dead. The queen had died the first; and half of the other ladies had already “under the earth ta’en lodging new.” The woeful recorder of all these woes invites the prince to behold the queen’s hearse:

 

“Come within, come see her hearse

Where ye shall see the piteous sight

That ever yet was shown to knight;

For ye shall see ladies stand,

Each with a greate rod in hand,

Clad in black, with visage white,

Ready each other for to smite,

If any be that will not weep;

Or who makes countenance to sleep.

They be so beat, that all so blue

They be as cloth that dy’d is new.”

 

Scarcely has the lady ceased to speak, when the prince plucks forth a dagger, plunges it into his heart, and, drawing but one breath, expires.

 

For whiche cause the lusty host,

Which [stood] in battle on the coast,

At once for sorrow such a cry

Gan rear, thorough* the company, *throughout That to the heav’n heard was the soun’, And under th’earth as far adown,

And wilde beastes for the fear

So suddenly affrayed* were, *afraid That for the doubt, while they might dure, have a chance of safety They ran as of their lives unsure,

From the woodes into the plain,

And from valleys the high mountain

They sought, and ran as beastes blind, That clean forgotten had their kind. nature The lords of the laggard host ask the woebegone lady what should be done; she answers that nothing can now avail, but that for remembrance they should build in their land, open to public view, “in some notable old city,” a chapel engraved with some memorial of the queen. And straightway, with a sigh, she also “pass’d her breath.”

 

Then said the lordes of the host,

And so concluded least and most,

That they would ay in houses of thack thatch