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

thilke* tender flow’r *that same Which that I have assured in your hond, When that the priest to you my body bond: Wherefore I will answer in this mannere, With leave of you mine owen lord so dear.

I pray to God, that never dawn the day That I *no sterve,* as foul as woman may, do not die

If e’er I do unto my kin that shame,

Or elles I impaire so my name,

That I bee false; and if I do that lack, Do strippe me, and put me in a sack,

And in the nexte river do me drench: drown I am a gentle woman, and no wench.

Why speak ye thus? but men be e’er untrue, And women have reproof of you aye new.

Ye know none other dalliance, I believe, But speak to us of untrust and repreve.” reproof And with that word she saw where Damian Sat in the bush, and coughe she began; And with her finger signe made she,

That Damian should climb upon a tree

That charged was with fruit; and up he went: For verily he knew all her intent,

And every signe that she coulde make,

Better than January her own make. mate For in a letter she had told him all

Of this matter, how that he worke shall.

And thus I leave him sitting in the perry, pear-tree And January and May roaming full merry.

 

Bright was the day, and blue the firmament; Phoebus of gold his streames down had sent To gladden every flow’r with his warmness; He was that time in Geminis, I guess,

But little from his declination

Of Cancer, Jove’s exaltation.

And so befell, in that bright morning-tide, That in the garden, on the farther side, Pluto, that is the king of Faerie,

And many a lady in his company

Following his wife, the queen Proserpina, —

Which that he ravished out of Ethna,<26>

While that she gather’d flowers in the mead (In Claudian ye may the story read,

How in his grisly chariot he her fet*), — *fetched This king of Faerie adown him set

Upon a bank of turfes fresh and green, And right anon thus said he to his queen.

“My wife,” quoth he, “there may no wight say nay, —

Experience so proves it every day, —

The treason which that woman doth to man.

Ten hundred thousand stories tell I can Notable of your untruth and brittleness inconstancy O Solomon, richest of all richess,

Full fill’d of sapience and worldly glory, Full worthy be thy wordes of memory

To every wight that wit and reason can. knows Thus praised he yet the bounte* of man: *goodness ‘Among a thousand men yet found I one, But of all women found I never none.’ <27>

Thus said this king, that knew your wickedness; And Jesus, Filius Sirach, <28> as I guess, He spake of you but seldom reverence.

A wilde fire and corrupt pestilence

So fall upon your bodies yet tonight!

Ne see ye not this honourable knight?

Because, alas! that he is blind and old, His owen man shall make him cuckold.

Lo, where he sits, the lechour, in the tree.

Now will I granten, of my majesty,

Unto this olde blinde worthy knight,

That he shall have again his eyen sight, When that his wife will do him villainy; Then shall be knowen all her harlotry, Both in reproof of her and other mo’.”

“Yea, Sir,” quoth Proserpine,” and will ye so?

Now by my mother Ceres’ soul I swear

That I shall give her suffisant answer, And alle women after, for her sake;

That though they be in any guilt y-take, With face bold they shall themselves excuse, And bear them down that woulde them accuse.

For lack of answer, none of them shall dien.

 

All* had ye seen a thing with both your eyen, although Yet shall we visage it* so hardily, confront it

And weep, and swear, and chide subtilly, That ye shall be as lewed* as be geese. *ignorant, confounded What recketh me of your authorities?

I wot well that this Jew, this Solomon, Found of us women fooles many one:

But though that he founde no good woman, Yet there hath found many another man

Women full good, and true, and virtuous; Witness on them that dwelt in Christes house; With martyrdom they proved their constance.

The Roman gestes <29> make remembrance Of many a very true wife also.

But, Sire, be not wroth, albeit so,

Though that he said he found no good woman, I pray you take the sentence* of the man: opinion, real meaning He meant thus, that in sovereign bounte perfect goodness Is none but God, no, neither *he nor she. man nor woman*

Hey, for the very God that is but one, Why make ye so much of Solomon?

What though he made a temple, Godde’s house?

What though he were rich and glorious?

So made he eke a temple of false goddes; How might he do a thing that more forbode* is? *forbidden Pardie, as fair as ye his name emplaster, plaster over, “whitewash”

He was a lechour, and an idolaster, idohater And in his eld he very* God forsook. the true And if that God had not (as saith the book) Spared him for his father’s sake, he should Have lost his regne rather** than he would. kingdom *sooner I sette not of all the villainy value not

That he of women wrote, a butterfly.

I am a woman, needes must I speak,

Or elles swell until mine hearte break.

For since he said that we be jangleresses, chatterers As ever may I brooke* whole my tresses, *preserve I shall not spare for no courtesy

To speak him harm, that said us villainy.”

“Dame,” quoth this Pluto, “be no longer wroth; I give it up: but, since I swore mine oath That I would grant to him his sight again, My word shall stand, that warn I you certain: I am a king; it sits* me not to lie.” *becomes, befits “And I,” quoth she, “am queen of Faerie.

Her answer she shall have, I undertake, Let us no more wordes of it make.

Forsooth, I will no longer you contrary.”

 

Now let us turn again to January,

That in the garden with his faire May

Singeth well merrier than the popinjay: parrot “You love I best, and shall, and other none.”

So long about the alleys is he gone,

Till he was come to *that ilke perry, the same pear-tree*

Where as this Damian satte full merry

On high, among the freshe leaves green.

This freshe May, that is so bright and sheen, Gan for to sigh, and said, “Alas my side!

Now, Sir,” quoth she, “for aught that may betide, I must have of the peares that I see,

Or I must die, so sore longeth me

To eaten of the smalle peares green;

Help, for her love that is of heaven queen!

I tell you well, a woman in my plight <30>

May have to fruit so great an appetite, That she may dien, but* she of it have. ” *unless “Alas!” quoth he, “that I had here a knave servant That coulde climb; alas! alas!” quoth he, “For I am blind.” “Yea, Sir, *no force,”* quoth she; no matter

“But would ye vouchesafe, for Godde’s sake, The perry in your armes for to take

(For well I wot that ye mistruste me), Then would I climbe well enough,” quoth she, “So I my foot might set upon your back.”

“Certes,” said he, “therein shall be no lack, Might I you helpe with mine hearte’s blood.”

He stooped down, and on his back she stood, And caught her by a twist,* and up she go’th. twig, bough (Ladies, I pray you that ye be not wroth, I cannot glose, I am a rude man): *mince matters And suddenly anon this Damian

Gan pullen up the smock, and in he throng. rushed <31>

And when that Pluto saw this greate wrong, To January he gave again his sight,

And made him see as well as ever he might.

And when he thus had caught his sight again, Was never man of anything so fain:

But on his wife his thought was evermo’.

Up to the tree he cast his eyen two,

And saw how Damian his wife had dress’d, In such mannere, it may not be express’d, But if I woulde speak uncourteously. unless

And up he gave a roaring and a cry,

As doth the mother when the child shall die; “Out! help! alas! harow!” he gan to cry; “O stronge, lady, stowre! <32> what doest thou?”

 

And she answered: “Sir, what aileth you?

Have patience and reason in your mind, I have you help’d on both your eyen blind.

On peril of my soul, I shall not lien, As me was taught to helpe with your eyen, Was nothing better for to make you see, Than struggle with a man upon a tree:

God wot, I did it in full good intent.”

“Struggle!” quoth he, “yea, algate* in it went. *whatever way God give you both one shame’s death to dien!

He swived* thee; I saw it with mine eyen; *enjoyed carnally And elles be I hanged by the halse.” neck “Then is,” quoth she, “my medicine all false; For certainly, if that ye mighte see,

Ye would not say these wordes unto me.

Ye have some glimpsing,* and no perfect sight.” *glimmering “I see,” quoth he, “as well as ever I might, (Thanked be God!) with both mine eyen two, And by my faith me thought he did thee so.”

“Ye maze,* ye maze, goode Sir,” quoth she; *rave, are confused “This thank have I for I have made you see: Alas!” quoth she, “that e’er I was so kind.”

“Now, Dame,” quoth he, “let all pass out of mind; Come down, my lefe,* and if I have missaid, love God help me so, as I am evil apaid. dissatisfied*

But, by my father’s soul, I ween’d have seen How that this Damian had by thee lain, And that thy smock had lain upon his breast.”

“Yea, Sir,” quoth she, “ye may *ween as ye lest: think as you But, Sir, a man that wakes out of his sleep, please*

He may not suddenly well take keep notice Upon a thing, nor see it perfectly,

Till that he be adawed* verily. *awakened Right so a man, that long hath blind y-be, He may not suddenly so well y-see,

First when his sight is newe come again, As he that hath a day or two y-seen.

Till that your sight establish’d be a while, There may full many a sighte you beguile.

Beware, I pray you, for, by heaven’s king, Full many a man weeneth to see a thing, And it is all another than it seemeth; He which that misconceiveth oft misdeemeth.”

And with that word she leapt down from the tree.

This January, who is glad but he?

He kissed her, and clipped* her full oft, *embraced And on her womb he stroked her full soft; And to his palace home he hath her lad. led Now, goode men, I pray you to be glad.

Thus endeth here my tale of January,

God bless us, and his mother, Sainte Mary.

 

Notes to The Merchant’s Tale

 

1. If, as is probable, this Tale was translated from the French, the original is not now extant. Tyrwhitt remarks that the scene “is laid in Italy, but none of the names, except Damian and Justin, seem to be Italian, but rather made at pleasure; so that I doubt whether the story be