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

make an end,

So full am I of dread and eke of care.”

 

This monk began upon this wife to stare, And said, “Alas! my niece, God forbid

That ye for any sorrow, or any dread,

Fordo* yourself: but telle me your grief, *destroy Paraventure I may, in your mischief, distress Counsel or help; and therefore telle me All your annoy, for it shall be secre.

For on my portos* here I make an oath, breviary That never in my life, for lief nor loth, willing or unwilling*

Ne shall I of no counsel you bewray.”

“The same again to you,” quoth she, “I say.

By God and by this portos I you swear, Though men me woulden all in pieces tear, Ne shall I never, for* to go to hell, though I should Bewray one word of thing that ye me tell, *betray For no cousinage, nor alliance,

But verily for love and affiance.” confidence, promise Thus be they sworn, and thereupon they kiss’d, And each of them told other what them list.

“Cousin,” quoth she, “if that I hadde space, As I have none, and namely* in this place, specially Then would I tell a legend of my life, What I have suffer’d since I was a wife With mine husband, all be he your cousin. *although “Nay,” quoth this monk, “by God and Saint Martin, He is no more cousin unto me,

Than is the leaf that hangeth on the tree; I call him so, by Saint Denis of France, To have the more cause of acquaintance Of you, which I have loved specially

Aboven alle women sickerly, surely This swear I you *on my professioun; by my vows of religion Tell me your grief, lest that he come adown, And hasten you, and go away anon.”

 

“My deare love,” quoth she, “O my Dan John, Full lief* were me this counsel for to hide, *pleasant But out it must, I may no more abide.

My husband is to me the worste man

That ever was since that the world began; But since I am a wife, it sits* not me *becomes To telle no wight of our privity,

Neither in bed, nor in none other place; God shield* I shoulde tell it for his grace; *forbid A wife shall not say of her husband

But all honour, as I can understand;

Save unto you thus much I telle shall; As help me God, he is nought worth at all In no degree, the value of a fly.

But yet me grieveth most his niggardy. stinginess And well ye wot, that women naturally

Desire thinges six, as well as I.

They woulde that their husbands shoulde be Hardy,* and wise, and rich, and thereto free, brave And buxom to his wife, and fresh in bed. yielding, obedient But, by that ilke Lord that for us bled, *same For his honour myself for to array,

On Sunday next I muste needes pay

A hundred francs, or elles am I lorn. ruined, undone Yet *were me lever* that I were unborn, I would rather

Than me were done slander or villainy.

And if mine husband eke might it espy, I were but lost; and therefore I you pray, Lend me this sum, or elles must I dey. die Dan John, I say, lend me these hundred francs; Pardie, I will not faile you, *my thanks, if I can help it*

If that you list to do that I you pray; For at a certain day I will you pay,

And do to you what pleasance and service That I may do, right as you list devise.

And but* I do, God take on me vengeance, *unless As foul as e’er had Ganilion <9> of France.”

 

This gentle monk answer’d in this mannere; “Now truely, mine owen lady dear,

I have,” quoth he, “on you so greate ruth, pity That I you swear, and plighte you my truth, That when your husband is to Flanders fare, gone I will deliver you out of this care,

For I will bringe you a hundred francs.”

And with that word he caught her by the flanks, And her embraced hard, and kissed her oft.

“Go now your way,” quoth he, “all still and soft, And let us dine as soon as that ye may, For by my cylinder* ‘tis prime of day; *portable sundial Go now, and be as true as I shall be .”

“Now elles God forbidde, Sir,” quoth she; And forth she went, as jolly as a pie, And bade the cookes that they should them hie, make haste So that men mighte dine, and that anon.

Up to her husband is this wife gone,

And knocked at his contour boldely.

*“Qui est la?” quoth he. “Peter! it am I,” who is there?*

Quoth she; “What, Sir, how longe all will ye fast?

How longe time will ye reckon and cast Your summes, and your bookes, and your things?

The devil have part of all such reckonings!

Ye have enough, pardie, of Godde’s sond. sending, gifts Come down to-day, and let your bagges stond. stand Ne be ye not ashamed, that Dan John

Shall fasting all this day elenge* gon? *see note <10>

What? let us hear a mass, and go we dine.”

“Wife,” quoth this man, “little canst thou divine The curious businesse that we have;

For of us chapmen,* all so God me save, *merchants And by that lord that cleped is Saint Ive, Scarcely amonges twenty, ten shall thrive Continually, lasting unto our age.

We may well make cheer and good visage, And drive forth the world as it may be, And keepen our estate in privity,

Till we be dead, or elles that we play A pilgrimage, or go out of the way.

And therefore have I great necessity

Upon this quaint* world to advise** me. strange *consider For evermore must we stand in dread

Of hap and fortune in our chapmanhead. trading To Flanders will I go to-morrow at day, And come again as soon as e’er I may:

For which, my deare wife, I thee beseek *beseech As be to every wight buxom* and meek, *civil, courteous And for to keep our good be curious,

And honestly governe well our house.

Thou hast enough, in every manner wise, That to a thrifty household may suffice.

Thee lacketh none array, nor no vitail; Of silver in thy purse thou shalt not fail.”

 

And with that word his contour door he shet, shut And down he went; no longer would he let; delay, hinder And hastily a mass was there said,

And speedily the tables were laid,

And to the dinner faste they them sped, And richely this monk the chapman fed.

And after dinner Dan John soberly

This chapman took apart, and privily

He said him thus: “Cousin, it standeth so, That, well I see, to Bruges ye will go; God and Saint Austin speede you and guide.

I pray you, cousin, wisely that ye ride: Governe you also of your diet

Attemperly,* and namely** in this heat. moderately Betwixt us two needeth no strange fare; ado, ceremony*

Farewell, cousin, God shielde you from care.

If any thing there be, by day or night, If it lie in my power and my might,

That ye me will command in any wise,

It shall be done, right as ye will devise.

But one thing ere ye go, if it may be; I woulde pray you for to lend to me

A hundred frankes, for a week or twy,

For certain beastes that I muste buy,

To store with a place that is ours

(God help me so, I would that it were yours); I shall not faile surely of my day,

Not for a thousand francs, a mile way.

But let this thing be secret, I you pray; For yet tonight these beastes must I buy.

And fare now well, mine owen cousin dear; Grand mercy of your cost and of your cheer.” great thanks

 

This noble merchant gentilly* anon *like a gentleman Answer’d and said, “O cousin mine, Dan John, Now sickerly this is a small request:

My gold is youres, when that it you lest, And not only my gold, but my chaffare; merchandise Take what you list, *God shielde that ye spare. God forbid that you But one thing is, ye know it well enow should take too little*

Of chapmen, that their money is their plough.

We may creance* while we have a name, *obtain credit But goldless for to be it is no game.

Pay it again when it lies in your ease; After my might full fain would I you please.”

 

These hundred frankes set he forth anon, And privily he took them to Dan John;

No wight in all this world wist of this loan, Saving the merchant and Dan John alone.

They drink, and speak, and roam a while, and play, Till that Dan John rode unto his abbay.

The morrow came, and forth this merchant rideth To Flanders-ward, his prentice well him guideth, Till he came unto Bruges merrily.

Now went this merchant fast and busily About his need, and buyed and creanced; got credit He neither played at the dice, nor danced; But as a merchant, shortly for to tell, He led his life; and there I let him dwell.

 

The Sunday next* the merchant was y-gone, *after To Saint Denis y-comen is Dan John,

With crown and beard all fresh and newly shave, In all the house was not so little a knave, servant-boy Nor no wight elles that was not full fain For that my lord Dan John was come again.

And shortly to the point right for to gon, The faire wife accorded with Dan John, That for these hundred francs he should all night Have her in his armes bolt upright;

And this accord performed was in deed.

In mirth all night a busy life they lead, Till it was day, that Dan John went his way, And bade the meinie* “Farewell; have good day.” *servants For none of them, nor no wight in the town, Had of Dan John right no suspicioun;

And forth he rode home to his abbay,

Or where him list; no more of him I say.

 

The merchant, when that ended was the fair, To Saint Denis he gan for to repair,

And with his wife he made feast and cheer, And tolde her that chaffare* was so dear, *merchandise That needes must he make a chevisance; loan <11>

For he was bound in a recognisance

To paye twenty thousand shields* anon. *crowns, ecus For which this merchant is to Paris gone, To borrow of certain friendes that he had A certain francs, and some with him he lad. took And when that he was come into the town, For great cherte* and great affectioun *love Unto Dan John he wente first to play;

Not for to borrow of him no money,

Bat for to weet* and see of his welfare, *know And for to telle him of his chaffare,

As friendes do, when they be met in fere. company Dan John him made feast and merry cheer; And he him told again full specially,

How he had well y-bought and graciously (Thanked be God) all whole his merchandise; Save that he must, in alle manner wise, Maken a chevisance, as for his best;

And then he shoulde be in joy and rest.

Dan John answered, “Certes, I am fain glad That ye in health be come borne again: And if that I were rich, as have I bliss, Of twenty thousand shields should ye not miss, For ye so kindely the