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

true, I undertake, As is the book of Launcelot du Lake,

That women hold in full great reverence.

Now will I turn again to my sentence.

 

A col-fox, <22> full of sly iniquity,

That in the grove had wonned* yeares three, *dwelt By high imagination forecast,

The same night thorough the hedges brast burst Into the yard, where Chanticleer the fair Was wont, and eke his wives, to repair; And in a bed of wortes* still he lay, *cabbages Till it was passed undern <23> of the day, Waiting his time on Chanticleer to fall: As gladly do these homicides all,

That in awaite lie to murder men.

O false murd’rer! Rouking* in thy den! *crouching, lurking O new Iscariot, new Ganilion! <24>

O false dissimuler, O Greek Sinon,<25>

That broughtest Troy all utterly to sorrow!

O Chanticleer! accursed be the morrow

That thou into thy yard flew from the beams; rafters Thou wert full well y-warned by thy dreams That thilke day was perilous to thee.

But what that God forewot* must needes be, *foreknows After th’ opinion of certain clerkes.

Witness on him that any perfect clerk is, That in school is great altercation

In this matter, and great disputation, And hath been of an hundred thousand men.

But I ne cannot *boult it to the bren, examine it thoroughly <26>*

As can the holy doctor Augustine,

Or Boece, or the bishop Bradwardine,<27>

Whether that Godde’s worthy foreweeting foreknowledge *Straineth me needly* for to do a thing forces me

(Needly call I simple necessity),

Or elles if free choice be granted me

To do that same thing, or do it not,

Though God forewot* it ere that it was wrought; knew in advance Or if his weeting straineth never a deal, his knowing constrains But by necessity conditionel. not at all*

I will not have to do of such mattere; My tale is of a cock, as ye may hear,

That took his counsel of his wife, with sorrow, To walken in the yard upon the morrow

That he had mette the dream, as I you told.

Womane’s counsels be full often cold; mischievous, unwise Womane’s counsel brought us first to woe, And made Adam from Paradise to go,

There as he was full merry and well at case.

But, for I n’ot* to whom I might displease *know not If I counsel of women woulde blame,

Pass over, for I said it in my game. jest Read authors, where they treat of such mattere And what they say of women ye may hear.

These be the cocke’s wordes, and not mine; I can no harm of no woman divine. conjecture, imagine Fair in the sand, to bathe* her merrily, *bask Lies Partelote, and all her sisters by, Against the sun, and Chanticleer so free Sang merrier than the mermaid in the sea; For Physiologus saith sickerly, certainly How that they singe well and merrily. <28>

And so befell that, as he cast his eye Among the wortes,* on a butterfly, *cabbages He was ware of this fox that lay full low.

Nothing *ne list him thenne* for to crow, he had no inclination

But cried anon “Cock! cock!” and up he start, As man that was affrayed in his heart.

For naturally a beast desireth flee

From his contrary,* if be may it see, enemy Though he ne’er erst* had soon it with his eye never before

This Chanticleer, when he gan him espy, He would have fled, but that the fox anon Said, “Gentle Sir, alas! why will ye gon?

Be ye afraid of me that am your friend?

Now, certes, I were worse than any fiend, If I to you would harm or villainy.

I am not come your counsel to espy.

But truely the cause of my coming

Was only for to hearken how ye sing;

For truely ye have as merry a steven, voice As any angel hath that is in heaven;

Therewith ye have of music more feeling, Than had Boece, or any that can sing.

My lord your father (God his soule bless) And eke your mother of her gentleness, Have in mnine house been, to my great ease: satisfaction And certes, Sir, full fain would I you please.

But, for men speak of singing, I will say, So may I brooke* well mine eyen tway, *enjoy, possess, or use Save you, I hearde never man so sing

As did your father in the morrowning.

Certes it was of heart all that he sung.

And, for to make his voice the more strong, He would *so pain him,* that with both his eyen make such an exertion

He muste wink, so loud he woulde cryen, And standen on his tiptoes therewithal, And stretche forth his necke long and small.

And eke he was of such discretion,

That there was no man, in no region,

That him in song or wisdom mighte pass.

I have well read in Dan Burnel the Ass, <29>

Among his verse, how that there was a cock That, for* a prieste’s son gave him a knock *because Upon his leg, while he was young and nice, foolish He made him for to lose his benefice.

But certain there is no comparison

Betwixt the wisdom and discretion

Of youre father, and his subtilty.

Now singe, Sir, for sainte charity,

Let see, can ye your father counterfeit?”

 

This Chanticleer his wings began to beat, As man that could not his treason espy, So was he ravish’d with his flattery.

Alas! ye lordes, many a false flattour flatterer <30>

Is in your court, and many a losengeour, deceiver <31>

That please you well more, by my faith, Than he that soothfastness* unto you saith. *truth Read in Ecclesiast’ of flattery;

Beware, ye lordes, of their treachery.

This Chanticleer stood high upon his toes, Stretching his neck, and held his eyen close, And gan to crowe loude for the nonce

And Dan Russel <32> the fox start up at once, And *by the gorge hente* Chanticleer, seized by the throat

And on his back toward the wood him bare.

For yet was there no man that him pursu’d.

O destiny, that may’st not be eschew’d! escaped Alas, that Chanticleer flew from the beams!

Alas, his wife raughte* nought of dreams! *regarded And on a Friday fell all this mischance.

O Venus, that art goddess of pleasance, Since that thy servant was this Chanticleer And in thy service did all his powere, More for delight, than the world to multiply, Why wilt thou suffer him on thy day to die?

O Gaufrid, deare master sovereign, <33>

That, when thy worthy king Richard was slain With shot, complainedest his death so sore, Why n’had I now thy sentence and thy lore, The Friday for to chiden, as did ye?

(For on a Friday, soothly, slain was he), Then would I shew you how that I could plain lament For Chanticleere’s dread, and for his pain.

 

Certes such cry nor lamentation

Was ne’er of ladies made, when Ilion

Was won, and Pyrrhus with his straighte sword, When he had hent* king Priam by the beard, seized And slain him (as saith us Eneidos),<34> *The Aeneid As maden all the hennes in the close, yard When they had seen of Chanticleer the sight.

But sov’reignly* Dame Partelote shright,* above all others Full louder than did Hasdrubale’s wife, **shrieked When that her husband hadde lost his life, And that the Romans had y-burnt Carthage; She was so full of torment and of rage, That wilfully into the fire she start, And burnt herselfe with a steadfast heart.

O woeful hennes! right so cried ye,

As, when that Nero burned the city

Of Rome, cried the senatores’ wives,

For that their husbands losten all their lives; Withoute guilt this Nero hath them slain.

Now will I turn unto my tale again;

 

The sely* widow, and her daughters two, *simple, honest Hearde these hennes cry and make woe,

And at the doors out started they anon, And saw the fox toward the wood is gone, And bare upon his back the cock away:

They cried, “Out! harow! and wellaway!

Aha! the fox!” and after him they ran, And eke with staves many another man

Ran Coll our dog, and Talbot, and Garland; And Malkin, with her distaff in her hand Ran cow and calf, and eke the very hogges So fear’d they were for barking of the dogges, And shouting of the men and women eke.

They ranne so, them thought their hearts would break.

They yelled as the fiendes do in hell; The duckes cried as men would them quell; kill, destroy The geese for feare flewen o’er the trees, Out of the hive came the swarm of bees, So hideous was the noise, ben’dicite!

Certes he, Jacke Straw,<35> and his meinie, followers Ne made never shoutes half so shrill

When that they woulden any Fleming kill, As thilke day was made upon the fox.

Of brass they broughte beames* and of box, *trumpets <36>

Of horn and bone, in which they blew and pooped, *tooted And therewithal they shrieked and they hooped; It seemed as the heaven shoulde fall

 

Now, goode men, I pray you hearken all; Lo, how Fortune turneth suddenly

The hope and pride eke of her enemy.

This cock, that lay upon the fox’s back, In all his dread unto the fox he spake, And saide, “Sir, if that I were as ye, Yet would I say (as wisly* God help me), *surely ‘Turn ye again, ye proude churles all; A very pestilence upon you fall.

Now am I come unto the woode’s side,

Maugre your head, the cock shall here abide; I will him eat, in faith, and that anon.’”

The fox answer’d, “In faith it shall be done:”

And, as he spake the word, all suddenly The cock brake from his mouth deliverly, nimbly And high upon a tree he flew anon.

And when the fox saw that the cock was gone, “Alas!” quoth he, “O Chanticleer, alas!

I have,” quoth he, “y-done to you trespass, offence Inasmuch as I maked you afear’d,

When I you hent,* and brought out of your yard; *took But, Sir, I did it in no wick’ intent; Come down, and I shall tell you what I meant.

I shall say sooth to you, God help me so.”

“Nay then,” quoth he, “I shrew* us both the two, *curse And first I shrew myself, both blood and bones, If thou beguile me oftener than once.

Thou shalt no more through thy flattery Do* me to sing and winke with mine eye; *cause For he that winketh when he shoulde see, All wilfully, God let him never the.” thrive “Nay,” quoth the fox; “but God give him mischance That is so indiscreet of governance,

That jangleth* when that he should hold his peace.” *chatters Lo, what it is for to be reckeless

And negligent, and trust on flattery.

But ye that holde this tale a folly,

As of a fox, or of a cock or hen,

Take the morality thereof, good men.

For Saint Paul saith, That all that written is, *To our doctrine it written is y-wis.* <37> is surely written for Take the fruit, and let the chaff be still. our instruction

 

Now goode God, if that it be thy will, As saith my Lord, <38> so make us all good men; And bring us all to thy high bliss. Amen.

 

Notes to the Nun’s Priest’s Tale

 

1. The Tale of the Nun’s Priest is founded on the fifth chapter of an old French metrical “Romance of Renard;” the same story forming one of the fables of Marie, the translator of