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

give it harde grace, I am so us’d the hote fire to blow,

That it hath changed my colour, I trow; I am not wont in no mirror to pry,

But swinke* sore, and learn to multiply. <5> labour We blunder ever, and poren** in the fire, toil *peer And, for all that, we fail of our desire For ever we lack our conclusion

To muche folk we do illusion,

And borrow gold, be it a pound or two, Or ten or twelve, or many summes mo’,

And make them weenen,* at the leaste way, *fancy That of a pounde we can make tway.

Yet is it false; and aye we have good hope It for to do, and after it we grope: search, strive But that science is so far us beforn,

That we may not, although we had it sworn, It overtake, it slides away so fast;

It will us make beggars at the last.”

While this Yeoman was thus in his talking, This Canon drew him near, and heard all thing Which this Yeoman spake, for suspicion Of menne’s speech ever had this Canon: For Cato saith, that he that guilty is, <6>

Deemeth all things be spoken of him y-wis; surely Because of that he gan so nigh to draw To his Yeoman, that he heard all his saw; And thus he said unto his Yeoman tho then “Hold thou thy peace,and speak no wordes mo’: For if thou do, thou shalt *it dear abie. pay dearly for it*

Thou slanderest me here in this company And eke discoverest that thou shouldest hide.”

“Yea,” quoth our Host, “tell on, whatso betide; Of all his threatening reck not a mite.”

“In faith,” quoth he, “no more do I but lite.” little And when this Canon saw it would not be But his Yeoman would tell his privity, secrets He fled away for very sorrow and shame.

 

“Ah!” quoth the Yeoman, “here shall rise a game; some diversion All that I can anon I will you tell,

Since he is gone; the foule fiend him quell! destroy For ne’er hereafter will I with him meet, For penny nor for pound, I you behete. promise He that me broughte first unto that game, Ere that he die, sorrow have he and shame.

For it is earnest* to me, by my faith; *a serious matter That feel I well, what so any man saith; And yet for all my smart, and all my grief, For all my sorrow, labour, and mischief, trouble I coulde never leave it in no wise.

Now would to God my witte might suffice To tellen all that longeth to that art!

But natheless yet will I telle part;

Since that my lord is gone, I will not spare; Such thing as that I know, I will declare.”

 

Notes to the Prologue to the Canon’s Yeoman’s Tale 1. “The introduction,” says Tyrwhitt, “of the Canon’s Yeoman to tell a Tale at a time when so many of the original characters remain to be called upon, appears a little extraordinary. It should seem that some sudden resentment had determined Chaucer to interrupt the regular course of his work, in order to insert a satire against the alchemists. That their pretended science was much cultivated about this time, and produced its usual evils, may fairly be inferred from the Act, which was passed soon after, 5 H. IV. c. iv., to make it felony ‘to multiply gold or silver, or to use the art of multiplication.’” Tyrwhitt finds in the prologue some colour for the hypothesis that this Tale was intended by Chaucer to begin the return journey from Canterbury; but against this must be set the fact that the Yeoman himself expressly speaks of the distance to Canterbury yet to be ridden.

 

2. Fully five mile: From some place which the loss of the Second Nun’s Prologue does not enable us to identify.

 

3. Peytrel: the breastplate of a horse’s harness; French, “poitrail.”

 

4. A maile twyfold: a double valise; a wallet hanging across the crupper on either side of the horse.

 

5. Multiply: transmute metals, in the attempt to multiply gold and silver by alchemy.

 

6. “Conscius ipse sibi de se putat omnia dici” (“The conspirator believes that everything spoken refers to himself”) — “De Moribus,” I. i. dist. 17.

 

THE TALE. <1>

 

With this Canon I dwelt have seven year, And of his science am I ne’er the near nearer All that I had I have lost thereby,

And, God wot, so have many more than I.

Where I was wont to be right fresh and gay Of clothing, and of other good array

Now may I wear an hose upon mine head; And where my colour was both fresh and red, Now is it wan, and of a leaden hue

(Whoso it useth, sore shall he it rue); And of my swink* yet bleared is mine eye; *labour Lo what advantage is to multiply!

That sliding* science hath me made so bare, slippery, deceptive That I have no good, where that ever I fare; *property And yet I am indebted so thereby

Of gold, that I have borrow’d truely,

That, while I live, I shall it quite* never; *repay Let every man beware by me for ever.

What manner man that casteth* him thereto, betaketh If he continue, I hold his thrift y-do; prosperity at an end*

So help me God, thereby shall he not win, But empty his purse, and make his wittes thin.

And when he, through his madness and folly, Hath lost his owen good through jupartie, hazard <2>

Then he exciteth other men thereto,

To lose their good as he himself hath do’.

For unto shrewes* joy it is and ease *wicked folk To have their fellows in pain and disease. trouble Thus was I ones learned of a clerk;

Of that no charge;* I will speak of our work. *matter When we be there as we shall exercise

Our elvish* craft, we seeme wonder wise, fantastic, wicked Our termes be so clergial and quaint. learned and strange I blow the fire till that mine hearte faint.

Why should I tellen each proportion

Of thinges, whiche that we work upon,

As on five or six ounces, may well be, Of silver, or some other quantity?

And busy me to telle you the names,

As orpiment, burnt bones, iron squames, scales <3>

That into powder grounden be full small?

And in an earthen pot how put is all,

And, salt y-put in, and also peppere,

Before these powders that I speak of here, And well y-cover’d with a lamp of glass?

And of much other thing which that there was?

And of the pots and glasses engluting, sealing up That of the air might passen out no thing?

And of the easy* fire, and smart** also, slow *quick Which that was made? and of the care and woe That we had in our matters subliming,

And in amalgaming, and calcining

Of quicksilver, called mercury crude?

For all our sleightes we can not conclude.

Our orpiment, and sublim’d mercury,

Our ground litharge* eke on the porphyry, *white lead Of each of these of ounces a certain, certain proportion Not helpeth us, our labour is in vain.

Nor neither our spirits’ ascensioun,

Nor our matters that lie all fix’d adown, May in our working nothing us avail;

For lost is all our labour and travail, And all the cost, a twenty devil way,

Is lost also, which we upon it lay.

 

There is also full many another thing

That is unto our craft appertaining,

Though I by order them not rehearse can, Because that I am a lewed* man; *unlearned Yet will I tell them as they come to mind, Although I cannot set them in their kind, As sal-armoniac, verdigris, borace;

And sundry vessels made of earth and glass; <4>

Our urinales, and our descensories,

Phials, and croslets, and sublimatories, Cucurbites, and alembikes eke,

And other suche, *dear enough a leek, worth less than a leek*

It needeth not for to rehearse them all.

Waters rubifying, and bulles’ gall,

Arsenic, sal-armoniac, and brimstone,

And herbes could I tell eke many a one, As egremoine,* valerian, and lunary,* agrimony **moon-wort And other such, if that me list to tarry; Our lampes burning bothe night and day, To bring about our craft if that we may; Our furnace eke of calcination,

And of waters albification,

Unslaked lime, chalk, and *glair of an ey, egg-white Powders diverse, ashes, dung, piss, and clay, Seared pokettes,<5> saltpetre, and vitriol; And divers fires made of wood and coal; Sal-tartar, alkali, salt preparate,

And combust matters, and coagulate;

Clay made with horse and manne’s hair, and oil Of tartar, alum, glass, barm, wort, argoil, potter’s clay<6>

Rosalgar,* and other matters imbibing; *flowers of antimony And eke of our matters encorporing, incorporating And of our silver citrination, <7>

Our cementing, and fermentation,

Our ingots,* tests, and many thinges mo’. *moulds <8>

I will you tell, as was me taught also, The foure spirits, and the bodies seven, By order, as oft I heard my lord them neven. name The first spirit Quicksilver called is; The second Orpiment; the third, y-wis, Sal-Armoniac, and the fourth Brimstone.

The bodies sev’n eke, lo them here anon.

Sol gold is, and Luna silver we threpe name <9>

Mars iron, Mercury quicksilver we clepe; call Saturnus lead, and Jupiter is tin,

And Venus copper, by my father’s kin.

 

This cursed craft whoso will exercise, He shall no good have that him may suffice; For all the good he spendeth thereabout, He lose shall, thereof have I no doubt.

Whoso that list to utter* his folly, display Let him come forth and learn to multiply: And every man that hath aught in his coffer, Let him appear, and wax a philosopher; Ascaunce that craft is so light to lear.* as if **learn Nay, nay, God wot, all be he monk or frere, Priest or canon, or any other wight;

Though he sit at his book both day and night; In learning of this elvish nice lore, fantastic, foolish All is in vain; and pardie muche more, Is to learn a lew’d man this subtlety; *ignorant Fie! speak not thereof, for it will not be.

And *conne he letterure,* or conne he none, if he knows learning

As in effect, he shall it find all one; For bothe two, by my salvation,

Concluden in multiplication transmutation by alchemy Alike well, when they have all y-do;

This is to say, they faile bothe two.

Yet forgot I to make rehearsale

Of waters corrosive, and of limaile, metal filings And of bodies’ mollification,

And also of their induration,

Oiles, ablutions, metal fusible,

To tellen all, would passen any Bible

That owhere* is; wherefore, as for the best, *anywhere Of all these names now will I me rest; For, as I trow, I have you told enough To raise a fiend, all look he ne’er so rough.

 

Ah! nay, let be; the philosopher’s stone, Elixir call’d, we seeke fast each one; For had we him, then were we sicker* enow; *secure But unto God of heaven I make avow, confession For all our craft, when we have all y-do, And all our sleight, he will not come us to.

He hath y-made us spende muche good,

For sorrow of which almost we waxed wood, mad But that good hope creeped in our heart, Supposing ever, though we sore smart,

To be relieved by him afterward.

Such supposing and hope is sharp and hard.

I warn you well it is to seeken ever.

That future temps* hath