Book leaves Pandarus whispering in his niece’s ear counsel to

be merciful and kind to her lover, that hath for her such pain;

while Troilus lies “in a kankerdort,” <34> hearing the

whispering without, and wondering what he shall say for this

“was the first time that he should her pray of love; O! mighty

God! what shall he say?”

THE THIRD BOOK.

To the Third Book is prefixed a beautiful invocation of Venus,

under the character of light:

O Blissful light, of which the beames clear

Adornen all the thirde heaven fair!

O Sunne’s love, O Jove’s daughter dear!

Pleasance of love, O goodly debonair,* *lovely and gracious*

In gentle heart ay* ready to repair!** *always **enter and abide

O very* cause of heal** and of gladness, *true **welfare

Y-heried* be thy might and thy goodness! *praised

In heav’n and hell, in earth and salte sea.

Is felt thy might, if that I well discern;

As man, bird, beast, fish, herb, and greene tree,

They feel in times, with vapour etern, <35>

God loveth, and to love he will not wern forbid

And in this world no living creature

Withoute love is worth, or may endure. <36>

Ye Jove first to those effectes glad,

Through which that thinges alle live and be,

Commended; and him amorous y-made

Of mortal thing; and as ye list,* ay ye *pleased

Gave him, in love, ease* or adversity, *pleasure

And in a thousand formes down him sent

For love in earth; and *whom ye list he hent.* *he seized whom you

wished*

Ye fierce Mars appeasen of his ire,

And as you list ye make heartes dign* <37> *worthy

Algates* them that ye will set afire, *at all events

They dreade shame, and vices they resign

Ye do* him courteous to be, and benign; *make, cause

And high or low, after* a wight intendeth, *according as

The joyes that he hath your might him sendeth.

Ye holde realm and house in unity;

Ye soothfast* cause of friendship be also; *true

Ye know all thilke *cover’d quality* *secret power*

Of thinges which that folk on wonder so,

When they may not construe how it may go

She loveth him, or why he loveth her,

As why this fish, not that, comes to the weir.*<38> *fish-trap

Knowing that Venus has set a law in the universe, that whoso

strives with her shall have the worse, the poet prays to be

taught to describe some of the joy that is felt in her service; and

the Third Book opens with an account of the scene between

Troilus and Cressida:

Lay all this meane while Troilus

Recording* his lesson in this mannere; *memorizing

*“My fay!”* thought he, “thus will I say, and thus; *by my faith!*

Thus will I plain* unto my lady dear; *make my plaint

That word is good; and this shall be my cheer

This will I not forgetten in no wise;”

God let him worken as he can devise.

And, Lord! so as his heart began to quap,* *quake, pant

Hearing her coming, and *short for to sike;* *make short sighs*

And Pandarus, that led her by the lap,* *skirt

Came near, and gan in at the curtain pick,* *peep

And saide: “God do boot* alle sick! *afford a remedy to

See who is here you coming to visite;

Lo! here is she that is *your death to wite!”* *to blame for your death*

Therewith it seemed as he wept almost.

“Ah! ah! God help!” quoth Troilus ruefully;

“Whe’er* me be woe, O mighty God, thou know’st! *whether

Who is there? for I see not truely.”

“Sir,” quoth Cresside, “it is Pandare and I;

“Yea, sweete heart? alas, I may not rise

To kneel and do you honour in some wise.”

And dressed him upward, and she right tho* *then

Gan both her handes soft upon him lay.

“O! for the love of God, do ye not so

To me,” quoth she; “ey! what is this to say?

For come I am to you for causes tway;* *two

First you to thank, and of your lordship eke

Continuance* I woulde you beseek.”** *protection **beseech

This Troilus, that heard his lady pray

Him of lordship, wax’d neither quick nor dead;

Nor might one word for shame to it say, <39>

Although men shoulde smiten off his head.

But, Lord! how he wax’d suddenly all red!

And, Sir, his lesson, that he *ween’d have con,* *thought he knew

To praye her, was through his wit y-run. by heart*

Cresside all this espied well enow, —

For she was wise, — and lov’d him ne’er the less,

All n’ere he malapert, nor made avow,

Nor was so bold to sing a foole’s mass;<40>

But, when his shame began somewhat to pass,

His wordes, as I may my rhymes hold,

I will you tell, as teache bookes old.

In changed voice, right for his very dread,

Which voice eke quak’d, and also his mannere

Goodly* abash’d, and now his hue is red, *becomingly

Now pale, unto Cresside, his lady dear,

With look downcast, and humble *yielden cheer,* *submissive face*

Lo! *altherfirste word that him astert,* *the first word he said*

Was twice: “Mercy, mercy, my dear heart!”

And stent* a while; and when he might *out bring,* *stopped *speak*

The nexte was: “God wote, for I have,

*As farforthly as I have conning,* *as far as I am able*

Been youres all, God so my soule save,

And shall, till that I, woeful wight, *be grave;* *die*

And though I dare not, cannot, to you plain,

Y-wis, I suffer not the lesse pain.

“This much as now, O womanlike wife!

I may *out bring,* and if it you displease, *speak out*

That shall I wreak* upon mine owne life, *avenge

Right soon, I trow, and do your heart an ease,

If with my death your heart I may appease:

But, since that ye have heard somewhat say,

Now reck I never how soon that I dey.” *die

Therewith his manly sorrow to behold

It might have made a heart of stone to rue;

And Pandare wept as he to water wo’ld, <41>

And saide, “Woe-begone* be heartes true,” *in woeful plight

And procur’d* his niece ever new and new, *urged

“For love of Godde, make *of him an end,* *put him out of pain*

Or slay us both at ones, ere we wend.”* *go

“Ey! what?” quoth she; “by God and by my truth,

I know not what ye woulde that I say;”

“Ey! what?” quoth he; “that ye have on him ruth,* *pity

For Godde’s love, and do him not to dey.” *die

“Now thenne thus,” quoth she, “I would him pray

To telle me the *fine of his intent;* *end of his desire*

Yet wist* I never well what that he meant.” *knew

“What that I meane, sweete hearte dear?”

Quoth Troilus, “O goodly, fresh, and free!

That, with the streames* of your eyne so clear, *beams, glances

Ye woulde sometimes *on me rue and see,* *take pity and look on me*

And then agreen* that I may be he, *take in good part

Withoute branch of vice, in any wise,

In truth alway to do you my service,

“As to my lady chief, and right resort,

With all my wit and all my diligence;

And for to have, right as you list, comfort;

Under your yerd,* equal to mine offence, *rod, chastisement

As death, if that *I breake your defence;* *do what you

And that ye deigne me so much honour, forbid <42>*

Me to commanden aught in any hour.

“And I to be your very humble, true,

Secret, and in my paines patient,

And evermore desire, freshly new,

To serven, and be alike diligent,

And, with good heart, all wholly your talent

Receive in gree,* how sore that me smart; *gladness

Lo, this mean I, mine owen sweete heart.”

. . . . . . . . . .

With that she gan her eyen on him* cast, <43> *Pandarus

Full easily and full debonairly,* *graciously

*Advising her,* and hied* not too fast, *considering* **went

With ne’er a word, but said him softely,

“Mine honour safe, I will well truely,

And in such form as ye can now devise,

Receive him* fully to my service; *Troilus

“Beseeching him, for Godde’s love, that he

Would, in honour of truth and gentleness,

As I well mean, eke meane well to me;

And mine honour, with *wit and business,* *wisdom and zeal*

Aye keep; and if I may do him gladness,

From henceforth, y-wis I will not feign:

Now be all whole, no longer do ye plain.

“But, natheless, this warn I you,” quoth she,

“A kinge’s son although ye be, y-wis,

Ye shall no more have sovereignety

Of me in love, than right in this case is;

Nor will I forbear, if ye do amiss,

To wrathe* you, and, while that ye me serve, *be angry with, chide

To cherish you, *right after ye deserve.* *as you deserve*

“And shortly, deare heart, and all my knight,

Be glad, and drawe you to lustiness,* *pleasure

And I shall truely, with all my might,

Your bitter turnen all to sweeteness;

If I be she that may do you gladness,

For ev’ry woe ye shall recover a bliss:”

And him in armes took, and gan him kiss.

Pandarus, almost beside himself for joy, falls on his knees to

thank Venus and Cupid, declaring that for this miracle he hears

all the bells ring; then, with a warning to be ready at his call to

meet at his house, he parts the lovers, and attends Cressida

while she takes leave of the household — Troilus all the time

groaning at the deceit practised on his brother and Helen. When

he has got rid of them by feigning weariness, Pandarus returns

to the chamber, and spends the night with him in converse. The

zealous friend begins to speak “in a sober wise” to Troilus,

reminding him of his love-pains now all at an end.

“So that through me thou standest now in way

To fare well; I say it for no boast;

And know’st thou why? For, shame it is to say,

For thee have I begun a game to play,

Which that I never shall do eft* for other,** *again **another

Although he were a thousand fold my brother.

“That is to say, for thee I am become,

Betwixte game and earnest, such a mean* *means, instrument

As make women unto men to come;

Thou know’st thyselfe what that woulde mean;

For thee have I my niece, of vices clean,* *pure, devoid

So fully made thy gentleness* to trust, *nobility of nature

That all shall be right *as thyselfe lust.* *as you please*

“But God, that *all wot,* take I to witness, *knows everything*

That never this for covetise* I wrought, *greed of gain

But only to abridge* thy distress, *abate

For which well nigh thou diedst, as me thought;

But, goode brother, do now as thee ought,

For Godde’s love, and keep her out of blame;

Since thou art wise, so save thou her name.

“For, well thou know’st, the name yet of her,

Among the people, as who saith hallow’d is;

For that man is unborn, I dare well swear,

That ever yet wist* that she did amiss; *knew

But woe is me, that I, that cause all this,

May thinke that she is my niece dear,

And I her eme,* and traitor eke y-fere.** *uncle <17> **as well

“And were it wist that I, through mine engine,* *arts, contrivance

Had in my niece put this fantasy* *fancy

To do thy lust,* and wholly to be thine, *pleasure

Why, all the people would upon it cry,

And say, that I the worste treachery

Did in this case, that ever was begun,

And she fordone,* and thou right naught y-won.” *ruined

Therefore, ere going a step further, Pandarus prays Troilus to

give him pledges of secrecy, and impresses on his mind the

mischiefs that flow from vaunting in affairs of love. “Of

kind,”[by his very nature] he says, no vaunter is to be believed:

“For a vaunter and a liar all is one;

As thus: I pose* a woman granteth me *suppose, assume

Her love, and saith that other will she none,

And I am sworn to holden it secre,

And, after, I go tell it two or three;

Y-wis, I am a vaunter, at the least,

And eke a liar, for I break my hest.*<44> *promise

“Now looke then, if they be not to blame,

Such manner folk; what shall I call them, what?

That them avaunt of women, and by name,

That never yet behight* them this nor that, *promised (much

Nor knowe them no more than mine old hat? less granted)

No wonder is, so God me sende heal,* *prosperity

Though women dreade with us men to deal!

“I say not this for no mistrust of you,

Nor for no wise men, but for fooles nice;* *silly <45>

And for the harm that in the world is now,

As well for folly oft as for malice;

For well wot I, that in wise folk that vice

No woman dreads, if she be well advised;

For wise men be by fooles’ harm chastised.”* *corrected, instructed

So Pandarus begs Troilus to keep silent, promises to be true all

his days, and assures him that he shall have all that he will in the

love of Cressida: “thou knowest what thy lady granted thee; and

day is set the charters up to make.”

Who mighte telle half the joy and feast

Which that the soul of Troilus then felt,

Hearing th’effect of Pandarus’ behest?

His olde woe, that made his hearte swelt,* *faint, die

Gan then for joy to wasten and to melt,

And all the reheating <46> of his sighes sore

At ones fled, he felt of them no more.

But right so as these *holtes and these hayes,* *woods and hedges*

That have in winter deade been and dry,

Reveste them in greene, when that May is,

When ev’ry *lusty listeth* best to play; *pleasant (one) wishes*

Right in that selfe wise, sooth to say,

Wax’d suddenly his hearte full of joy,

That gladder was there never man in Troy.

Troilus solemnly swears that never, “for all the good that God

made under sun,” will he reveal what Pandarus asks him to keep

secret; offering to die a thousand times, if need were, and to

follow his friend as a slave all his life, in proof of his gratitude.

“But here, with all my heart, I thee beseech,

That never in me thou deeme* such folly *judge

As I shall say; me thoughte, by thy speech,

That this which thou me dost for company,* *friendship

I shoulde ween it were a bawdery;* *a bawd’s action

*I am not wood, all if I lewed be;* *I am not mad, though

It is not one, that wot I well, pardie! I be unlearned*

“But he that goes for gold, or for richess,

On such messages, call him *as thee lust;* *what you please*

And this that thou dost, call it gentleness,

Compassion, and fellowship, and trust;

Depart it so, for widewhere is wist

How that there is diversity requer’d

Betwixte thinges like, as I have lear’d. <47>

“And that thou know I think it not nor ween,* *suppose

That this service a shame be or a jape, *subject for jeering

I have my faire sister Polyxene,

Cassandr’, Helene, or any of the frape;* *set <48>

Be she never so fair, or well y-shape,

Telle me which thou wilt of ev’ry one,

To have for thine, and let me then alone.”

Then, beseeching Pandarus soon to perform out the great

enterprise of crowning his love for Cressida, Troilus bade his

friend good night. On the morrow Troilus burned as the fire, for

hope and pleasure; yet “he not forgot his wise governance [self-

control];”

But in himself with manhood gan restrain

Each rakel* deed, and each unbridled cheer,** *rash **demeanour

That alle those that live, sooth to sayn,

Should not have wist,* by word or by mannere, *suspicion

What that he meant, as touching this mattere;

From ev’ry wight as far as is the cloud

He was, so well dissimulate he could.

And all the while that I now devise* *describe, narrate

This was his life: with all his fulle might,

By day he was in Marte’s high service,

That is to say, in armes as a knight;

And, for the moste part, the longe night

He lay, and thought how that he mighte serve

His lady best, her thank* for to deserve. *gratitude

I will not swear, although he laye soft,

That in his thought he n’as somewhat diseas’d;* *troubled

Nor that he turned on his pillows oft,

And would of that him missed have been seis’d;* *possessed

But in such case men be not alway pleas’d,

For aught I wot, no more than was he;

That can I deem* of possibility. *judge

But certain is, to purpose for to go,

That in this while, as written is in gest,* *the history of

He saw his lady sometimes, and also these events

She with him spake, when that she *durst and lest;* *dared and pleased*

And, by their both advice,* as was the best, *consultation

*Appointed full warily* in this need, *made careful preparations*

So as they durst, how far they would proceed.

But it was spoken in *so short a wise, *so briefly, and always in such

In such await alway, and in such fear, vigilance and fear of being

Lest any wight divinen or devise* found out by anyone*

Would of their speech, or to it lay an ear,

*That all this world them not so lefe were,* *they wanted more than

As that Cupido would them grace send anything in the world*

To maken of their speeches right an end.

But thilke little that they spake or wrought,

His wise ghost* took ay of all such heed, *spirit

It seemed her he wiste what she thought

Withoute word, so that it was no need

To bid him aught to do, nor aught forbid;

For which she thought that love, all* came it late, *although

Of alle joy had open’d her the gate.

Troilus, by his discretion, his secrecy, and his devotion, made

ever a deeper lodgment in Cressida’s heart; so that she thanked

God twenty thousand times that she had met with a man who,

as she felt, “was to her a wall of steel, and shield from ev’ry

displeasance;” while Pandarus ever actively fanned the fire. So

passed a “time sweet” of tranquil and harmonious love the only

drawback being, that the lovers might not often meet, “nor

leisure have, their speeches to fulfil.” At last Pandarus found an

occasion for bringing them together at his house unknown to

anybody, and put his plan in execution.

For he, with great deliberation,

Had ev’ry thing that hereto might avail* *be of service

Forecast, and put in execution,

And neither left for cost nor for travail;* *effort

Come if them list, them shoulde nothing fail,

*Nor for to be in aught espied there,

That wiste he an impossible were.* *he knew it was impossible*

that they could be discovered there*

And dreadeless* it clear was in the wind *without doubt

Of ev’ry pie, and every let-game; <49>

Now all is well, for all this world is blind,

In this mattere, bothe fremd* and tame; <50> *wild

This timber is all ready for to frame;

Us lacketh naught, but that we weete* wo’ld *know

A certain hour in which we come sho’ld. <51>

Troilus had informed his household, that if at any time he was

missing, he had gone to worship at a certain temple of Apollo,

“and first to see the holy laurel quake, or that the godde spake

out of the tree.” So, at the changing of the moon, when “the

welkin shope him for to rain,” [when the sky was preparing to

rain] Pandarus went to invite his niece to supper; solemnly

assuring her that Troilus was out of the town — though all the

time he was safely shut up, till midnight, in “a little stew,”

whence through a hole he joyously watched the arrival of his

mistress and her fair niece Antigone, with half a score of her

women. After supper Pandaras did everything to amuse his

niece; “he sung, he play’d, he told a tale of Wade;” <52> at last

she would take her leave; but

The bente Moone with her hornes pale,

Saturn, and Jove, in Cancer joined were, <53>

That made such a rain from heav’n avail,* *descend

That ev’ry manner woman that was there

Had of this smoky rain <54> a very fear;

At which Pandarus laugh’d, and saide then

“Now were it time a lady to go hen!”* *hence

He therefore presses Cressida to remain all night; she complies

with a good grace; and after the sleeping cup has gone round,

all retire to their chambers — Cressida, that she may not be

disturbed by the rain and thunder, being lodged in the “inner

closet” of Pandarus, who, to lull suspicion, occupies the outer

chamber, his niece’s women sleeping in the intermediate

apartment. When all is quiet, Pandarus liberates Troilus, and by

a secret passage brings him to the chamber of Cressida; then,

going forward alone to his niece, after calming her fears of

discovery, he tells her that her lover has “through a gutter, by a

privy went,” [a secret passage] come to his house in all this rain,

mad with grief because a friend has told him that she loves

Horastes. Suddenly cold about her heart, Cressida promises that

on the morrow she will reassure her lover; but Pandarus scouts

the notion of delay, laughs to scorn her proposal to send her

ring in pledge of her truth, and finally, by pitiable accounts of

Troilus’ grief, induces her to receive him and reassure him at

once with her own lips.

This Troilus full soon on knees him set,

Full soberly, right by her bedde’s head,

And in his beste wise his lady gret* *greeted

But Lord! how she wax’d suddenly all red,

And thought anon how that she would be dead;

She coulde not one word aright out bring,

So suddenly for his sudden coming.

Cressida, though thinking that her servant and her knight should

not have doubted her truth, yet sought to remove his jealousy,

and offered to submit to any ordeal or oath he might impose;

then, weeping, she covered her face, and lay silent. “But now,”

exclaims the poet —

But now help, God, to quenchen all this sorrow!

So hope I that he shall, for he best may;

For I have seen, of a full misty morrow,* *morn

Followen oft a merry summer’s day,

And after winter cometh greene May;

Folk see all day, and eke men read in stories,

That after sharpe stoures* be victories. *conflicts, struggles

Believing his mistress to be angry, Troilus felt the cramp of

death seize on his heart, “and down he fell all suddenly in

swoon.” Pandarus “into bed him cast,” and called on his niece to

pull out the thorn that stuck in his heart, by promising that she

would “all forgive.” She whispered in his ear the assurance that

she was not wroth; and at last, under her caresses, he recovered

consciousness, to find her arm laid over him, to hear the

assurance of her forgiveness, and receive her frequent kisses.

Fresh vows and explanations passed; and Cressida implored

forgiveness of “her own sweet heart,” for the pain she had

caused him. Surprised with sudden bliss, Troilus put all in God’s

hand, and strained his lady fast in his arms. “What might or may

the seely [innocent] larke say, when that the sperhawk

[sparrowhawk] hath him in his foot?”

Cressida, which that felt her thus y-take,

As write clerkes in their bookes old,

Right as an aspen leaf began to quake,

When she him felt her in his armes fold;

But Troilus, all *whole of cares cold,* *cured of painful sorrows*<55>

Gan thanke then the blissful goddes seven. <56>

Thus sundry paines bringe folk to heaven.

This Troilus her gan in armes strain,

And said, “O sweet, as ever may I go’n,* *prosper

Now be ye caught, now here is but we twain,

Now yielde you, for other boot* is none.” *remedy

To that Cresside answered thus anon,

“N’ had I ere now, my sweete hearte dear,

*Been yolden,* y-wis, I were now not here!” *yielded myself*

O sooth is said, that healed for to be

Of a fever, or other great sickness,

Men muste drink, as we may often see,

Full bitter drink; and for to have gladness

Men drinken often pain and great distress!

I mean it here, as for this adventure,

That thorough pain hath founden all his cure.

And now sweetnesse seemeth far more sweet,

That bitterness assayed* was beforn; *tasted <57>

For out of woe in blisse now they fleet,* *float, swim

None such they felte since that they were born;

Now is it better than both two were lorn! <58>

For love of God, take ev’ry woman heed

To worke thus, if it come to the need!

Cresside, all quit from ev’ry dread and teen,* *pain

As she that juste cause had him to trust,

Made him such feast,<59> it joy was for to see’n,

When she his truth and *intent cleane wist;* *knew the purity

And as about a tree, with many a twist, of his purpose*

*Bitrent and writhen* is the sweet woodbind, *plaited and wreathed*

Gan each of them in armes other wind.* *embrace, encircle

And as the *new abashed* nightingale, *newly-arrived and timid*

That stinteth,* first when she beginneth sing, *stops

When that she heareth any *herde’s tale,* *the talking of a shepherd*

Or in the hedges any wight stirring;

And, after, sicker* out her voice doth ring; *confidently

Right so Cressida, when *her dreade stent,* *her doubt ceased*

Open’d her heart, and told him her intent.* *mind

And might as he that sees his death y-shapen,* *prepared

And dien must, *in aught that he may guess,* *for all he can tell*

And suddenly *rescouse doth him escapen,* *he is rescued and escapes*

And from his death is brought *in sickerness;* *to safety*

For all the world, in such present gladness

Was Troilus, and had his lady sweet;

With worse hap God let us never meet!

Her armes small, her straighte back and soft,

Her sides longe, fleshly, smooth, and white,

He gan to stroke; and good thrift* bade full oft *blessing

On her snow-white throat, her breastes round and lite;* *small

Thus in this heaven he gan him delight,

And therewithal a thousand times her kist,

That what to do for joy *unneth he wist.* *he hardly knew*

The lovers exchanged vows, and kisses, and embraces, and

speeches of exalted love, and rings; Cressida gave to Troilus a

brooch of gold and azure, “in which a ruby set was like a heart;”

and the too short night passed.

“When that the cock, commune astrologer, <60>

Gan on his breast to beat, and after crow,

And Lucifer, the daye’s messenger,

Gan for to rise, and out his beames throw;

And eastward rose, to him that could it know,

Fortuna Major, <61> then anon Cresseide,

With hearte sore, to Troilus thus said:

“My hearte’s life, my trust, and my pleasance!

That I was born, alas! that me is woe,

That day of us must make disseverance!

For time it is to rise, and hence to go,

Or else I am but lost for evermo’.

O Night! alas! why n’ilt thou o’er us hove,* *hover

As long as when Alcmena lay by Jove? <62>

“O blacke Night! as folk in bookes read

That shapen* art by God, this world to hide, *appointed

At certain times, with thy darke weed,* *robe

That under it men might in rest abide,

Well oughte beastes plain, and folke chide,

That where as Day with labour would us brest,* *burst, overcome

There thou right flee’st, and deignest* not us rest.* *grantest

“Thou dost, alas! so shortly thine office,* *duty

Thou rakel* Night! that God, maker of kind, *rash, hasty

Thee for thy haste and thine unkinde vice,

So fast ay to our hemisphere bind,

That never more under the ground thou wind;* *turn, revolve

For through thy rakel hieing* out of Troy *hasting

Have I forgone* thus hastily my joy!” *lost

This Troilus, that with these wordes felt,

As thought him then, for piteous distress,

The bloody teares from his hearte melt,

As he that never yet such heaviness

Assayed had out of so great gladness,

Gan therewithal Cresside, his lady dear,

In armes strain, and said in this mannere:

“O cruel Day! accuser of the joy

That Night and Love have stol’n, and *fast y-wrien!* *closely

Accursed be thy coming into Troy! concealed*

For ev’ry bow’r* hath one of thy bright eyen: *chamber

Envious Day! Why list thee to espyen?

What hast thou lost? Why seekest thou this place?

There God thy light so quenche, for his grace!

“Alas! what have these lovers thee aguilt?* *offended, sinned against

Dispiteous* Day, thine be the pains of hell! *cruel, spiteful

For many a lover hast thou slain, and wilt;

Thy peering in will nowhere let them dwell:

What! proff’rest thou thy light here for to sell?

Go sell it them that smalle seales grave!* *cut devices on

We will thee not, us needs no day to have.”

And eke the Sunne, Titan, gan he chide,

And said, “O fool! well may men thee despise!

That hast the Dawning <63> all night thee beside,

And suff’rest her so soon up from thee rise,

For to disease* us lovers in this wise! *annoy

What! hold* thy bed, both thou, and eke thy Morrow! *keep

I bidde* God so give you bothe sorrow!” *pray

The lovers part with many sighs and protestations of

unswerving and undying love; Cressida responding to the vows

of Troilus with the assurance —

“That first shall Phoebus* falle from his sphere, *the sun

And heaven’s eagle be the dove’s fere,

And ev’ry rock out of his place start,

Ere Troilus out of Cressida’s heart.”

When Pandarus visits Troilus in his palace later in the day, he

warns him not to mar his bliss by any fault of his own:

“For, of Fortune’s sharp adversity,

The worste kind of infortune is this,

A man to have been in prosperity,

And it remember when it passed is.<64>

Thou art wise enough; forthy,*” do not amiss; *therefore

Be not too rakel,* though thou sitte warm; *rash, over-hasty

For if thou be, certain it will thee harm.

“Thou art at ease, and hold thee well therein;

For, all so sure as red is ev’ry fire,

As great a craft is to keep weal as win; <65>

Bridle alway thy speech and thy desire,

For worldly joy holds not but by a wire;

That proveth well, it breaks all day so oft,

Forthy need is to worke with it soft.”

Troilus sedulously observes the counsel; and the lovers have

many renewals of their pleasure, and of their bitter chidings of

the Day. The effects of love on Troilus are altogether refining

and ennobling; as may be inferred from the song which he sung

often to Pandarus:

The Second Song of Troilus.

“Love, that of Earth and Sea hath governance!

Love, that his hestes* hath in Heaven high! *commandments

Love, that with a right wholesome alliance

Holds people joined, as him list them guy!* *guide

Love, that knitteth law and company,

And couples doth in virtue for to dwell,

Bind this accord, that I have told, and tell!

“That the worlde, with faith which that is stable,

Diverseth so, his *stoundes according;* *according to its seasons*

That elementes, that be discordable,* *discordant

Holden a bond perpetually during;

That Phoebus may his rosy day forth bring;

And that the Moon hath lordship o’er the night; —

All this doth Love, ay heried* be his might! *praised

“That the sea, which that greedy is to flowen,

Constraineth to a certain ende* so *limit

His floodes, that so fiercely they not growen

To drenchen* earth and all for evermo’; *drown

And if that Love aught let his bridle go,

All that now loves asunder shoulde leap,

And lost were all that Love holds now *to heap.* *together <66>*

“So woulde God, that author is of kind,

That with his bond Love of his virtue list

To cherish heartes, and all fast to bind,

That from his bond no wight the way out wist!

And heartes cold, them would I that he twist,* *turned

To make them love; and that him list ay rue* *have pity

On heartes sore, and keep them that be true.”

But Troilus’ love had higher fruits than singing:

In alle needes for the towne’s werre* *war

He was, and ay the first in armes dight,* *equipped, prepared

And certainly, but if that bookes err,

Save Hector, most y-dread* of any wight; *dreaded

And this increase of hardiness* and might *courage

Came him of love, his lady’s grace to win,

That altered his spirit so within.

In time of truce, a-hawking would he ride,

Or elles hunt the boare, bear, lioun;

The smalle beastes let he go beside;<67>

And when he came riding into the town,

Full oft his lady, from her window down,

As fresh as falcon coming out of mew,* *cage <68>

Full ready was him goodly to salue.* *salute

And most of love and virtue was his speech,

And *in despite he had all wretchedness* *he held in scorn all

And doubtless no need was him to beseech despicable actions*

To honour them that hadde worthiness,

And ease them that weren in distress;

And glad was he, if any wight well far’d,

That lover was, when he it wist or heard.

For he held every man lost unless he were in Love’s service;

and, so did the power of Love work within him, that he was ay

[always] humble and benign, and “pride, envy, ire, and avarice,

he gan to flee, and ev’ry other vice.”

THE FOURTH BOOK

A BRIEF Proem to the Fourth Book prepares us for the

treachery of Fortune to Troilus; from whom she turned away

her bright face, and took of him no heed, “and cast him clean

out of his lady’s grace, and on her wheel she set up Diomede.”

Then the narrative describes a skirmish in which the Trojans

were worsted, and Antenor, with many of less note, remained in

the hands of the Greeks. A truce was proclaimed for the

exchange of prisoners; and as soon as Calchas heard the news,

he came to the assembly of the Greeks, to “bid a boon.” Having

gained audience, he reminded the besiegers how he had come

from Troy to aid and encourage them in their enterprise; willing

to lose all that he had in the city, except his daughter Cressida,

whom he bitterly reproached himself for leaving behind. And

now, with streaming tears and pitiful prayer, he besought them

to exchange Antenor for Cressida; assuring them that the day

was at hand when they should have both town and people. The

soothsayer’s petition was granted; and the ambassadors charged

to negotiate the exchange, entering the city, told their errand to

King Priam and his parliament.

This Troilus was present in the place

When asked was for Antenor Cresside;

For which to change soon began his face,

As he that with the wordes well nigh died;

But natheless he no word to it seid;* *said

Lest men should his affection espy,

With manne’s heart he gan his sorrows drie;* *endure

And, full of anguish and of grisly dread,

Abode what other lords would to it say,

And if they woulde grant, — as God forbid! —

Th’exchange of her, then thought he thinges tway:* *two

First, for to save her honour; and what way

He mighte best th’exchange of her withstand;

This cast he then how all this mighte stand.

Love made him alle *prest to do her bide,* *eager to make her stay*

And rather die than that she shoulde go;

But Reason said him, on the other side,

“Without th’assent of her, do thou not so,

Lest for thy worke she would be thy foe;

And say, that through thy meddling is y-blow* *divulged, blown abroad

Your bothe love, where it was *erst unknow.”* *previously unknown*

For which he gan deliberate for the best,

That though the lordes woulde that she went,

He woulde suffer them grant what *them lest,* *they pleased*

And tell his lady first what that they meant;

And, when that she had told him her intent,

Thereafter would he worken all so blive,* *speedily

Though all the world against it woulde strive.

Hector, which that full well the Greekes heard,

For Antenor how they would have Cresseide,

Gan it withstand, and soberly answer’d;

“Sirs, she is no prisoner,” he said;

“I know not on you who this charge laid;

But, for my part, ye may well soon him tell,

We use* here no women for to sell.” *are accustomed

The noise of the people then upstart at once,

As breme* as blaze of straw y-set on fire *violent, furious

For Infortune* woulde for the nonce *Misfortune

They shoulde their confusion desire

“Hector,” quoth they, “what ghost* may you inspire *spirit

This woman thus to shield, and *do us* lose *cause us to*

Dan Antenor? — a wrong way now ye choose, —

“That is so wise, and eke so bold baroun;

And we have need of folk, as men may see

He eke is one the greatest of this town;

O Hector! lette such fantasies be!

O King Priam!” quoth they, “lo! thus say we,

That all our will is to forego Cresseide;”

And to deliver Antenor they pray’d.

Though Hector often prayed them “nay,” it was resolved that

Cressida should be given up for Antenor; then the parliament

dispersed. Troilus hastened home to his chamber, shut himself

up alone, and threw himself on his bed.

And as in winter leaves be bereft,

Each after other, till the tree be bare,

So that there is but bark and branch y-left,

Lay Troilus, bereft of each welfare,

Y-bounden in the blacke bark of care,

Disposed *wood out of his wit to braid,* *to go out of his senses*

*So sore him sat* the changing of Cresseide. *so ill did he bear*

He rose him up, and ev’ry door he shet,* *shut

And window eke; and then this sorrowful man

Upon his bedde’s side adown him set,

Full like a dead image, pale and wan,

And in his breast the heaped woe began

Out burst, and he to worken in this wise,

In his woodness,* as I shall you devise.** *madness **relate

Right as the wilde bull begins to spring,

Now here, now there, y-darted* to the heart, *pierced with a dart

And of his death roareth in complaining;

Right so gan he about the chamber start,

Smiting his breast aye with his fistes smart;* *painfully, cruelly

His head to the wall, his body to the ground,

Full oft he swapt,* himselfe to confound. *struck, dashed

His eyen then, for pity of his heart,

Out streameden as swifte welles* tway; *fountains

The highe sobbes of his sorrow’s smart

His speech him reft; unnethes* might he say, *scarcely

“O Death, alas! *why n’ilt thou do me dey?* *why will you not

Accursed be that day which that Nature make me die?*

Shope* me to be a living creature!” *shaped

Bitterly reviling Fortune, and calling on Love to explain why his

happiness with Cressicla should be thus repealed, Troilus

declares that, while he lives, he will bewail his misfortune in

solitude, and will never see it shine or rain, but will end his

sorrowful life in darkness, and die in distress.

“O weary ghost, that errest to and fro!

Why n’ilt* thou fly out of the woefulest *wilt not

Body that ever might on grounde go?

O soule, lurking in this woeful nest!

Flee forth out of my heart, and let it brest,* *burst

And follow alway Cresside, thy lady dear!

Thy righte place is now no longer here.

“O woeful eyen two! since your disport* *delight

Was all to see Cressida’s eyen bright,

What shall ye do, but, for my discomfort,

Stande for naught, and weepen out your sight,

Since she is quench’d, that wont was you to light?

In vain, from this forth, have I eyen tway

Y-formed, since your virtue is away!

“O my Cresside! O lady sovereign

Of thilke* woeful soule that now cryeth! *this

Who shall now give comfort to thy pain?

Alas! no wight; but, when my hearte dieth,

My spirit, which that so unto you hieth,* *hasteneth

Receive *in gree,* for that shall ay you serve; *with favour*

*Forthy no force is* though the body sterve.* *therefore no matter*

*die

“O ye lovers, that high upon the wheel

Be set of Fortune, in good adventure,

God lene* that ye find ay** love of steel,<69> *grant **always

And longe may your life in joy endure!

But when ye come by my sepulture,* *sepulchre

Remember that your fellow resteth there;

For I lov’d eke, though I unworthy were.

“O old, unwholesome, and mislived man,

Calchas I mean, alas! what ailed thee

To be a Greek, since thou wert born Trojan?

O Calchas! which that will my bane* be, *destruction

In cursed time wert thou born for me!

As woulde blissful Jove, for his joy,

That I thee hadde where I would in Troy!”

Soon Troilus, through excess of grief, fell into a trance; in

which he was found by Pandarus, who had gone almost

distracted at the news that Cressida was to be exchanged for

Antenor. At his friend’s arrival, Troilus “gan as the snow against

the sun to melt;” the two mingled their tears a while; then

Pandarus strove to comfort the woeful lover. He admitted that

never had a stranger ruin than this been wrought by Fortune:

“But tell me this, why thou art now so mad

To sorrow thus? Why li’st thou in this wise,

Since thy desire all wholly hast thou had,

So that by right it ought enough suffice?

But I, that never felt in my service

A friendly cheer or looking of an eye,

Let me thus weep and wail until I die. <70>

“And over all this, as thou well wost* thy selve, *knowest

This town is full of ladies all about,

And, *to my doom,* fairer than suche twelve *in my judgment*

As ever she was, shall I find in some rout,* *company

Yea! one or two, withouten any doubt:

Forthy* be glad, mine owen deare brother! *therefore

If she be lost, we shall recover another.

“What! God forbid alway that each pleasance

In one thing were, and in none other wight;

If one can sing, another can well dance;

If this be goodly, she is glad and light;

And this is fair, and that can good aright;

Each for his virtue holden is full dear,

Both heroner, and falcon for rivere. <71>

“And eke as writ Zausis,<72> that was full wise,

The newe love out chaseth oft the old,

And upon new case lieth new advice; <73>

Think eke thy life to save thou art hold;* *bound

Such fire *by process shall of kinde cold;* *shall grow cold by

For, since it is but casual pleasance, process of nature*

Some case* shall put it out of remembrance. *chance

“For, all so sure as day comes after night,

The newe love, labour, or other woe,

Or elles seldom seeing of a wight,

Do old affections all *over go;* *overcome*

And for thy part, thou shalt have one of tho* *those

T’abridge with thy bitter paine’s smart;

Absence of her shall drive her out of heart.”

These wordes said he *for the nones all,* *only for the nonce*

To help his friend, lest he for sorrow died;

For, doubteless, to do his woe to fall,* *make his woe subside*

He raughte* not what unthrift** that he said; *cared **folly

But Troilus, that nigh for sorrow died,

Took little heed of all that ever he meant;

One ear it heard, at th’other out it went.

But, at the last, he answer’d and said,

“Friend, This leachcraft, or y-healed thus to be,

Were well sitting* if that I were a fiend, *recked

To traisen* her that true is unto me: *betray

I pray God, let this counsel never the,* *thrive

But do me rather sterve* anon right here, *die

Ere I thus do, as thou me wouldest lear!”* *teach

Troilus protests that his lady shall have him wholly hers till

death; and, debating the counsels of his friend, declares that

even if he would, he could not love another. Then he points out

the folly of not lamenting the loss of Cressida because she had

been his in ease and felicity — while Pandarus himself, though

he thought it so light to change to and fro in love, had not done

busily his might to change her that wrought him all the woe of

his unprosperous suit.

“If thou hast had in love ay yet mischance,

And canst it not out of thine hearte drive,

I that lived in lust* and in pleasance *delight

With her, as much as creature alive,

How should I that forget, and that so blive?* *quickly

O where hast thou been so long hid in mew,*<74> *cage

That canst so well and formally argue!”

The lover condemns the whole discourse of his friend as

unworthy, and calls on Death, the ender of all sorrows, to come

to him and quench his heart with his cold stroke. Then he distils

anew in tears, “as liquor out of alembic;” and Pandarus is silent

for a while, till he bethinks him to recommend to Troilus the

carrying off of Cressida. “Art thou in Troy, and hast no

hardiment [daring, boldness] to take a woman which that loveth

thee?” But Troilus reminds his counsellor that all the war had

come from the ravishing of a woman by might (the abduction of

Helen by Paris); and that it would not beseem him to withstand

his father’s grant, since the lady was to be changed for the

town’s good. He has dismissed the thought of asking Cressida

from his father, because that would be to injure her fair fame, to

no purpose, for Priam could not overthrow the decision of “so

high a place as parliament;” while most of all he fears to perturb

her heart with violence, to the slander of her name — for he

must hold her honour dearer than himself in every case, as

lovers ought of right:

“Thus am I in desire and reason twight:* *twisted

Desire, for to disturbe her, me redeth;* *counseleth

And Reason will not, so my hearte dreadeth.”* *is in doubt

Thus weeping, that he coulde never cease

He said, “Alas! how shall I, wretche, fare?

For well feel I alway my love increase,

And hope is less and less alway, Pandare!

Increasen eke the causes of my care;

So well-away! *why n’ ill my hearte brest?* *why will not

For us in love there is but little rest.” my heart break?*

Pandare answered, “Friend, thou may’st for me

Do as thee list;* but had I it so hot, *please

And thine estate,* she shoulde go with me! *rank

Though all this town cried on this thing by note,

I would not set* all that noise a groat; *value

For when men have well cried, then will they rown,* *whisper

Eke wonder lasts but nine nights ne’er in town.

“Divine not in reason ay so deep,

Nor courteously, but help thyself anon;

Bet* is that others than thyselfe weep; *better

And namely, since ye two be all one,

Rise up, for, by my head, she shall not go’n!

And rather be in blame a little found,

Than sterve* here as a gnat withoute wound! *die

“It is no shame unto you, nor no vice,

Her to withholde, that ye loveth most;

Parauntre* she might holde thee for nice,** *peradventure **foolish

To let her go thus unto the Greeks’ host;

Think eke, Fortune, as well thyselfe wost,

Helpeth the hardy man to his emprise,

And weiveth* wretches for their cowardice. *forsaketh

“And though thy lady would a lite* her grieve, *little

Thou shalt thyself thy peace thereafter make;

But, as to me, certain I cannot ’lieve

That she would it as now for evil take:

Why shoulde then for fear thine hearte quake?

Think eke how Paris hath, that is thy brother,

A love; and why shalt thou not have another?

“And, Troilus, one thing I dare thee swear,

That if Cressida, which that is thy lief,* *love

Now loveth thee as well as thou dost her,

God help me so, she will not take agrief* *amiss

Though thou *anon do boot in* this mischief; *provide a remedy

And if she willeth from thee for to pass, immediately*

Then is she false, so love her well the lass.* *less

“Forthy,* take heart, and think, right as a knight, *therefore

Through love is broken all day ev’ry law;

Kithe* now somewhat thy courage and thy might; *show

Have mercy on thyself, *for any awe;* *in spite of any fear*

Let not this wretched woe thine hearte gnaw;

But, manly, set the world on six and seven, <75>

And, if thou die a martyr, go to heaven.”

Pandarus promises his friend all aid in the enterprise; it is agreed

that Cressida shall be carried off, but only with her own

consent; and Pandarus sets out for his niece’s house, to arrange

an interview. Meantime Cressida has heard the news; and,

caring nothing for her father, but everything for Troilus, she

burns in love and fear, unable to tell what she shall do.

But, as men see in town, and all about,

That women use* friendes to visite, *are accustomed

So to Cresside of women came a rout,* *troop

For piteous joy, and *weened her delight,* *thought to please her*

And with their tales, *dear enough a mite,* *not worth a mite*

These women, which that in the city dwell,

They set them down, and said as I shall tell.

Quoth first that one, “I am glad, truely,

Because of you, that shall your father see;”

Another said, “Y-wis, so am not I,

For all too little hath she with us be.”* *been

Quoth then the third, “I hope, y-wis, that she

Shall bringen us the peace on ev’ry side;

Then, when she goes, Almighty God her guide!”

Those wordes, and those womanishe thinges,

She heard them right as though she thennes* were, *thence; in some

For, God it wot, her heart on other thing is; other place

Although the body sat among them there,

Her advertence* is always elleswhere; *attention

For Troilus full fast her soule sought;

Withoute word, on him alway she thought.

These women that thus weened her to please,

Aboute naught gan all their tales spend;

Such vanity ne can do her no ease,

As she that all this meane while brenn’d

Of other passion than that they wend;* *weened, supposed

So that she felt almost her hearte die

For woe, and weary* of that company. *weariness

For whiche she no longer might restrain

Her teares, they began so up to well,

That gave signes of her bitter pain,

In which her spirit was, and muste dwell,

Rememb’ring her from heav’n into which hell

She fallen was, since she forwent* the sight *lost

Of Troilus; and sorrowfully she sight.* *sighed

And thilke fooles, sitting her about,

Weened that she had wept and siked* sore, *sighed

Because that she should out of that rout* *company

Depart, and never playe with them more;

And they that hadde knowen her of yore

Saw her so weep, and thought it kindeness,

And each of them wept eke for her distress.

And busily they gonnen* her comfort *began

Of thing, God wot, on which she little thought;

And with their tales weened her disport,

And to be glad they her besought;

But such an ease therewith they in her wrought,

Right as a man is eased for to feel,

For ache of head, to claw him on his heel.

But, after all this nice* vanity, *silly

They took their leave, and home they wenten all;

Cressida, full of sorrowful pity,

Into her chamber up went out of the hall,

And on her bed she gan for dead to fall,

In purpose never thennes for to rise;

And thus she wrought, as I shall you devise.* *narrate

She rent her sunny hair, wrung her hands, wept, and bewailed

her fate; vowing that, since, “for the cruelty,” she could handle

neither sword nor dart, she would abstain from meat and drink

until she died. As she lamented, Pandarus entered, making her

complain a thousand times more at the thought of all the joy

which he had given her with her lover; but he somewhat

soothed her by the prospect of Troilus’s visit, and by the

counsel to contain her grief when he should come. Then

Pandarus went in search of Troilus, whom he found solitary in a

temple, as one that had ceased to care for life:

For right thus was his argument alway:

He said he was but lorne,* well-away! *lost, ruined

“For all that comes, comes by necessity;

Thus, to be lorn,* it is my destiny. *lost, ruined

“For certainly this wot I well,” he said,

“That foresight of the divine purveyance* *providence

Hath seen alway me to forgo* Cresseide, *lose

Since God sees ev’ry thing, *out of doubtance,* *without doubt*

And them disposeth, through his ordinance,

In their merites soothly for to be,

As they should come by predestiny.

“But natheless, alas! whom shall I ’lieve?

For there be greate clerkes* many one *scholars

That destiny through argumentes preve, *prove

And some say that needly* there is none, *necessarily

But that free choice is giv’n us ev’ry one;

O well-away! so sly are clerkes old,

That I n’ot* whose opinion I may hold. <76> *know not

“For some men say, if God sees all beforn,

Godde may not deceived be, pardie!

Then must it fallen,* though men had it sworn, *befall, happen

That purveyance hath seen before to be;

Wherefore I say, that from etern* if he *eternity

Hath wist* before our thought eke as our deed, *known

We have no free choice, as these clerkes read.* *maintain

“For other thought, nor other deed also,

Might never be, but such as purveyance,

Which may not be deceived never mo’,

Hath feeled* before, without ignorance; *perceived

For if there mighte be a variance,

To writhen out from Godde’s purveying,

There were no prescience of thing coming,

“But it were rather an opinion

Uncertain, and no steadfast foreseeing;

And, certes, that were an abusion,* *illusion

That God should have no perfect clear weeting,* *knowledge

More than we men, that have *doubtous weening;* *dubious opinion*

But such an error *upon God to guess,* *to impute to God*

Were false, and foul, and wicked cursedness.* *impiety

“Eke this is an opinion of some

That have their top full high and smooth y-shore, <77>

They say right thus, that thing is not to come,

For* that the prescience hath seen before *because

That it shall come; but they say, that therefore

That it shall come, therefore the purveyance

Wot it before, withouten ignorance.

“And, in this manner, this necessity

*Returneth in his part contrary again;* *reacts in the opposite

For needfully behoves it not to be, direction*

That thilke thinges *fallen in certain,* *certainly happen*

That be purvey’d; but needly, as they sayn,

Behoveth it that thinges, which that fall,

That they in certain be purveyed all.

“I mean as though I labour’d me in this

To inquire which thing cause of which thing be;

As, whether that the prescience of God is

The certain cause of the necessity

Of thinges that to come be, pardie!

Or if necessity of thing coming

Be cause certain of the purveying.

“But now *enforce I me not* in shewing *I do not lay stress*

How th’order of causes stands; but well wot I,

That it behoveth, that the befalling

Of thinges wiste* before certainly, *known

Be necessary, *all seem it not* thereby, *though it does not appear*

That prescience put falling necessair

To thing to come, all fall it foul or fair.

“For, if there sit a man yond on a see,* *seat

Then by necessity behoveth it

That certes thine opinion sooth be,

That weenest, or conjectest,* that he sit; *conjecturest

And, furtherover, now againward yet,

Lo! right so is it on the part contrary;

As thus, — now hearken, for I will not tarry; —

“I say that if th’opinion of thee

Be sooth, for that he sits, then say I this,

That he must sitte by necessity;

And thus necessity in either is,

For in him need of sitting is, y-wis,

And, in thee, need of sooth; and thus forsooth

There must necessity be in you both.

“But thou may’st say he sits not therefore

That thine opinion of his sitting sooth

But rather, for the man sat there before,

Therefore is thine opinion sooth, y-wis;

And I say, though the cause of sooth of this

Comes of his sitting, yet necessity

Is interchanged both in him and thee.

“Thus in the same wise, out of doubtance,

I may well maken, as it seemeth me,

My reasoning of Godde’s purveyance,

And of the thinges that to come be;

By whiche reason men may well y-see

That thilke* thinges that in earthe fall,** *those **happen

That by necessity they comen all.

“For although that a thing should come, y-wis,

Therefore it is purveyed certainly,

Not that it comes for it purveyed is;

Yet, natheless, behoveth needfully

That thing to come be purvey’d truely;

Or elles thinges that purveyed be,

That they betide* by necessity. *happen

“And this sufficeth right enough, certain,

For to destroy our free choice ev’ry deal;

But now is this abusion,* to sayn *illusion, self-deception

That falling of the thinges temporel

Is cause of Godde’s prescience eternel;

Now truely that is a false sentence,* *opinion, judgment

That thing to come should cause his prescience.

“What might I ween, an’* I had such a thought, *if

But that God purveys thing that is to come,

For that it is to come, and elles nought?

So might I ween that thinges, all and some,

That *whilom be befall and overcome,* *have happened

Be cause of thilke sov’reign purveyance, in times past*

That foreknows all, withouten ignorance.

“And over all this, yet say I more thereto, —

That right as when I wot there is a thing,

Y-wis, that thing must needfully be so;

Eke right so, when I wot a thing coming,

So must it come; and thus the befalling

Of thinges that be wist before the tide,* *time

They may not be eschew’d* on any side.” *avoided

While Troilus was in all this heaviness, disputing with himself in

this matter, Pandarus joined him, and told him the result of the

interview with Cressida; and at night the lovers met, with what

sighs and tears may be imagined. Cressida swooned away, so

that Troilus took her for dead; and, having tenderly laid out her

limbs, as one preparing a corpse for the bier, he drew his sword

to slay himself upon her body. But, as God would, just at that

moment she awoke out of her swoon; and by and by the pair

began to talk of their prospects. Cressida declared the opinion,

supporting it at great length and with many reasons, that there

was no cause for half so much woe on either part. Her

surrender, decreed by the parliament, could not be resisted; it

was quite easy for them soon to meet again; she would bring

things about that she should be back in Troy within a week or

two; she would take advantage of the constant coming and

going while the truce lasted; and the issue would be, that the

Trojans would have both her and Antenor; while, to facilitate

her return, she had devised a stratagem by which, working on

her father’s avarice, she might tempt him to desert from the

Greek camp back to the city. “And truly,” says the poet, having

fully reported her plausible speech,

And truely, as written well I find,

That all this thing was said *of good intent,* *sincerely*

And that her hearte true was and kind

Towardes him, and spake right as she meant,

And that she starf* for woe nigh when she went, *died

And was in purpose ever to be true;

Thus write they that of her workes knew.

This Troilus, with heart and ears y-sprad,* *all open

Heard all this thing devised to and fro,

And verily it seemed that he had

*The selfe wit;* but yet to let her go *the same opinion*

His hearte misforgave* him evermo’; *misgave

But, finally, he gan his hearte wrest* *compel

To truste her, and took it for the best.

For which the great fury of his penance* *suffering

Was quench’d with hope, and therewith them between

Began for joy the amorouse dance;

And as the birdes, when the sun is sheen, *bright

Delighten in their song, in leaves green,

Right so the wordes that they spake y-fere* *together

Delighten them, and make their heartes cheer.* *glad

Yet Troilus was not so well at ease, that he did not earnestly

entreat Cressida to observe her promise; for, if she came not

into Troy at the set day, he should never have health, honour, or

joy; and he feared that the stratagem by which she would try to

lure her father back would fail, so that she might be compelled

to remain among the Greeks. He would rather have them steal

away together, with sufficient treasure to maintain them all their

lives; and even if they went in their bare shirt, he had kin and

friends elsewhere, who would welcome and honour them.

Cressida, with a sigh, right in this wise

Answer’d; “Y-wis, my deare hearte true,

We may well steal away, as ye devise,

And finde such unthrifty wayes new;

But afterward full sore *it will us rue;* *we will regret it*

And help me God so at my moste need

As causeless ye suffer all this dread!

“For thilke* day that I for cherishing *that same

Or dread of father, or of other wight,

Or for estate, delight, or for wedding,

Be false to you, my Troilus, my knight,

Saturne’s daughter Juno, through her might,

As wood* as Athamante <78> do me dwell *mad

Eternally in Styx the pit of hell!

“And this, on ev’ry god celestial

I swear it you, and eke on each goddess,

On ev’ry nymph, and deity infernal,

On Satyrs and on Faunes more or less,

That *halfe goddes* be of wilderness; *demigods

And Atropos my thread of life to-brest,* *break utterly

If I be false! now trow* me if you lest.** *believe **please

“And thou Simois, <79> that as an arrow clear

Through Troy ay runnest downward to the sea,

Bear witness of this word that said is here!

That thilke day that I untrue be

To Troilus, mine owen hearte free,

That thou returne backward to thy well,

And I with body and soul sink in hell!”

Even yet Troilus was not wholly content, and urged anew his

plan of secret flight; but Cressida turned upon him with the

charge that he mistrusted her causelessly, and demanded of him

that he should be faithful in her absence, else she must die at her

return. Troilus promised faithfulness in far simpler and briefer

words than Cressida had used.

“Grand mercy, good heart mine, y-wis,” quoth she;

“And blissful Venus let me never sterve,* *die

Ere I may stand *of pleasance in degree in a position to reward

To quite him* that so well can deserve; him well with pleasure*

And while that God my wit will me conserve,

I shall so do; so true I have you found,

That ay honour to me-ward shall rebound.

“For truste well that your estate* royal, *rank

Nor vain delight, nor only worthiness

Of you in war or tourney martial,

Nor pomp, array, nobley, nor eke richess,

Ne made me to rue* on your distress; *take pity

But moral virtue, grounded upon truth,

That was the cause I first had on you ruth.* *pity

“Eke gentle heart, and manhood that ye had,

And that ye had, — as me thought, — in despite

Every thing that *sounded unto* bad, *tended unto, accorded with*

As rudeness, and peoplish* appetite, *vulgar

And that your reason bridled your delight;

This made, aboven ev’ry creature,

That I was yours, and shall while I may dure.

“And this may length of yeares not fordo,* *destroy, do away

Nor remuable* Fortune deface; *unstable

But Jupiter, that of his might may do

The sorrowful to be glad, so give us grace,

Ere nightes ten to meeten in this place,

So that it may your heart and mine suffice!

And fare now well, for time is that ye rise.”

The lovers took a heart-rending adieu; and Troilus, suffering

unimaginable anguish, “withoute more, out of the chamber

went.”

THE FIFTH BOOK.

APPROACHE gan the fatal destiny

That Jovis hath in disposition,

And to you angry Parcae,* Sisters three, *The Fates

Committeth to do execution;

For which Cressida must out of the town,

And Troilus shall dwelle forth in pine,* *pain

Till Lachesis his thread no longer twine.* *twist

The golden-tressed Phoebus, high aloft,

Thries* had alle, with his beames clear, *thrice

The snowes molt,* and Zephyrus as oft *melted

Y-brought again the tender leaves green,

Since that *the son of Hecuba the queen* *Troilus <80>*

Began to love her first, for whom his sorrow

Was all, that she depart should on the morrow

In the morning, Diomede was ready to escort Cressida to the

Greek host; and Troilus, seeing him mount his horse, could with

difficulty resist an impulse to slay him — but restrained himself,

lest his lady should be also slain in the tumult. When Cressida

was ready to go,

This Troilus, in guise of courtesy,

With hawk on hand, and with a huge rout* *retinue, crowd

Of knightes, rode, and did her company,

Passing alle the valley far without;

And farther would have ridden, out of doubt,

Full fain,* and woe was him to go so soon, *gladly

But turn he must, and it was eke to do’n.

And right with that was Antenor y-come

Out of the Greekes’ host, and ev’ry wight

Was of it glad, and said he was welcome;

And Troilus, *all n’ere his hearte light,* *although his heart

He pained him, with all his fulle might, was not light*

Him to withhold from weeping at the least;

And Antenor he kiss’d and made feast.

And therewithal he must his leave take,

And cast his eye upon her piteously,

And near he rode, his cause* for to make *excuse, occasion

To take her by the hand all soberly;

And, Lord! so she gan weepe tenderly!

And he full soft and slily gan her say,

“Now hold your day, and *do me not to dey.”* *do not make me die*

With that his courser turned he about,

With face pale, and unto Diomede

No word he spake, nor none of all his rout;

Of which the son of Tydeus <81> tooke heed,

As he that couthe* more than the creed <82> *knew

In such a craft, and by the rein her hent;* *took

And Troilus to Troye homeward went.

This Diomede, that led her by the bridle,

When that he saw the folk of Troy away,

Thought, “All my labour shall not be *on idle,* *in vain*

If that I may, for somewhat shall I say;

For, at the worst, it may yet short our way;

I have heard say eke, times twice twelve,

He is a fool that will forget himselve.”

But natheless, this thought he well enough,

That “Certainly I am aboute naught,

If that I speak of love, or *make it tough;* *make any violent

For, doubteless, if she have in her thought immediate effort*

Him that I guess, he may not be y-brought

So soon away; but I shall find a mean,

That she *not wit as yet shall* what I mean.” *shall not yet know*

So he began a general conversation, assured her of not less

friendship and honour among the Greeks than she had enjoyed

in Troy, and requested of her earnestly to treat him as a brother

and accept his service — for, at last he said, “I am and shall be

ay, while that my life may dure, your own, aboven ev’ry

creature.

“Thus said I never e’er now to woman born;

For, God mine heart as wisly* gladden so! *surely

I loved never woman herebeforn,

As paramours, nor ever shall no mo’;

And for the love of God be not my foe,

All* can I not to you, my lady dear, *although

Complain aright, for I am yet to lear.* *teach

“And wonder not, mine owen lady bright,

Though that I speak of love to you thus blive;* *soon

For I have heard ere this of many a wight

That loved thing he ne’er saw in his live;

Eke I am not of power for to strive

Against the god of Love, but him obey

I will alway, and mercy I you pray.”

Cressida answered his discourses as though she scarcely heard

them; yet she thanked him for his trouble and courtesy, and

accepted his offered friendship — promising to trust him, as well

she might. Then she alighted from her steed, and, with her heart

nigh breaking, was welcomed to the embrace of her father.

Meanwhile Troilus, back in Troy, was lamenting with tears the

loss of his love, despairing of his or her ability to survive the ten

days, and spending the night in wailing, sleepless tossing, and

troublous dreams. In the morning he was visited by Pandarus,

to whom he gave directions for his funeral; desiring that the

powder into which his heart was burned should be kept in a

golden urn, and given to Cressida. Pandarus renewed his old

counsels and consolations, reminded his friend that ten days

were a short time to wait, argued against his faith in evil

dreams, and urged him to take advantage of the truce, and

beguile the time by a visit to King Sarpedon (a Lycian Prince

who had come to aid the Trojans). Sarpedon entertained them

splendidly; but no feasting, no pomp, no music of instruments,

no singing of fair ladies, could make up for the absence of

Cressida to the desolate Troilus, who was for ever poring upon

her old letters, and recalling her loved form. Thus he “drove to

an end” the fourth day, and would have then returned to Troy,

but for the remonstrances of Pandarus, who asked if they had

visited Sarpedon only to fetch fire? At last, at the end of a

week, they returned to Troy; Troilus hoping to find Cressida

again in the city, Pandarus entertaining a scepticism which he

concealed from his friend. The morning after their return,

Troilus was impatient till he had gone to the palace of Cressida;

but when he found her doors all closed, “well nigh for sorrow

adown he gan to fall.”

Therewith, when he was ware, and gan behold

How shut was ev’ry window of the place,

As frost him thought his hearte *gan to cold;* *began to grow cold*

For which, with changed deadly pale face,

Withoute word, he forth began to pace;

And, as God would, he gan so faste ride,

That no wight of his countenance espied.

Then said he thus: “O palace desolate!

O house of houses, *whilom beste hight!* *formerly called best*

O palace empty and disconsolate!

O thou lantern, of which quench’d is the light!

O palace, whilom day, that now art night!

Well oughtest thou to fall, and I to die,

Since she is gone that wont was us to guy!* *guide, rule

“O palace, whilom crown of houses all,

Illumined with sun of alle bliss!

O ring, from which the ruby is out fall!

O cause of woe, that cause hast been of bliss!

Yet, since I may no bet, fain would I kiss

Thy colde doores, durst I for this rout;

And farewell shrine, of which the saint is out!”

. . . . . . . . . . .

From thence forth he rideth up and down,

And ev’ry thing came him to remembrance,

As he rode by the places of the town,

In which he whilom had all his pleasance;

“Lo! yonder saw I mine own lady dance;

And in that temple, with her eyen clear,

Me caughte first my righte lady dear.

“And yonder have I heard full lustily

My deare hearte laugh; and yonder play:

Saw I her ones eke full blissfully;

And yonder ones to me gan she say,

‘Now, goode sweete! love me well, I pray;’

And yond so gladly gan she me behold,

That to the death my heart is to her hold.* *holden, bound

“And at that corner, in the yonder house,

Heard I mine allerlevest* lady dear, *dearest of all

So womanly, with voice melodious,

Singe so well, so goodly and so clear,

That in my soule yet me thinks I hear

The blissful sound; and in that yonder place

My lady first me took unto her grace.”

Then he went to the gates, and gazed along the way by which

he had attended Cressida at her departure; then he fancied that

all the passers-by pitied him; and thus he drove forth a day or

two more, singing a song, of few words, which he had made to

lighten his heart:

“O star, of which I lost have all the light,

With hearte sore well ought I to bewail,

That ever dark in torment, night by night,

Toward my death, with wind I steer and sail;

For which, the tenthe night, if that I fail* *miss; be left without

The guiding of thy beames bright an hour,

My ship and me Charybdis will devour.”

By night he prayed the moon to run fast about her sphere; by

day he reproached the tardy sun — dreading that Phaethon had

come to life again, and was driving the chariot of Apollo out of

its straight course. Meanwhile Cressida, among the Greeks, was

bewailing the refusal of her father to let her return, the certainty

that her lover would think her false, and the hopelessness of any

attempt to steal away by night. Her bright face waxed pale, her

limbs lean, as she stood all day looking toward Troy; thinking

on her love and all her past delights, regretting that she had not

followed the counsel of Troilus to steal away with him, and

finally vowing that she would at all hazards return to the city.

But she was fated, ere two months, to be full far from any such

intention; for Diomede now brought all his skill into play, to

entice Cressida into his net. On the tenth day, Diomede, “as

fresh as branch in May,” came to the tent of Cressida, feigning

business with Calchas.

Cresside, at shorte wordes for to tell,

Welcomed him, and down by her him set,

And he was *eath enough to make dwell;* *easily persuaded to stay*

And after this, withoute longe let,* *delay

The spices and the wine men forth him fet,* *fetched

And forth they speak of this and that y-fere,* *together

As friendes do, of which some shall ye hear.

He gan first fallen of the war in speech

Between them and the folk of Troye town,

And of the siege he gan eke her beseech

To tell him what was her opinioun;

From that demand he so descended down

To aske her, if that her strange thought

The Greekes’ guise,* and workes that they wrought. *fashion

And why her father tarried* so long *delayed

To wedde her unto some worthy wight.

Cressida, that was in her paines strong

For love of Troilus, her owen knight,

So farforth as she cunning* had or might, *ability

Answer’d him then; but, as for his intent,* *purpose

It seemed not she wiste* what he meant. *knew

But natheless this ilke* Diomede *same

Gan *in himself assure,* and thus he said; *grow confident*

“If I aright have *taken on you heed,* *observed you*

Me thinketh thus, O lady mine Cresside,

That since I first hand on your bridle laid,

When ye out came of Troye by the morrow,

Ne might I never see you but in sorrow.

“I cannot say what may the cause be,

But if for love of some Trojan it were;

*The which right sore would a-thinke me* *which it would much

That ye for any wight that dwelleth there pain me to think*

Should [ever] spill* a quarter of a tear, *shed

Or piteously yourselfe so beguile;* *deceive

For dreadeless* it is not worth the while. *undoubtedly

“The folk of Troy, as who saith, all and some

In prison be, as ye yourselfe see;

From thence shall not one alive come

For all the gold betwixte sun and sea;

Truste this well, and understande me;

There shall not one to mercy go alive,

All* were he lord of worldes twice five. *although

. . . . . . . . . . . .

“What will ye more, lovesome lady dear?

Let Troy and Trojan from your hearte pace;

Drive out that bitter hope, and make good cheer,

And call again the beauty of your face,

That ye with salte teares so deface;

For Troy is brought into such jeopardy,

That it to save is now no remedy.

“And thinke well, ye shall in Greekes find

A love more perfect, ere that it be night,

Than any Trojan is, and more kind,

And better you to serve will do his might;

And, if ye vouchesafe, my lady bright,

I will be he, to serve you, myselve, —

Yea, lever* than be a lord of Greekes twelve!” *rather

And with that word he gan to waxe red,

And in his speech a little while he quoke,* *quaked; trembled

And cast aside a little with his head,

And stint a while; and afterward he woke,

And soberly on her he threw his look,

And said, “I am, albeit to you no joy,

As gentle* man as any wight in Troy. *high-born

“But, hearte mine! since that I am your man,* *leigeman, subject

And [you] be the first of whom I seeke grace, (in love)

To serve you as heartily as I can,

And ever shall, while I to live have space,

So, ere that I depart out of this place,

Ye will me grante that I may, to-morrow,

At better leisure, telle you my sorrow.”

Why should I tell his wordes that he said?

He spake enough for one day at the mest;* *most

It proveth well he spake so, that Cresseide

Granted upon the morrow, at his request,

Farther to speake with him, at the least,

So that he would not speak of such mattere;

And thus she said to him, as ye may hear:

As she that had her heart on Troilus

So faste set, that none might it arace;* *uproot <83>

And strangely* she spake, and saide thus; *distantly, unfriendlily

“O Diomede! I love that ilke place

Where I was born; and Jovis, for his grace,

Deliver it soon of all that doth it care!* *afflict

God, for thy might, so *leave it* well to fare!” *grant it*

She knows that the Greeks would fain wreak their wrath on

Troy, if they might; but that shall never befall: she knows that

there are Greeks of high condition — though as worthy men

would be found in Troy: and she knows that Diomede could

serve his lady well.

“But, as to speak of love, y-wis,” she said,

“I had a lord, to whom I wedded was, <84>

He whose mine heart was all, until he died;

And other love, as help me now Pallas,

There in my heart nor is, nor ever was;

And that ye be of noble and high kindred,

I have well heard it tellen, out of dread.* *doubt

“And that doth* me to have so great a wonder *causeth

That ye will scornen any woman so;

Eke, God wot, love and I be far asunder;

I am disposed bet, so may I go,* *fare or prosper

Unto my death to plain and make woe;

What I shall after do I cannot say,

But truely as yet *me list not play.* *I am not disposed

*for sport

“Mine heart is now in tribulatioun;

And ye in armes busy be by day;

Hereafter, when ye wonnen have the town,

Parauntre* then, so as it happen may, *peradventure

That when I see that I never *ere sey,* *saw before*

Then will I work that I never ere wrought;

This word to you enough sufficen ought.

“To-morrow eke will I speak with you fain,* *willingly

So that ye touche naught of this mattere;

And when you list, ye may come here again,

And ere ye go, thus much I say you here:

As help me Pallas, with her haires clear,

If that I should of any Greek have ruth,

It shoulde be yourselfe, by my truth!

“I say not therefore that I will you love;

*Nor say not nay;* but, in conclusioun, *nor say I that

I meane well, by God that sits above!” I will not*

And therewithal she cast her eyen down,

And gan to sigh, and said; “O Troye town!

Yet bid* I God, in quiet and in rest *pray

I may you see, or *do my hearte brest!”* *cause my heart to break*

But in effect, and shortly for to say,

This Diomede all freshly new again

Gan pressen on, and fast her mercy pray;

And after this, the soothe for to sayn,

Her glove he took, of which he was full fain,

And finally, when it was waxen eve,

And all was well, he rose and took his leave.

Cressida retired to rest:

Returning in her soul ay up and down

The wordes of this sudden Diomede,<85>

His great estate,* the peril of the town, *rank

And that she was alone, and hadde need

Of friendes’ help; and thus began to dread

The causes why, the soothe for to tell,

That she took fully the purpose for to dwell.* *remain (with the

Greeks)

The morrow came, and, ghostly* for to speak, *plainly

This Diomede is come unto Cresseide;

And shortly, lest that ye my tale break,

So well he for himselfe spake and said,

That all her sighes sore adown he laid;

And finally, the soothe for to sayn,

He refte* her the great** of all her pain. *took away **the greater

part of

And after this, the story telleth us

That she him gave the faire baye steed

The which she ones won of Troilus;

And eke a brooch (and that was little need)

That Troilus’ was, she gave this Diomede;

And eke, the bet from sorrow him to relieve,

She made him wear a pensel* of her sleeve. *pendant <86>

I find eke in the story elleswhere,

When through the body hurt was Diomede

By Troilus, she wept many a tear,

When that she saw his wide woundes bleed,

And that she took to keepe* him good heed, *tend, care for

And, for to heal him of his sorrow’s smart,

Men say, I n’ot,* that she gave him her heart. *know not

And yet, when pity had thus completed the triumph of

inconstancy, she made bitter moan over her falseness to one of

the noblest and worthiest men that ever was; but it was now too

late to repent, and at all events she resolved that she would be

true to Diomede — all the while weeping for pity of the absent

Troilus, to whom she wished every happiness. The tenth day,

meantime, had barely dawned, when Troilus, accompanied by

Pandarus, took his stand on the walls, to watch for the return of

Cressida. Till noon they stood, thinking that every corner from

afar was she; then Troilus said that doubtless her old father bore

the parting ill, and had detained her till after dinner; so they

went to dine, and returned to their vain observation on the

walls. Troilus invented all kinds of explanations for his

mistress’s delay; now, her father would not let her go till eve;

now, she would ride quietly into the town after nightfall, not to

be observed; now, he must have mistaken the day. For five or

six days he watched, still in vain, and with decreasing hope.

Gradually his strength decayed, until he could walk only with a

staff; answering the wondering inquiries of his friends, by saying

that he had a grievous malady about his heart. One day he

dreamed that in a forest he saw Cressida in the embrace of a

boar; and he had no longer doubt of her falsehood. Pandarus,

however, explained away the dream to mean merely that

Cressida was detained by her father, who might be at the point

of death; and he counselled the disconsolate lover to write a

letter, by which he might perhaps get at the truth. Troilus

complied, entreating from his mistress, at the least, a “letter of

hope;” and the lady answered, that she could not come now, but

would so soon as she might; at the same time “making him great

feast,” and swearing that she loved him best — “of which he

found but bottomless behest [which he found but groundless

promises].” Day by day increased the woe of Troilus; he laid

himself in bed, neither eating, nor drinking, nor sleeping, nor

speaking, almost distracted by the thought of Cressida’s

unkindness. He related his dream to his sister Cassandra, who

told him that the boar betokened Diomede, and that,

wheresoever his lady was, Diornede certainly had her heart, and

she was his: “weep if thou wilt, or leave, for, out of doubt, this

Diomede is in, and thou art out.” Troilus, enraged, refused to

believe Cassandra’s interpretation; as well, he cried, might such

a story be credited of Alcestis, who devoted her life for her

husband; and in his wrath he started from bed, “as though all

whole had him y-made a leach [physician],” resolving to find

out the truth at all hazards. The death of Hector meanwhile

enhanced the sorrow which he endured; but he found time to

write often to Cressida, beseeching her to come again and hold

her truth; till one day his false mistress, out of pity, wrote him

again, in these terms:

“Cupide’s son, ensample of goodlihead,* *beauty, excellence

O sword of knighthood, source of gentleness!

How might a wight in torment and in dread,

And healeless,* you send as yet gladness? *devoid of health

I hearteless, I sick, I in distress?

Since ye with me, nor I with you, may deal,

You neither send I may nor heart nor heal.

“Your letters full, the paper all y-plainted,* *covered with

Commoved have mine heart’s pitt; complainings

I have eke seen with teares all depainted

Your letter, and how ye require me

To come again; the which yet may not be;

But why, lest that this letter founden were,

No mention I make now for fear.

“Grievous to me, God wot, is your unrest,

Your haste,* and that the goddes’ ordinance *impatience

It seemeth not ye take as for the best;

Nor other thing is in your remembrance,

As thinketh me, but only your pleasance;

But be not wroth, and that I you beseech,

For that I tarry is *all for wicked speech.* *to avoid malicious

gossip*

“For I have heard well more than I wend* *weened, thought

Touching us two, how thinges have stood,

Which I shall with dissimuling amend;

And, be not wroth, I have eke understood

How ye ne do but holde me on hand; <87>

But now *no force,* I cannot in you guess *no matter*

But alle truth and alle gentleness.

“Comen I will, but yet in such disjoint* *jeopardy, critical

I stande now, that what year or what day position

That this shall be, that can I not appoint;

But in effect I pray you, as I may,

For your good word and for your friendship ay;

For truely, while that my life may dure,

As for a friend, ye may *in me assure.* *depend on me*

“Yet pray I you, *on evil ye not take* *do not take it ill*

That it is short, which that I to you write;

I dare not, where I am, well letters make;

Nor never yet ne could I well endite;

Eke *great effect men write in place lite;* *men write great matter

Th’ intent is all, and not the letter’s space; in little space*

And fare now well, God have you in his grace!

“La Vostre C.”

Though he found this letter “all strange,” and thought it like “a

kalendes of change,” <88> Troilus could not believe his lady so

cruel as to forsake him; but he was put out of all doubt, one day

that, as he stood in suspicion and melancholy, he saw a “coat-

armour” borne along the street, in token of victory, before

Deiphobus his brother. Deiphobus had won it from Diomede in

battle that day; and Troilus, examining it out of curiosity, found

within the collar a brooch which he had given to Cressida on the

morning she left Troy, and which she had pledged her faith to

keep for ever in remembrance of his sorrow and of him. At this

fatal discovery of his lady’s untruth,

Great was the sorrow and plaint of Troilus;

But forth her course Fortune ay gan to hold;

Cressida lov’d the son of Tydeus,

And Troilus must weep in cares cold.

Such is the world, whoso it can behold!

In each estate is little hearte’s rest;

God lend* us each to take it for the best! *grant

In many a cruel battle Troilus wrought havoc among the

Greeks, and often he exchanged blows and bitter words with

Diomede, whom he always specially sought; but it was not their

lot that either should fall by the other’s hand. The poet’s

purpose, however, he tells us, is to relate, not the warlike deeds

of Troilus, which Dares has fully told, but his love-fortunes:

Beseeching ev’ry lady bright of hue,

And ev’ry gentle woman, *what she be,* *whatsoever she be*

Albeit that Cressida was untrue,

That for that guilt ye be not wroth with me;

Ye may her guilt in other bookes see;

And gladder I would writen, if you lest,

Of Penelope’s truth, and good Alceste.

Nor say I not this only all for men,

But most for women that betrayed be

Through false folk (God give them sorrow, Amen!)

That with their greate wit and subtilty

Betraye you; and this commoveth me

To speak; and in effect you all I pray,

Beware of men, and hearken what I say.

Go, little book, go, little tragedy!

There God my maker, yet ere that I die,

So send me might to make some comedy!

But, little book, *no making thou envy,* *be envious of no poetry* <89>

But subject be unto all poesy;

And kiss the steps, where as thou seest space,

Of Virgil, Ovid, Homer, Lucan, Stace.

And, for there is so great diversity

In English, and in writing of our tongue,

So pray I God, that none miswrite thee,

Nor thee mismetre for default of tongue!

And read whereso thou be, or elles sung,

That thou be understanden, God I ’seech!* *beseech

But yet to purpose of my *rather speech.* *earlier subject* <90>

The wrath, as I began you for to say,

Of Troilus the Greekes boughte dear;

For thousandes his handes *made dey,* *made to die*

As he that was withouten any peer,

Save in his time Hector, as I can hear;

But, well-away! save only Godde’s will,

Dispiteously him slew the fierce Achill’.

And when that he was slain in this mannere,

His lighte ghost* full blissfully is went *spirit

Up to the hollowness of the seventh sphere <91>

In converse leaving ev’ry element;

And there he saw, with full advisement,* *observation, understanding

Th’ erratic starres heark’ning harmony,

With soundes full of heav’nly melody.

And down from thennes fast he gan advise* *consider, look on

This little spot of earth, that with the sea

Embraced is; and fully gan despise

This wretched world, and held all vanity,

*To respect of the plein felicity* *in comparison with

That is in heav’n above; and, at the last, the full felicity*

Where he was slain his looking down he cast.

And in himself he laugh’d right at the woe

Of them that wepte for his death so fast;

And damned* all our works, that follow so *condemned

The blinde lust, the which that may not last,

And shoulden* all our heart on heaven cast; *while we should

And forth he wente, shortly for to tell,

Where as Mercury sorted* him to dwell. *allotted <92>

Such fine* hath, lo! this Troilus for love! *end

Such fine hath all his *greate worthiness!* *exalted royal rank*

Such fine hath his estate royal above!

Such fine his lust,* such fine hath his nobless! *pleasure

Such fine hath false worlde’s brittleness!* *fickleness, instability

And thus began his loving of Cresside,

As I have told; and in this wise he died.

O young and freshe folke, *he or she,* *of either sex*

In which that love upgroweth with your age,

Repaire home from worldly vanity,

And *of your heart upcaste the visage* *“lift up the countenance

To thilke God, that after his image of your heart.”*

You made, and think that all is but a fair,

This world that passeth soon, as flowers fair!

And love Him, the which that, right for love,

Upon a cross, our soules for to bey,* *buy, redeem

First starf,* and rose, and sits in heav’n above; *died

For he will false* no wight, dare I say, *deceive, fail

That will his heart all wholly on him lay;

And since he best to love is, and most meek,

What needeth feigned loves for to seek?

Lo! here of paynims* cursed olde rites! *pagans

Lo! here what all their goddes may avail!

Lo! here this wretched worlde’s appetites! *end and reward

Lo! here the *fine and guerdon for travail,* of labour*

Of Jove, Apollo, Mars, and such rascaille* *rabble <93>

Lo! here the form of olde clerkes’ speech,

In poetry, if ye their bookes seech!* *seek, search

L’Envoy of Chaucer.

O moral Gower! <94> this book I direct.

To thee, and to the philosophical Strode, <95>

To vouchesafe, where need is, to correct,

Of your benignities and zeales good.

And to that soothfast Christ that *starf on rood* *died on the cross*

With all my heart, of mercy ever I pray,

And to the Lord right thus I speak and say:

“Thou One, and Two, and Three, *etern on live,* *eternally living*

That reignest ay in Three, and Two, and One,

Uncircumscrib’d, and all may’st circumscrive,* *comprehend

From visible and invisible fone* *foes

Defend us in thy mercy ev’ry one;

So make us, Jesus, *for thy mercy dign,* *worthy of thy mercy*

For love of Maid and Mother thine benign!”

Explicit Liber Troili et Cresseidis. <96>

Notes to Troilus and Cressida

1. The double sorrow: First his suffering before his love was

successful; and then his grief after his lady had been separated

from him, and had proved unfaithful.

2. Tisiphone: one of the Eumenides, or Furies, who avenged on

men in the next world the crimes committed on earth. Chaucer

makes this grim invocation most fitly, since the Trojans were

under the curse of the Eumenides, for their part in the offence

of Paris in carrying off Helen, the wife of his host Menelaus,

and thus impiously sinning against the laws of hospitality.

3. See Chaucer’s description of himself in “The House Of

Fame,” and note 11 to that poem.

4. The Palladium, or image of Pallas (daughter of Triton and

foster-sister of Athena), was said to have fallen from heaven at

Troy, where Ilus was just beginning to found the city; and Ilus

erected a sanctuary, in which it was preserved with great

honour and care, since on its safety was supposed to depend the

safety of the city. In later times a Palladium was any statue of

the goddess Athena kept for the safeguard of the city that

possessed it.

5. “Oh, very god!”: oh true divinity! — addressing Cressida.

6. Ascaunce: as if to say — as much as to say. The word

represents “Quasi dicesse” in Boccaccio. See note 5 to the

Sompnour’s Tale.

7. Eft: another reading is “oft.”

8. Arten: constrain — Latin, “arceo.”

9. The song is a translation of Petrarch’s 88th Sonnet, which

opens thus:

“S’amor non e, che dunque e quel ch’i’sento.”

10. If maugre me: If (I burn) in spite of myself. The usual

reading is, “If harm agree me” = if my hurt contents me: but

evidently the antithesis is lost which Petrarch intended when,

after “s’a mia voglia ardo,” he wrote “s’a mal mio grado” = if

against my will; and Urry’s Glossary points out the probability

that in transcription the words “If that maugre me” may have

gradually changed into “If harm agre me.”

11. The Third of May seems either to have possessed peculiar

favour or significance with Chaucer personally, or to have had a

special importance in connection with those May observances

of which the poet so often speaks. It is on the third night of

May that Palamon, in The Knight’s Tale, breaks out of prison,

and at early morn encounters in the forest Arcita, who has gone

forth to pluck a garland in honour of May; it is on the third

night of May that the poet hears the debate of “The Cuckoo and

the Nightingale”; and again in the present passage the favoured

date recurs.

12. Went: turning; from Anglo-Saxon, “wendan;” German,

“wenden.” The turning and tossing of uneasy lovers in bed is,

with Chaucer, a favourite symptom of their passion. See the

fifth “statute,” in The Court of Love.

13. Procne, daughter of Pandion, king of Attica, was given to

wife to Tereus in reward for his aid against an enemy; but

Tereus dishonoured Philomela, Procne’s sister; and his wife, in

revenge, served up to him the body of his own child by her.

Tereus, infuriated, pursued the two sisters, who prayed the

gods to change them into birds. The prayer was granted;

Philomela became a nightingale, Procne a swallow, and Tereus

a hawk.

14. Fished fair: a proverbial phrase which probably may be best

represented by the phrase “done great execution.”

15. The fair gem virtueless: possessing none of the virtues

which in the Middle Ages were universally believed to be

inherent in precious stones.

16. The crop and root: the most perfect example. See note 29

to the Knight’s Tale.

17. Eme: uncle; the mother’s brother; still used in Lancashire.

Anglo-Saxon, “eame;” German, “Oheim.”

18. Dardanus: the mythical ancestor of the Trojans, after whom

the gate is supposed to be called.

19. All the other gates were secured with chains, for better

defence against the besiegers.

20. Happy day: good fortune; French, “bonheur;” both “happy

day” and “happy hour” are borrowed from the astrological

fiction about the influence of the time of birth.

21. Horn, and nerve, and rind: The various layers or materials

of the shield — called boagrion in the Iliad — which was made

from the hide of the wild bull.

22. His brother: Hector.

23. Who gives me drink?: Who has given me a love-potion, to

charm my heart thus away?

24. That plaited she full oft in many a fold: She deliberated

carefully, with many arguments this way and that.

25. Through which I mighte stand in worse plight: in a worse

position in the city; since she might through his anger lose the

protection of his brother Hector.

26. I am not religious: I am not in holy vows. See the complaint

of the nuns in “The Court of Love.”

27. The line recalls Milton’s “dark with excessive bright.”

28. No weal is worth, that may no sorrow drien: the meaning is,

that whosoever cannot endure sorrow deserves not happiness.

29. French, “verre;” glass.

30. From cast of stones ware him in the werre: let him beware

of casting stones in battle. The proverb in its modern form

warns those who live in glass houses of the folly of throwing

stones.

31. Westren: to west or wester — to decline towards the west;

so Milton speaks of the morning star as sloping towards

heaven’s descent “his westering wheel.”

32. A pike with ass’s feet etc.: this is merely another version of

the well-known example of incongruity that opens the “Ars

Poetica” of Horace.

33. Tristre: tryst; a preconcerted spot to which the beaters

drove the game, and at which the sportsmen waited with their

bows.

34. A kankerdort: a condition or fit of perplexed anxiety;

probably connected with the word “kink” meaning in sea phrase

a twist in an rope — and, as a verb, to twist or entangle.

35. They feel in times, with vapour etern: they feel in their

seasons, by the emission of an eternal breath or inspiration (that

God loves, &c.)

36. The idea of this stanza is the same with that developed in

the speech of Theseus at the close of The Knight’s Tale; and it is

probably derived from the lines of Boethius, quoted in note 91

to that Tale.

37. In this and the following lines reappears the noble doctrine

of the exalting and purifying influence of true love, advanced in

“The Court of Love,” “The Cuckoo and the Nightingale,” &c.

38. Weir: a trap or enclosed place in a stream, for catching fish.

See note 10 to The Assembly of Fowls.

39. Nor might one word for shame to it say: nor could he

answer one word for shame (at the stratagem that brought

Cressida to implore his protection)

40. “All n’ere he malapert, nor made avow

Nor was so bold to sing a foole’s mass;”

i.e. although he was not over-forward and made no confession

(of his love), or was so bold as to be rash and ill-advised in his

declarations of love and worship.

41. Pandarus wept as if he would turn to water; so, in The

Squire’s Tale, did Canace weep for the woes of the falcon.

42. If I breake your defence: if I transgress in whatever you may

forbid; French, “defendre,” to prohibit.

43. These lines and the succeeding stanza are addressed to

Pandarus, who had interposed some words of incitement to

Cressida.

44. In “The Court of Love,” the poet says of Avaunter, that

“his ancestry of kin was to Lier; and the stanza in which that

line occurs expresses precisely the same idea as in the text.

Vain boasters of ladies’ favours are also satirised in “The House

of Fame”.

45. Nice: silly, stupid; French, “niais.”

46.”Reheating” is read by preference for “richesse,” which

stands in the older printed editions; though “richesse” certainly

better represents the word used in the original of Boccaccio —

“dovizia,” meaning abundance or wealth.

47. “Depart it so, for widewhere is wist

How that there is diversity requer’d

Betwixte thinges like, as I have lear’d:”

i.e. make this distinction, for it is universally known that there is

a great difference between things that seem the same, as I have

learned.

48. Frepe: the set, or company; French, “frappe,” a stamp (on

coins), a set (of moulds).

49. To be “in the wind” of noisy magpies, or other birds that

might spoil sport by alarming the game, was not less desirable

than to be on the “lee-side” of the game itself, that the hunter’s

presence might not be betrayed by the scent. “In the wind of,”

thus signifies not to windward of, but to leeward of — that is, in

the wind that comes from the object of pursuit.

50. Bothe fremd and tame: both foes and friends — literally,

both wild and tame, the sporting metaphor being sustained.

51. The lovers are supposed to say, that nothing is wanting but

to know the time at which they should meet.

52. A tale of Wade: see note 5 to the Merchant’s Tale.

53. Saturn, and Jove, in Cancer joined were: a conjunction that

imported rain.

54. Smoky rain: An admirably graphic description of dense rain.

55. For the force of “cold,” see note 22 to the Nun’s Priest’s

Tale.

56. Goddes seven: The divinities who gave their names to the

seven planets, which, in association with the seven metals, are

mentioned in The Canon’s Yeoman’s Tale.

57. Assayed: experienced, tasted. See note 6 to the Squire’s

Tale.

58. Now is it better than both two were lorn: better this happy

issue, than that both two should be lost (through the sorrow of

fruitless love).

59. Made him such feast: French, “lui fit fete” — made holiday

for him.

60. The cock is called, in “The Assembly of Fowls,” “the

horologe of thorpes lite;” [the clock of little villages] and in The

Nun’s Priest’s Tale Chanticleer knew by nature each ascension

of the equinoctial, and, when the sun had ascended fifteen

degrees, “then crew he, that it might not be amended.” Here he

is termed the “common astrologer,” as employing for the public

advantage his knowledge of astronomy.

61. Fortuna Major: the planet Jupiter.

62. When Jupiter visited Alcmena in the form of her husband

Amphitryon, he is said to have prolonged the night to the length

of three natural nights. Hercules was the fruit of the union.

63. Chaucer seems to confound Titan, the title of the sun, with

Tithonus (or Tithon, as contracted in poetry), whose couch

Aurora was wont to share.

64. So, in “Locksley Hall,” Tennyson says that “a sorrow’s

crown of sorrow is rememb’ring better things.” The original is in

Dante’s words:- -

“Nessun maggior dolore

Che ricordarsi del tempo felice

Nella miseria.” — “Inferno,” v. 121.

(“There is no greater sorrow than to remember happy times

when in misery”)

65. As great a craft is to keep weal as win: it needs as much

skill to keep prosperity as to attain it.

66. To heap: together. See the reference to Boethius in note 91

to the Knight’s Tale.

67. The smalle beastes let he go beside: a charming touch,

indicative of the noble and generous inspiration of his love.

68. Mew: the cage or chamber in which hawks were kept and

carefully tended during the moulting season.

69. Love of steel: love as true as steel.

70. Pandarus, as it repeatedly appears, was an unsucsessful

lover.

71. “Each for his virtue holden is full dear,

Both heroner, and falcon for rivere”:—

That is, each is esteemed for a special virtue or faculty, as the

large gerfalcon for the chase of heron, the smaller goshawk for

the chase of river fowl.

72. Zausis: An author of whom no record survives.

73. And upon new case lieth new advice: new counsels must be

adopted as new circumstances arise.

74. Hid in mew: hidden in a place remote from the world — of

which Pandarus thus betrays ignorance.

75. The modern phrase “sixes and sevens,” means “in

confusion:” but here the idea of gaming perhaps suits the sense

better — “set the world upon a cast of the dice.”

76. The controversy between those who maintained the doctrine

of predestination and those who held that of free-will raged

with no less animation at Chaucer’s day, and before it, than it

has done in the subsequent five centuries; the Dominicans

upholding the sterner creed, the Franciscans taking the other

side. Chaucer has more briefly, and with the same care not to

commit himself, referred to the discussion in The Nun’s Priest’s

Tale.

77. That have their top full high and smooth y-shore: that are

eminent among the clergy, who wear the tonsure.

78. Athamante: Athamas, son of Aeolus; who, seized with

madness, under the wrath of Juno for his neglect of his wife

Nephele, slew his son Learchus.

79. Simois: one of the rivers of the Troad, flowing into the

Xanthus.

80. Troilus was the son of Priam and Hecuba.

81. The son of Tydeus: Diomedes; far oftener called Tydides,

after his father Tydeus, king of Argos.

82. Couthe more than the creed: knew more than the mere

elements (of the science of Love).

83. Arache: wrench away, unroot (French, “arracher”); the

opposite of “enrace,” to root in, implant.

84. It will be remembered that, at the beginning of the first

book, Cressida is introduced to us as a widow.

85. Diomede is called “sudden,” for the unexpectedness of his

assault on Cressida’s heart — or, perhaps, for the abrupt

abandonment of his indifference to love.

86. Penscel: a pennon or pendant; French, “penoncel.” It was

the custom in chivalric times for a knight to wear, on days of

tournament or in battle, some such token of his lady’s favour, or

badge of his service to her.

87. She has been told that Troilus is deceiving her.

88. The Roman kalends were the first day of the month, when a

change of weather was usually expected.

89. Maker, and making, words used in the Middle Ages to

signify the composer and the composition of poetry, correspond

exactly with the Greek “poietes” and “poiema,” from “poieo,” I

make.

90. My rather speech: my earlier, former subject; “rather” is the

cormparative of the old adjective “rath,” early.

91. Up to the hollowness of the seventh sphere: passing up

through the hollowness or concavity of the spheres, which all

revolve round each other and are all contained by God (see note

5 to the Assembly of Fowls), the soul of Troilus, looking

downward, beholds the converse or convex side of the spheres

which it has traversed.

92. Sorted: allotted; from Latin, “sors,” lot, fortune.

93. Rascaille: rabble; French, “racaille” — a mob or multitude,

the riff-raff; so Spencer speaks of the “rascal routs” of inferior

combatants.

94. John Gower, the poet, a contemporary and friend of

Chaucer’s; author, among other works, of the “Confessio

Amantis.” See note 1 to the Man of Law’s Tale.

95. Strode was an eminent scholar of Merton College, Oxford,

and tutor to Chaucer’s son Lewis.

96. Explicit Liber Troili et Cresseidis: “The end of the book of

Troilus and Cressida.”

CHAUCER’S DREAM.

[This pretty allegory, or rather conceit, containing one or two

passages that for vividness and for delicacy yield to nothing in

the whole range of Chaucer’s poetry, had never been printed

before the year 1597, when it was included in the edition of

Speght. Before that date, indeed, a Dream of Chaucer had been

printed; but the poem so described was in reality “The Book of

the Duchess; or the Death of Blanche, Duchess of Lancaster” —

which is not included in the present edition. Speght says that

“This Dream, devised by Chaucer, seemeth to be a covert report

of the marriage of John of Gaunt, the King’s son, with Blanche,

the daughter of Henry, Duke of Lancaster; who after long love

(during the time whereof the poet feigneth them to be dead)

were in the end, by consent of friends, happily married; figured

by a bird bringing in his bill an herb, which restored them to life

again. Here also is showed Chaucer’s match with a certain

gentlewoman, who, although she was a stranger, was,

notwithstanding, so well liked and loved of the Lady Blanche

and her Lord, as Chaucer himself also was, that gladly they

concluded a marriage between them.” John of Gaunt, at the age

of nineteen, and while yet Earl of Richmond, was married to the

Lady Blanche at Reading in May 1359; Chaucer, then a prisoner

in France, probably did not return to England till peace was

concluded in the following year; so that his marriage to Philippa

Roet, the sister of the Duchess Blanche’s favourite attendant

Katharine Roet, could not have taken place till some time after

that of the Duke. In the poem, it is represented to have

immediately followed; but no consequence need be attached to

that statement. Enough that it followed at no great interval of

time; and that the intimate relations which Chaucer had already

begun to form with John of Gaunt, might well warrant him in

writing this poem on the occasion of the Duke’s marriage, and

in weaving his own love-fortunes with those of the principal

figures. In the necessary abridgement of the poem for the

present edition, the subsidiary branch of the allegory, relating to

the poet’s own love affair, has been so far as possible separated

from the main branch, which shadows forth the fortunes of John

and Blanche. The poem, in full, contains, with an “Envoy”

arbitrarily appended, 2233 lines; of which 510 are given here.]

(Transcriber’s note: modern scholars believe that Chaucer was

not the author of this poem)

WHEN Flora, the queen of pleasance,

Had wholly *achiev’d the obeisance* *won the obedience*

Of the fresh and the new season,

Thorough ev’ry region;

And with her mantle *whole covert* *wholly covered*

What winter had *made discovert,* — *stripped*

On a May night, the poet lay alone, thinking of his lady, and all

her beauty; and, falling asleep, he dreamed that he was in an

island

Where wall, and gate, was all of glass,

And so was closed round about,

That leaveless* none came in nor out; *without permission

Uncouth and strange to behold;

For ev’ry gate, of fine gold,

A thousand fanes,* ay turning, *vanes, weathercocks

Entuned* had, and birds singing *contrived so as to emit

Diversely, on each fane a pair, a musical sound

With open mouth, against the air; <1>

And *of a suit* were all the tow’rs, *of the same plan*

Subtilly *carven aft* flow’rs *carved to represent*

Of uncouth colours, *during ay,* *lasting forever*

That never be none seen in May,

With many a small turret high;

But man alive I could not sigh,* *see

Nor creatures, save ladies play,* *disporting themselves

Which were such of their array,

That, as me thought, *of goodlihead* *for comeliness*

They passed all, and womanhead.

For to behold them dance and sing,

It seemed like none earthly thing;

And all were of the same age, save one; who was advanced in

years, though no less gay in demeanour than the rest. While he

stood admiring the richness and beauty of the place, and the

fairness of the ladies, which had the notable gift of enduring

unimpaired till death, the poet was accosted by the old lady, to

whom he had to yield himself prisoner; because the ordinance of

the isle was, that no man should dwell there; and the ladies’ fear

of breaking the law was enhanced by the temporary absence of

their queen from the realm. Just at this moment the cry was

raised that the queen came; all the ladies hastened to meet her;

and soon the poet saw her approach — but in her company his

mistress, wearing the same garb, and a seemly knight. All the

ladies wondered greatly at this; and the queen explained:

“My sisters, how it hath befall,* *befallen

I trow ye know it one and all,

That of long time here have I been

Within this isle biding as queen,

Living at ease, that never wight

More perfect joye have not might;

And to you been of governance

Such as you found in whole pleasance, <2>

In every thing as ye know,

After our custom and our law;

Which how they firste founded were,

I trow ye wot all the mannere.

And who the queen is of this isle, —

As I have been this longe while, —

Each seven years must, of usage,

Visit the heav’nly hermitage,

Which on a rock so highe stands,

In a strange sea, out from all lands,

That for to make the pilgrimage

Is call’d a perilous voyage;

For if the wind be not good friend,

The journey dureth to the end

Of him which that it undertakes;

Of twenty thousand not one scapes.

Upon which rock groweth a tree,

That certain years bears apples three;

Which three apples whoso may have,

Is *from all displeasance y-save* *safe from all pain*

That in the seven years may fall;

This wot you well, both one and all.

For the first apple and the hext,* *highest <3>

Which groweth unto you the next,

Hath three virtues notable,

And keepeth youth ay durable,

Beauty, and looks, ever-in-one,* *continually

And is the best of ev’ry one.

The second apple, red and green,

Only with lookes of your eyne,

You nourishes in great pleasance,

Better than partridge or fesaunce,* *pheasant

And feedeth ev’ry living wight

Pleasantly, only with the sight.

And the third apple of the three,

Which groweth lowest on the tree,

Whoso it beareth may not fail* *miss, fail to obtain

That* to his pleasance may avail. *that which

So your pleasure and beauty rich,

Your during youth ever y-lich,* *alike

Your truth, your cunning,* and your weal, *knowledge

Hath flower’d ay, and your good heal,

Without sickness or displeasance,

Or thing that to you was noyance.* *offence, injury

So that you have as goddesses

Lived above all princesses.

Now is befall’n, as ye may see;

To gather these said apples three,

I have not fail’d, against the day,

Thitherward to take the way,

*Weening to speed* as I had oft. *expecting to succeed*

But when I came, I found aloft

My sister, which that hero stands,

Having those apples in her hands,

Advising* them, and nothing said, *regarding, gazing on

But look’d as she were *well apaid:* *satisfied*

And as I stood her to behold,

Thinking how my joys were cold,

Since I these apples *have not might,* *might not have*

Even with that so came this knight,

And in his arms, of me unware,

Me took, and to his ship me bare,

And said, though him I ne’er had seen,

Yet had I long his lady been;

Wherefore I shoulde with him wend,

And he would, to his life’s end,

My servant be; and gan to sing,

As one that had won a rich thing.

Then were my spirits from me gone,

So suddenly every one,

That in me appear’d but death,

For I felt neither life nor breath,

Nor good nor harme none I knew,

The sudden pain me was so new,

That *had not the hasty grace be* *had it not been for the

Of this lady, that from the tree prompt kindness*

Of her gentleness so bled,* *hastened

Me to comforten, I had died;

And of her three apples she one

Into mine hand there put anon,

Which brought again my mind and breath,

And me recover’d from the death.

Wherefore to her so am I hold,* *beholden, obliged

That for her all things do I wo’ld,

For she was leach* of all my smart, *physician

And from great pain so quit* my heart. *delivered

And as God wot, right as ye hear,

Me to comfort with friendly cheer,

She did her prowess and her might.

And truly eke so did this knight,

In that he could; and often said,

That of my woe he was *ill paid,* *distressed, ill-pleased*

And curs’d the ship that him there brought,

The mast, the master that it wrought.

And, as each thing must have an end,

My sister here, our bother friend, <4>

Gan with her words so womanly

This knight entreat, and cunningly,

For mine honour and hers also,

And said that with her we should go

Both in her ship, where she was brought,

Which was so wonderfully wrought,

So clean, so rich, and so array’d,

That we were both content and paid;* *satisfied

And me to comfort and to please,

And my heart for to put at ease,

She took great pain in little while,

And thus hath brought us to this isle

As ye may see; wherefore each one

I pray you thank her one and one,

As heartily as ye can devise,

Or imagine in any wise.”

At once there 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

Their lives lead, <10> and wear but black,

And forsake all their pleasances,

And turn all joy to penances;

And bare the dead prince to the barge,

And named *them should* have the charge; *those who should*

And to the hearse where lay the queen

The remnant went, and down on kneen,

Holding their hands on high, gan cry,

“Mercy! mercy!” *evereach thry;* *each one thrice*

And curs’d the time that ever sloth

Should have such masterdom of troth.

And to the barge, a longe mile,

They bare her forth; and, in a while,

All the ladies, one and one,

By companies were brought each one.

And pass’d the sea, and took the land,

And in new hearses, on a sand,

Put and brought were all anon,

Unto a city clos’d with stone,

Where it had been used ay

The kinges of the land to lay,

After they reigned in honours;

And writ was which were conquerours;

In an abbey of nunnes black,

Which accustom’d were to wake,

And of usage rise each a-night,

To pray for ev’ry living wight.

And so befell, as is the guise,

Ordain’d and said was the service

Of the prince and eke of the queen,

So devoutly as mighte be’n;

And, after that, about the hearses,

Many orisons and verses,

Withoute note* <11> full softely *music

Said were, and that full heartily;

That all the night, till it was day,

The people in the church gan pray

Unto the Holy Trinity,

Of those soules to have pity.

And when the nighte past and run

Was, and the newe day begun, —

The young morrow with rayes red,

Which from the sun all o’er gan spread,

Attemper’d* cleare was and fair, *clement, calm

And made a time of wholesome air, —

Befell a wondrous case* and strange *chance, event

Among the people, and gan change

Soon the word, and ev’ry woe

Unto a joy, and some to two.

A bird, all feather’d blue and green,

With brighte rays like gold between,

As small thread over ev’ry joint,

All full of colour strange and coint,* *quaint

Uncouth* and wonderful to sight, *unfamiliar

Upon the queene’s hearse gan light,

And sung full low and softely

Three songes in their harmony,

*Unletted of* every wight; *unhindered by*

Till at the last an aged knight,

Which seem’d a man in greate thought,

Like as he set all thing at nought,

With visage and eyes all forwept,* *steeped in tears

And pale, as a man long unslept,

By the hearses as he stood,

With hasty handling of his hood

Unto a prince that by him past,

Made the bird somewhat aghast.* *frightened

Wherefore he rose and left his song,

And departed from us among,

And spread his winges for to pass

By the place where he enter’d was.

And in his haste, shortly to tell,

Him hurt, that backward down he fell,

From a window richly paint,

With lives of many a divers saint,

And beat his winges and bled fast,

And of the hurt thus died and past;

And lay there well an hour and more

Till, at the last, of birds a score

Came and assembled at the place

Where the window broken was,

And made such waimentatioun,* *lamentation

That pity was to hear the soun’,

And the warbles of their throats,

And the complaint of their notes,

Which from joy clean was reversed.

And of them one the glass soon pierced,

And in his beak, of colours nine,

An herb he brought, flow’rless, all green,

Full of smalle leaves, and plain,* *smooth

Swart,* and long, with many a vein. *black

And where his fellow lay thus dead,

This herb he down laid by his head,

And dressed* it full softely, *arranged

And hung his head, and stood thereby.

Which herb, in less than half an hour,

Gan over all knit,* and after flow’r *bud

Full out; and waxed ripe the seed;

And, right as one another feed

Would, in his beak he took the grain,

And in his fellow’s beak certain

It put, and thus within the third* *i.e. third hour after it

Upstood and pruned him the bird, had died

Which dead had been in all our sight;

And both together forth their flight

Took, singing, from us, and their leave;

Was none disturb them would nor grieve.

And, when they parted were and gone,

Th’ abbess the seedes soon each one

Gathered had, and in her hand

The herb she took, well avisand* *considering <12>

The leaf, the seed, the stalk, the flow’r,

And said it had a good savour,

And was no common herb to find,

And well approv’d of *uncouth kind,* *strange nature*

And more than other virtuous;

Whoso might it have for to use

In his need, flower, leaf, or grain,

Of his heal might be certain.

[She] laid it down upon the hearse

Where lay the queen; and gan rehearse

Each one to other what they had seen.

And, *taling thus,* the seed wax’d green, *as they gossiped*

And on the dry hearse gan to spring, —

Which me thought was a wondrous thing, —

And, after that, flow’r and new seed;

Of which the people all took heed,

And said it was some great miracle,

Or medicine fine more than treacle; <12>

And were well done there to assay

If it might ease, in any way,

The corpses, which with torchelight

They waked had there all that night.

Soon did the lordes there consent,

And all the people thereto content,

With easy words and little fare;* *ado, trouble

And made the queene’s visage bare,

Which showed was to all about,

Wherefore in swoon fell all the rout,* *company, crowd

And were so sorry, most and least,

That long of weeping they not ceas’d;

For of their lord the remembrance

Unto them was such displeasance.* *cause of grief

That for to live they called pain,

So were they very true and plain.

And after this the good abbess

Of the grains gan choose and dress* *prepare

Three, with her fingers clean and smale,* *small

And in the queenes mouth, by tale,

One after other, full easily

She put, and eke full cunningly.* *skilfully

Which showed some such virtue.

That proved was the medicine true.

For with a smiling countenance

The queen uprose, and of usance* *custom

As she was wont, to ev’ry wight

She *made good cheer;* for whiche sight *showed a gracious

The people, kneeling on the stones, countenance*

Thought they in heav’n were, soul and bones;

And to the prince, where that he lay,

They went to make the same assay.* *trial, experiment

And when the queen it understood,

And how the medicine was good,

She pray’d that she might have the grains,

To relieve him from the pains

Which she and he had both endur’d.

And to him went, and so him cur’d,

That, within a little space,

Lusty and fresh alive he was,

And in good heal, and whole of speech,

And laugh’d, and said, *“Gramercy, leach!”* *“Great thanks,

For which the joy throughout the town my physician!”*

So great was, that the belles’ soun’

Affray’d the people a journey* *to the distance of

About the city ev’ry way; a day’s journey*

And came and ask’d the cause, and why

They rungen were so stately.* *proudly, solemnly

And after that the queen, th’abbess,

Made diligence, <14> ere they would cease,

Such, that of ladies soon a rout* *company, crowd

Suing* the queen was all about; *following

And, call’d by name each one and told,* *numbered

Was none forgotten, young nor old.

There mighte men see joyes new,

When the medicine, fine and true,

Thus restor’d had ev’ry wight,

So well the queen as the knight,

Unto perfect joy and heal,

That *floating they were in such weal* *swimming in such

As folk that woulden in no wise happiness*

Desire more perfect paradise.

On the morrow a general assembly was convoked, and it was

resolved that the wedding feast should be celebrated within the

island. Messengers were sent to strange realms, to invite kings,

queens, duchesses, and princesses; and a special embassy was

despatched, in the magic barge, to seek the poet’s mistress —

who was brought back after fourteen days, to the great joy of

the queen. Next day took place the wedding of the prince and

all the knights to the queen and all the ladies; and a three

months’ feast followed, on a large plain “under a wood, in a

champaign, betwixt a river and a well, where never had abbey

nor cell been, nor church, house, nor village, in time of any

manne’s age.” On the day after the general wedding, all

entreated the poet’s lady to consent to crown his love with

marriage; she yielded; the bridal was splendidly celebrated; and

to the sound of marvellous music the poet awoke, to find

neither lady nor creature — but only old portraitures on the

tapestry, of horsemen, hawks, and hounds, and hurt deer full of

wounds. Great was his grief that he had lost all the bliss of his

dream; and he concludes by praying his lady so to accept his

love-service, that the dream may turn to reality.

Or elles, without more I pray,

That this night, ere it be day,

I may unto my dream return,

And sleeping so forth ay sojourn

Aboute the Isle of Pleasance,

*Under my lady’s obeisance,* *subject to my lady*

In her service, and in such wise,

As it may please her to devise;

And grace once to be accept’,

Like as I dreamed when I slept,

And dure a thousand year and ten

In her good will: Amen, amen!

Notes to Chaucer’s Dream

1. The birds on the weathervanes were set up facing the wind,

so that it entered their open mouths, and by some mechanism

produced the musical sound.

2. “And to you been of governance

Such as you found in whole pleasance”

That is, “and have governed you in a manner which you have

found wholly pleasant.”

3. Hext: highest; from “high,” as “next” from “nigh.” Compare

the sounds of the German, “hoechst,” highest, and “naechst,”

next.

4. “Your brother friend,” is the common reading; but the phrase

has no apparent applicability; and perhaps the better reading is

“our bother friend” — that is, the lady who has proved herself a

friend both to me and to you. In the same way, Reason, in

Troilus’ soliloquy on the impending loss of his mistress, is made,

addressing Troilus and Cressida, to speaks of “your bother,” or

“bothe,” love.

5. The ships had high embattled poops and forecastles, as in

mediaeval ships of war.

6. Compare Spenser’s account of Phaedria’s barque, in “The

Faerie Queen,” canto vi. book ii.; and, mutatis mutandis,

Chaucer’s description of the wondrous horse, in The Squire’s

Tale.

7. Salad: a small helmet; french, “salade.”

8. Gardebrace: French, “garde-bras,” an arm-shield; probably

resembling the “gay bracer” which the Yeoman, in the Prologue

to The Canterbury Tales, wears on his arm.

9. Confession and prayer were the usual preliminaries of any

enterprise in those superstitious days; and in these days of

enlightenment the fashion yet lingers among the most

superstitious class — the fisher-folk.

10. The knights resolved that they would quit their castles and

houses of stone for humble huts.

11. The knight and lady were buried without music, although

the office for the dead was generally sung.

12. Avisand: considering; present participle from “avise” or

“advise.”

13. Treacle; corrupted from Latin, “therisca,” an antidote. The

word is used for medicine in general.

14. The abbess made diligence: i.e. to administer the grain to

the dead ladies.

THE PROLOGUE TO THE LEGEND OF GOOD WOMEN.

[SOME difference of opinion exists as to the date at

which Chaucer wrote “The Legend of Good

Women.” Those who would fix that date at a

period not long before the poet’s death — who

would place the poem, indeed, among his closing

labours — support their opinion by the fact that the

Prologue recites most of Chaucer’s principal

works, and glances, besides, at a long array of

other productions, too many to be fully catalogued.

But, on the other hand, it is objected that the

“Legend” makes no mention of “The Canterbury

Tales” as such; while two of those Tales — the

Knight’s and the Second Nun’s — are enumerated

by the titles which they bore as separate

compositions, before they were incorporated in the

great collection: “The Love of Palamon and

Arcite,” and “The Life of Saint Cecile” (see note 1

to the Second Nun’s tale). Tyrwhitt seems perfectly

justified in placing the composition of the poem

immediately before that of Chaucer’s magnum

opus, and after the marriage of Richard II to his

first queen, Anne of Bohemia. That event took

place in 1382; and since it is to Anne that the poet

refers when he makes Alcestis bid him give his

poem to the queen “at Eltham or at Sheen,” the

“Legend” could not have been written earlier. The

old editions tell us that “several ladies in the Court

took offence at Chaucer’s large speeches against

the untruth of women; therefore the queen enjoin’d

him to compile this book in the commendation of

sundry maidens and wives, who show’d themselves

faithful to faithless men. This seems to have been

written after The Flower and the Leaf.” Evidently it

was, for distinct references to that poem are to be

found in the Prologue; but more interesting is the

indication which it furnishes, that “Troilus and

Cressida” was the work, not of the poet’s youth,

but of his maturer age. We could hardly expect the

queen — whether of Love or of England — to

demand seriously from Chaucer a retractation of

sentiments which he had expressed a full

generation before, and for which he had made

atonement by the splendid praises of true love sung

in “The Court of Love,” “The Cuckoo and the

Nightingale,” and other poems of youth and middle

life. But “Troilus and Cressida” is coupled with

“The Romance of the Rose,” as one of the poems

which had given offence to the servants and the

God of Love; therefore we may suppose it to have

more prominently engaged courtly notice at a later

period of the poet’s life, than even its undoubted

popularity could explain. At whatever date, or in

whatever circumstances, undertaken, “The Legend

of Good Women” is a fragment. There are several

signs that it was designed to contain the stories of

twenty-five ladies, although the number of the

good women is in the poem itself set down at

nineteen; but nine legends only were actually

composed, or have come down to us. They are,

those of Cleopatra Queen of Egypt (126 lines),

Thisbe of Babylon (218), Dido Queen of Carthage

(442), Hypsipyle and Medea (312), Lucrece of

Rome (206), Ariadne of Athens (340), Phiomela

(167), Phyllis (168), and Hypermnestra (162).

Prefixed to these stories, which are translated or

imitated from Ovid, is a Prologue containing 579

lines — the only part of the “Legend” given in the

present edition. It is by far the most original, the

strongest, and most pleasing part of the poem; the

description of spring, and of his enjoyment of that

season, are in Chaucer’s best manner; and the

political philosophy by which Alcestis mitigates the

wrath of Cupid, adds another to the abounding

proofs that, for his knowledge of the world,

Chaucer fairly merits the epithet of “many-sided”

which Shakespeare has won by his knowledge of

man.]

A THOUSAND times I have hearde tell,

That there is joy in heav’n, and pain in hell;

And I accord* it well that it is so; *grant, agree

But, natheless, yet wot* I well also, *know

That there is none dwelling in this country

That either hath in heav’n or hell y-be;* *been

Nor may of it no other wayes witten* *know

But as he hath heard said, or found it written;

For by assay* there may no man it preve.** *practical trial

**prove, test

But God forbid but that men should believe

Well more thing than men have seen with eye!

Men shall not weenen ev’ry thing a lie

*But if* himself it seeth, or else do’th; *unless

For, God wot, thing is never the less sooth,* *true

Though ev’ry wighte may it not y-see.

Bernard, the Monke, saw not all, pardie! <1>

Then muste we to bookes that we find

(Through which that olde thinges be in mind),

And to the doctrine of these olde wise,

Give credence, in ev’ry skilful* wise, *reasonable

That tellen of these old approved stories,

Of holiness, of regnes,* of victories, *reigns, kingdoms

Of love, of hate, and other sundry things

Of which I may not make rehearsings;

And if that olde bookes were away,

Y-lorn were of all remembrance the key.

Well ought we, then, to honour and believe

These bookes, where we have none other preve.* *proof

And as for me, though that I know but lite,* *little

On bookes for to read I me delight,

And to them give I faith and good credence,

And in my heart have them in reverence,

So heartily, that there is *game none* <2> *no amusement*

That from my bookes maketh me to go’n,

But it be seldom on the holyday;

Save, certainly, when that the month of May

Is comen, and I hear the fowles sing,

And that the flowers ginnen for to spring,

Farewell my book and my devotion!

Now have I then such a condition,

That, above all the flowers in the mead,

Then love I most these flowers white and red,

Such that men calle Day’s-eyes in our town;

To them have I so great affectioun,

As I said erst, when comen is the May,

That in my bed there dawneth me no day

That I n’am* up, and walking in the mead, *am not

To see this flow’r against the sunne spread,

When it upriseth early by the morrow;

That blissful sight softeneth all my sorrow,

So glad am I, when that I have presence

Of it, to do it alle reverence,

As she that is of alle flowers flow’r,

Fulfilled of all virtue and honour,

And ever alike fair, and fresh of hue;

As well in winter, as in summer new,

This love I ever, and shall until I die;

All* swear I not, of this I will not lie, *although

There loved no wight hotter in his life.

And when that it is eve, I runne blife,* *quickly, eagerly

As soon as ever the sun begins to west,* *decline westward

To see this flow’r, how it will go to rest,

For fear of night, so hateth she darkness!

Her cheer* is plainly spread in the brightness *countenance

Of the sunne, for there it will unclose.

Alas! that I had English, rhyme or prose,

Sufficient this flow’r to praise aright!

But help me, ye that have *cunning or might;* *skill or power*

Ye lovers, that can make of sentiment,

In this case ought ye to be diligent

To further me somewhat in my labour,

Whether ye be with the Leaf or the Flow’r; <3>

For well I wot, that ye have herebefore

Of making ropen,* and led away the corn; <4> *reaped

And I come after, gleaning here and there,

And am full glad if I may find an ear

Of any goodly word that you have left.

And though it hap me to rehearsen eft* *again

What ye have in your freshe songes said,

Forbeare me, and be not *evil apaid,* *displeased*

Since that ye see I do it in th’honour

Of love, and eke in service of the flow’r

Whom that I serve as I have wit or might. <5>

She is the clearness, and the very* light, *true

That in this darke world me winds* and leads; *turns, guides

The heart within my sorrowful breast you dreads,

And loves so sore, that ye be, verily,

The mistress of my wit, and nothing I.

My word, my works, are knit so in your bond,

That, as a harp obeyeth to the hand,

That makes it sound after his fingering,

Right so may ye out of my hearte bring

Such voice, right as you list, to laugh or plain;* *complain, mourn

Be ye my guide, and lady sovereign.

As to mine earthly god, to you I call,

Both in this work, and in my sorrows all.

But wherefore that I spake to give credence

To old stories, and do them reverence,

And that men muste more things believe

Than they may see at eye, or elles preve,* *prove

That shall I say, when that I see my time;

I may not all at ones speak in rhyme.

My busy ghost,* that thirsteth always new *spirit

To see this flow’r so young, so fresh of hue,

Constrained me with so greedy desire,

That in my heart I feele yet the fire,

That made me to rise ere it were day, —

And this was now the first morrow of May, —

With dreadful heart, and glad devotion,

For to be at the resurrection

Of this flower, when that it should unclose

Against the sun, that rose as red as rose,

That in the breast was of the beast* that day *the sign of the Bull

That Agenore’s daughter led away. <6>

And down on knees anon right I me set,

And as I could this freshe flow’r I gret,* *greeted

Kneeling alway, till it unclosed was,

Upon the smalle, softe, sweete grass,

That was with flowers sweet embroider’d all,

Of such sweetness and such odour *o’er all,* *everywhere*

That, for to speak of gum, or herb, or tree,

Comparison may none y-maked be;

For it surmounteth plainly all odours,

And for rich beauty the most gay of flow’rs.

Forgotten had the earth his poor estate

Of winter, that him naked made and mate,* *dejected, lifeless

And with his sword of cold so sore grieved;

Now hath th’attemper* sun all that releaved** *temperate **furnished

That naked was, and clad it new again. anew with leaves

The smalle fowles, of the season fain,* *glad

That of the panter* and the net be scap’d, *draw-net

Upon the fowler, that them made awhap’d* *terrified, confounded

In winter, and destroyed had their brood,

In his despite them thought it did them good

To sing of him, and in their song despise

The foule churl, that, for his covetise,* *greed

Had them betrayed with his sophistry* *deceptions

This was their song: “The fowler we defy,

And all his craft:” and some sunge clear

Layes of love, that joy it was to hear,

In worshipping* and praising of their make;** *honouring **mate

And for the blissful newe summer’s sake,

Upon the branches full of blossoms soft,

In their delight they turned them full oft,

And sunge, “Blessed be Saint Valentine! <7>

For on his day I chose you to be mine,

Withoute repenting, my hearte sweet.”

And therewithal their heals began to meet,

Yielding honour, and humble obeisances,

To love, and did their other observances

That longen unto Love and to Nature;

Construe that as you list, I *do no cure.* *care nothing*

And those that hadde *done unkindeness,* *committed offence

As doth the tidife, <8> for newfangleness, against natural laws*

Besoughte mercy for their trespassing

And humblely sange their repenting,

And swore upon the blossoms to be true;

So that their mates would upon them rue,* *take pity

And at the laste made their accord.* *reconciliation

All* found they Danger** for a time a lord, *although **disdain

Yet Pity, through her stronge gentle might,

Forgave, and made mercy pass aright

Through Innocence, and ruled Courtesy.

But I ne call not innocence folly

Nor false pity, for virtue is the mean,

As Ethic <9> saith, in such manner I mean.

And thus these fowles, void of all malice,

Accorded unto Love, and lefte vice

Of hate, and sangen all of one accord,

“Welcome, Summer, our governor and lord!”

And Zephyrus and Flora gentilly

Gave to the flowers, soft and tenderly,

Their sweete breath, and made them for to spread,

As god and goddess of the flow’ry mead;

In which me thought I mighte, day by day,

Dwellen alway, the jolly month of May,

Withoute sleep, withoute meat or drink.

Adown full softly I began to sink,

And, leaning on mine elbow and my side

The longe day I shope* to abide, *resolved, prepared

For nothing elles, and I shall not lie

But for to look upon the daisy;

That men by reason well it calle may

The Daye’s-eye, or else the Eye of Day,

The empress and the flow’r of flowers all

I pray to God that faire may she fall!

And all that love flowers, for her sake:

But, nathelesse, *ween not that I make* *do not fancy that I

In praising of the Flow’r against the Leaf, write this poem*

No more than of the corn against the sheaf;

For as to me is lever none nor lother,

I n’am withholden yet with neither n’other.<10>

*Nor I n’ot* who serves Leaf, nor who the Flow’r; *nor do I know*

Well *brooke they* their service or labour! *may they profit by*

For this thing is all of another tun, <11>

Of old story, ere such thing was begun.

When that the sun out of the south gan west,

And that this flow’r gan close, and go to rest,

For darkness of the night, the which she dread;* *dreaded

Home to my house full swiftly I me sped,

To go to rest, and early for to rise,

To see this flower spread, as I devise.* *describe

And in a little arbour that I have,

That benched was of turfes fresh y-grave,* <12> *cut out

I bade men shoulde me my couche make;

For dainty* of the newe summer’s sake, *pleasure

I bade them strowe flowers on my bed.

When I was laid, and had mine eyen hid,

I fell asleep; within an hour or two,

Me mette* how I lay in the meadow tho,** *dreamed **then

To see this flow’r that I love so and dread.

And from afar came walking in the mead

The God of Love, and in his hand a queen;

And she was clad in royal habit green;

A fret* of gold she hadde next her hair, *band

And upon that a white corown she bare,

With flowrons* small, and, as I shall not lie, *florets <13>

For all the world right as a daisy

Y-crowned is, with white leaves lite,* *small

So were the flowrons of her crowne white.

For of one pearle, fine, oriential,

Her white crowne was y-maked all,

For which the white crown above the green

Made her like a daisy for to see’n,* *look upon

Consider’d eke her fret of gold above.

Y-clothed was this mighty God of Love

In silk embroider’d, full of greene greves,* *boughs

In which there was a fret of red rose leaves,

The freshest since the world was first begun.

His gilt hair was y-crowned with a sun,

lnstead of gold, for* heaviness and weight; *to avoid

Therewith me thought his face shone so bright,

That well unnethes might I him behold;

And in his hand me thought I saw him hold

Two fiery dartes, as the gledes* red; *glowing coals

And angel-like his winges saw I spread.

And *all be* that men say that blind is he, *although*

Algate* me thoughte that he might well see; *at all events

For sternly upon me he gan behold,

So that his looking *did my hearte cold.* *made my heart

And by the hand he held this noble queen, grow cold*

Crowned with white, and clothed all in green,

So womanly, so benign, and so meek,

That in this worlde, though that men would seek.

Half of her beauty shoulde they not find

In creature that formed is by Kind;* *Nature

And therefore may I say, as thinketh me,

This song in praising of this lady free:

“Hide, Absolon, thy gilte* tresses clear; *golden

Esther, lay thou thy meekness all adown;

Hide, Jonathan, all thy friendly mannere,

Penelope, and Marcia Catoun,<14>

Make of your wifehood no comparisoun;

Hide ye your beauties, Isoude <15> and Helene;

My lady comes, that all this may distain.* *outdo, obscure

“Thy faire body let it not appear,

Lavine; <16> and thou, Lucrece of Rome town;

And Polyxene, <17> that boughte love so dear,

And Cleopatra, with all thy passioun,

Hide ye your truth of love, and your renown;

And thou, Thisbe, that hadst of love such pain

My lady comes, that all this may distain.

“Hero, Dido, Laodamia, y-fere,* *together

And Phyllis, hanging for Demophoon,

And Canace, espied by thy cheer,

Hypsipyle, betrayed by Jasoun,

Make of your truthe neither boast nor soun’;

Nor Hypermnestr’ nor Ariadne, ye twain;

My lady comes, that all this may distain.”

This ballad may full well y-sungen be,

As I have said erst, by my lady free;

For, certainly, all these may not suffice

*T’appaire with* my lady in no wise; *surpass in beauty

For, as the sunne will the fire distain, or honour*

So passeth all my lady sovereign,

That is so good, so fair, so debonair,

I pray to God that ever fall her fair!

For *n’hadde comfort been* of her presence, *had I not the

I had been dead, without any defence, comfort of*

For dread of Love’s wordes, and his cheer;

As, when time is, hereafter ye shall hear.

Behind this God of Love, upon the green,

I saw coming of Ladies nineteen,

In royal habit, a full easy pace;

And after them of women such a trace,* *train

That, since that God Adam had made of earth,

The thirde part of mankind, or the ferth,* *fourth

*Ne ween’d I not* by possibility, *I never fancied*

Had ever in this wide world y-be;* *been

And true of love these women were each one.

Now whether was that a wonder thing, or non,* *not

That, right anon as that they gan espy

This flow’r, which that I call the daisy,

Full suddenly they stenten* all at once, *stopped

And kneeled down, as it were for the nonce,

And sange with one voice, “Heal and honour

To truth of womanhead, and to this flow’r,

*That bears our aller prize in figuring;* *that in its figure bears

Her white crowne bears the witnessing!” the prize from us all*

And with that word, *a-compass enviroun* *all around in a ring*

They sette them full softely adown.

First sat the God of Love, and since* his queen, *afterwards

With the white corowne, clad in green;

And sithen* all the remnant by and by, *then

As they were of estate, full courteously;

And not a word was spoken in the place,

The mountance* of a furlong way of space. *extent <18>

I, kneeling by this flow’r, in good intent

Abode, to knowe what this people meant,

As still as any stone, till, at the last,

The God of Love on me his eyen cast,

And said, “Who kneeleth there? “and I answer’d

Unto his asking, when that I it heard,

And said, “It am I,” and came to him near,

And salued* him. Quoth he, “What dost thou here, *saluted

So nigh mine owen flow’r, so boldely?

It were better worthy, truely,

A worm to nighe* near my flow’r than thou.” *approach, draw nigh

“And why, Sir,” quoth I, “an’ it liketh you?”

“For thou,” quoth he, “art thereto nothing able,

It is my relic,* dign** and delectable, *emblem <19> **worthy

And thou my foe, and all my folk warrayest,* *molestest, censurest

And of mine olde servants thou missayest,

And hind’rest them, with thy translation,

And lettest* folk from their devotion *preventest

To serve me, and holdest it folly

To serve Love; thou may’st it not deny;

For in plain text, withoute need of glose,* *comment, gloss

Thu hast translated the Romance of the Rose,

That is a heresy against my law,

And maketh wise folk from me withdraw;

And of Cresside thou hast said as thee list,

That maketh men to women less to trust,

That be as true as e’er was any steel.

Of thine answer *advise thee right weel;* *consider right well*

For though that thou *renied hast my lay,* *abjured my law

As other wretches have done many a day, or religion*

By Sainte Venus, that my mother is,

If that thou live, thou shalt repente this,

So cruelly, that it shall well be seen.”

Then spake this Lady, clothed all in green,

And saide, “God, right of your courtesy,

Ye mighte hearken if he can reply

Against all this, that ye have *to him meved;* *advanced against him*

A godde shoulde not be thus aggrieved,

But of his deity he shall be stable,

And thereto gracious and merciable.* *merciful

And if ye n’ere* a god, that knoweth all, *were not

Then might it be, as I you telle shall,

This man to you may falsely be accused,

Whereas by right him ought to be excused;

For in your court is many a losengeour,* *deceiver <20>

And many a *quaint toteler accusour,* *strange prating accuser <21>*

That tabour* in your eares many a soun’, *drum

Right after their imaginatioun,

To have your dalliance,* and for envy; *pleasant conversation,

These be the causes, and I shall not lie, company

Envy is lavender* of the Court alway, *laundress

For she departeth neither night nor day <22>

Out of the house of Caesar, thus saith Dant’;

Whoso that go’th, algate* she shall not want. *at all events

And eke, parauntre,* for this man is nice,** *peradventure **foolish

He mighte do it guessing* no malice; *thinking

For he useth thinges for to make;* *compose poetry

Him *recketh naught of * what mattere he take; *cares nothing for*

Or he was bidden *make thilke tway* *compose those two*

Of* some person, and durst it not withsay;* *by **refuse, deny

Or him repenteth utterly of this.

He hath not done so grievously amiss,

To translate what olde clerkes write,

As though that he of malice would endite,* *write down

*Despite of* Love, and had himself it wrought. *contempt for*

This should a righteous lord have in his thought,

And not be like tyrants of Lombardy,

That have no regard but at tyranny.

For he that king or lord is naturel,

Him oughte not be tyrant or cruel, <23>

As is a farmer, <24> to do the harm he can;

He muste think, it is his liegeman,

And is his treasure, and his gold in coffer;

This is the sentence* of the philosopher: *opinion, sentiment

A king to keep his lieges in justice,

Withoute doubte that is his office.

All* will he keep his lords in their degree, — *although

As it is right and skilful* that they be, *reasonable

Enhanced and honoured, and most dear,

For they be halfe* in this world here, — *demigods

Yet must he do both right to poor and rich,

All be that their estate be not y-lich;* *alike

And have of poore folk compassion.

For lo! the gentle kind of the lion;

For when a fly offendeth him, or biteth,

He with his tail away the flye smiteth,

All easily; for of his gentery* *nobleness

Him deigneth not to wreak him on a fly,

As doth a cur, or else another beast.

*In noble corage ought to be arrest,* *in a noble nature ought

And weighen ev’rything by equity, to be self-restraint*

And ever have regard to his degree.

For, Sir, it is no mastery for a lord

To damn* a man, without answer of word; *condemn

And for a lord, that is *full foul to use.* *most infamous practice*

And it be so he* may him not excuse, *the offender

But asketh mercy with a dreadful* heart, *fearing, timid

And proffereth him, right in his bare shirt,

To be right at your owen judgement,

Then ought a god, by short advisement,* *deliberation

Consider his own honour, and his trespass;

For since no pow’r of death lies in this case,

You ought to be the lighter merciable;

Lette* your ire, and be somewhat tractable! *restrain

This man hath served you of his cunning,* *ability, skill

And further’d well your law in his making.* *composing poetry

Albeit that he cannot well endite,

Yet hath he made lewed* folk delight *ignorant

To serve you, in praising of your name.

He made the book that hight the House of Fame,

And eke the Death of Blanche the Duchess,

And the Parliament of Fowles, as I guess,

And all the Love of Palamon and Arcite, <25>

Of Thebes, though the story is known lite;* *little

And many a hymne for your holydays,

That highte ballads, roundels, virelays.

And, for to speak of other holiness,

He hath in prose translated Boece, <26>

And made the Life also of Saint Cecile;

He made also, gone is a greate while,

Origenes upon the Magdalene. <27>

Him oughte now to have the lesse pain;* *penalty

He hath made many a lay, and many a thing.

Now as ye be a god, and eke a king,

I your Alcestis, <28> whilom queen of Thrace,

I aske you this man, right of your grace,

That ye him never hurt in all his life;

And he shall sweare to you, and that blife,* *quickly

He shall no more aguilten* in this wise, *offend

But shall maken, as ye will him devise,

Of women true in loving all their life,

Whereso ye will, of maiden or of wife,

And further you as much as he missaid

Or* in the Rose, or elles in Cresseide.” *either

The God of Love answered her anon:

“Madame,” quoth he, “it is so long agone

That I you knew, so charitable and true,

That never yet, since that the world was new,

To me ne found I better none than ye;

If that I woulde save my degree,

I may nor will not warne* your request; *refuse

All lies in you, do with him as you lest.

I all forgive withoute longer space;* *delay

For he who gives a gift, or doth a grace,

Do it betimes, his thank is well the more; <29>

And deeme* ye what he shall do therefor. *adjudge

Go thanke now my Lady here,” quoth he.

I rose, and down I set me on my knee,

And saide thus; “Madame, the God above

Foryielde* you that ye the God of Love *reward

Have made me his wrathe to forgive;

And grace* so longe for to live, *give me grace

That I may knowe soothly what ye be,

That have me help’d, and put in this degree!

But truely I ween’d, as in this case,

Naught t’ have aguilt,* nor done to Love trespass;** *offended

For why? a true man, withoute dread, **offence

Hath not *to parte with* a thieve’s deed. *any share in*

Nor a true lover oughte me to blame,

Though that I spoke a false lover some shame.

They oughte rather with me for to hold,

For that I of Cressida wrote or told,

Or of the Rose, *what so mine author meant;* *made a true translation*

Algate, God wot, it was mine intent *by all ways

To further truth in love, and it cherice,* *cherish

And to beware from falseness and from vice,

By such example; this was my meaning.”

And she answer’d; “Let be thine arguing,

For Love will not counterpleaded be <30>

In right nor wrong, and learne that of me;

Thou hast thy grace, and hold thee right thereto.

Now will I say what penance thou shalt do

For thy trespass;* and understand it here: *offence

Thou shalt, while that thou livest, year by year,

The moste partie of thy time spend

In making of a glorious Legend

Of Goode Women, maidenes and wives,

That were true in loving all their lives;

And tell of false men that them betray,

That all their life do naught but assay

How many women they may do a shame;

For in your world that is now *held a game.* *considered a sport*

And though thou like not a lover be, <31>

Speak well of love; this penance give I thee.

And to the God of Love I shall so pray,

That he shall charge his servants, by any way,

To further thee, and well thy labour quite:* *requite

Go now thy way, thy penance is but lite.

And, when this book ye make, give it the queen

On my behalf, at Eltham, or at Sheen.”

The God of Love gan smile, and then he said:

“Know’st thou,” quoth he, “whether this be wife or maid,

Or queen, or countess, or of what degree,

That hath so little penance given thee,

That hath deserved sorely for to smart?

But pity runneth soon in gentle* heart; <32> *nobly born

That may’st thou see, she kitheth* what she is. *showeth

And I answer’d: “Nay, Sir, so have I bliss,

No more but that I see well she is good.”

“That is a true tale, by my hood,”

Quoth Love; “and that thou knowest well, pardie!

If it be so that thou advise* thee. *bethink

Hast thou not in a book, li’th* in thy chest, *(that) lies

The greate goodness of the queen Alceste,

That turned was into a daisy

She that for her husbande chose to die,

And eke to go to hell rather than he;

And Hercules rescued her, pardie!

And brought her out of hell again to bliss?”

And I answer’d again, and saide; “Yes,

Now know I her; and is this good Alceste,

The daisy, and mine own hearte’s rest?

Now feel I well the goodness of this wife,

That both after her death, and in her life,

Her greate bounty* doubleth her renown. *virtue

Well hath she quit* me mine affectioun *recompensed

That I have to her flow’r the daisy;

No wonder is though Jove her stellify, <33>

As telleth Agathon, <34> for her goodness;

Her white crowne bears of it witness;

For all so many virtues hadde she

As smalle flowrons in her crowne be.

In remembrance of her, and in honour,

Cybele made the daisy, and the flow’r,

Y-crowned all with white, as men may see,

And Mars gave her a crowne red, pardie!

Instead of rubies set among the white.”

Therewith this queen wax’d red for shame a lite

When she was praised so in her presence.

Then saide Love: “A full great negligence

Was it to thee, that ilke* time thou made *that same

‘Hide Absolon thy tresses,’ in ballade,

That thou forgot her in thy song to set,

Since that thou art so greatly in her debt,

And knowest well that calendar* is she *guide, example

To any woman that will lover be:

For she taught all the craft of true loving,

And namely* of wifehood the living, *especially

And all the boundes that she ought to keep:

Thy little wit was thilke* time asleep. *that

But now I charge thee, upon thy life,

That in thy Legend thou make* of this wife, *poetise, compose

When thou hast other small y-made before;

And fare now well, I charge thee no more.

But ere I go, thus much I will thee tell, —

Never shall no true lover come in hell.

These other ladies, sitting here a-row,

Be in my ballad, if thou canst them know,

And in thy bookes all thou shalt them find;

Have them in thy Legend now all in mind;

I mean of them that be in thy knowing.

For here be twenty thousand more sitting

Than that thou knowest, goode women all,

And true of love, for aught that may befall;

Make the metres of them as thee lest;

I must go home, — the sunne draweth west, —

To Paradise, with all this company:

And serve alway the freshe daisy.

At Cleopatra I will that thou begin,

And so forth, and my love so shalt thou win;

For let see now what man, that lover be,

Will do so strong a pain for love as she.

I wot well that thou may’st not all it rhyme,

That suche lovers didden in their time;

It were too long to readen and to hear;

Suffice me thou make in this mannere,

That thou rehearse of all their life the great,* *substance

After* these old authors list for to treat; *according as

For whoso shall so many a story tell,

Say shortly, or he shall too longe dwell.”

And with that word my bookes gan I take,

And right thus on my Legend gan I make.

Thus endeth the Prologue.

Notes to The prologue to The Legend of Good Women

1. Bernard, the Monke, saw not all, pardie!: a proverbial saying,

signifying that even the wisest, or those who claim to be the

wisest, cannot know everything. Saint Bernard, who was the

last, or among the last, of the Fathers, lived in the first half of

the twelfth century.

2. Compare Chaucer’s account of his habits, in “The House of

Fame.”

3. See introductory note to “The Flower and the Leaf.”

4. “ye have herebefore

Of making ropen, and led away the corn”

The meaning is, that the “lovers” have long ago said all that can

be said, by way of poetry, or “making” on the subject. See note

89 to “Troilus and Cressida” for the etymology of “making”

meaning “writing poetry.”

5. The poet glides here into an address to his lady.

6. Europa was the daughter of Agenores, king of Phrygia. She

was carried away to Crete by Jupiter, disguised as a lovely and

tame bull, on whose back Europa mounted as she was sporting

with her maidens by the sea-shore. The story is beautifully told

in Horace, Odes, iii. 27.

7. See “The Assembly of Fowls,” which was supposed to

happen on St. Valentine’s day.

8. The tidife: The titmouse, or any other small bird, which

sometimes brings up the cuckoo’s young when its own have

been destroyed. See note 44 to “The Assembly of Fowls.”

9. Ethic: the “Ethics” of Aristotle.

10. “For as to me is lever none nor lother,

I n’am withholden yet with neither n’other.”

i.e For as neither is more liked or disliked by me, I am not

bound by, holden to, either the one or the other.

11. All of another tun i.e. wine of another tun — a quite

different matter.

12. Compare the description of the arbour in “The Flower and

the Leaf.”

13. Flowrons: florets; little flowers on the disk of the main

flower; French “fleuron.”

14. Mr Bell thinks that Chaucer here praises the complaisance

of Marcia, the wife of Cato, in complying with his will when he

made her over to his friend Hortensius. It would be in better

keeping with the spirit of the poet’s praise, to believe that we

should read “Porcia Catoun” — Porcia the daughter of Cato,

who was married to Brutus, and whose perfect wifehood has

been celebrated in The Franklin’s Tale. See note 25 to the

Franklin’s Tale.

15. Isoude: See note 21 to “The Assembly of Fowls”.

16. Lavine: Lavinia, the heroine of the Aeneid, who became the

wife of Aeneas.

17. Polyxena, daughter of Priam, king of Troy, fell in

love with Achilles, and, when he was killed, she fled to the

Greek camp, and slew herself on the tomb of her hero-lover.

18. Mountance: extent, duration. See note 84 to “The House of

Fame”.

19. Relic: emblem; or cherished treasure; like the relics at

the shrines of saints.

20. Losengeour: deceiver. See note 31 to the Nun’s Priest’s

Tale.

21. “Toteler” is an old form of the word “tatler,” from the

Anglo-Saxon, “totaelan,” to talk much, to tattle.

22. Envy is lavender of the court alway: a “lavender” is a

washerwoman or laundress; the word represents “meretrice”in

Dante’s original — meaning a courtezan; but we can well

understand that Chaucer thought it prudent, and at the same

time more true to the moral state of the English Court, to

change the character assigned to Envy. He means that Envy is

perpetually at Court, like some garrulous, bitter old woman

employed there in the most servile offices, who remains at her

post through all the changes among the courtiers. The passage

cited from Dante will be found in the “Inferno,” canto xiii. 64 —

69.

23. Chaucer says that the usurping lords who seized on the

government of the free Lombard cities, had no regard for any

rule of government save sheer tyranny — but a natural lord, and

no usurper, ought not to be a tyrant.

24. Farmer: one who merely farms power or revenue for his

own purposes and his own gain.

25. This was the first version of the Knight’s tale. See the

introductory note, above

26. Boece: Boethius’ “De Consolatione Philosophiae;” to which

frequent reference is made in The Canterbury Tales. See, for

instances, note 91 to the Knight’s Tale; and note 34 to the

Squire’s Tale.

27. A poem entitled “The Lamentation of Mary Magdalene,”

said to have been “taken out of St Origen,” is included in the

editions of Chaucer; but its authenticity, and consequently its

identity with the poem here mentioned, are doubted.

28. For the story of Alcestis, see note 11 to “The Court of

Love.”

29. “For he who gives a gift, or doth a grace,

Do it betimes, his thank is well the more”

A paraphrase of the well-known proverb, “Bis dat qui cito dat.”

(“He gives twice who gives promptly”)

30. The same prohibition occurs in the Fifteenth Statute of “The

Court of Love.”

31. Chaucer is always careful to allege his abstinence from the

pursuits of gallantry; he does so prominently in “The Court of

Love,” “The Assembly of Fowls,” and “The House of Fame.”

32. Pity runneth soon in gentle heart: the same is said of

Theseus, in The Knight’s Tale, and of Canace, by the falcon, in

The Squire’s Tale.

33. Stellify: assign to a place among the stars; as Jupiter did to

Andromeda and Cassiopeia.

34. Agathon: there was an Athenian dramatist of this name,

who might have made the virtues and fortunes of Alcestis his

theme; but the reference is too vague for the author to be

identified with any confidence.

CHAUCER’S A. B. C. <1>

CALLED

LA PRIERE DE NOSTRE DAME <2>

A.

ALMIGHTY and all-merciable* Queen, *all-merciful

To whom all this world fleeth for succour,

To have release of sin, of sorrow, of teen!* *affliction

Glorious Virgin! of all flowers flow’r,

To thee I flee, confounded in errour!

Help and relieve, almighty debonair,* *gracious, gentle

Have mercy of my perilous languour!

Vanquish’d me hath my cruel adversair.

B.

Bounty* so fix’d hath in thy heart his tent, *goodness, charity

That well I wot thou wilt my succour be;

Thou canst not *warne that* with good intent *refuse he who*

Asketh thy help, thy heart is ay so free!

Thou art largess* of plein** felicity, *liberal bestower **full

Haven and refuge of quiet and rest!

Lo! how that thieves seven <3> chase me!

Help, Lady bright, ere that my ship to-brest!* *be broken to pieces

C.

Comfort is none, but in you, Lady dear!

For lo! my sin and my confusion,

Which ought not in thy presence to appear,

Have ta’en on me a grievous action,* *control

Of very right and desperation!

And, as by right, they mighte well sustene

That I were worthy my damnation,

Ne were it mercy of you, blissful Queen!

D.

Doubt is there none, Queen of misericorde,* *compassion

That thou art cause of grace and mercy here;

God vouchesaf’d, through thee, with us t’accord;* *to be reconciled

For, certes, Christe’s blissful mother dear!

Were now the bow y-bent, in such mannere

As it was first, of justice and of ire,

The rightful God would of no mercy hear;

But through thee have we grace as we desire.

E.

Ever hath my hope of refuge in thee be’;

For herebefore full oft in many a wise

Unto mercy hast thou received me.

But mercy, Lady! at the great assize,

When we shall come before the high Justice!

So little fruit shall then in me be found,

That,* thou ere that day correcte me, *unless

Of very right my work will me confound.

F.

Flying, I flee for succour to thy tent,

Me for to hide from tempest full of dread;

Beseeching you, that ye you not absent,

Though I be wick’. O help yet at this need!

All* have I been a beast in wit and deed, *although

Yet, Lady! thou me close in with thy grace;

*Thine enemy and mine,* — Lady, take heed! — *the devil*

Unto my death in point is me to chase.

G.

Gracious Maid and Mother! which that never

Wert bitter nor in earthe nor in sea, <4>

But full of sweetness and of mercy ever,

Help, that my Father be not wroth with me!

Speak thou, for I ne dare Him not see;

So have I done in earth, alas the while!

That, certes, but if thou my succour be,

To sink etern He will my ghost exile.

H.

He vouchesaf’d, tell Him, as was His will,

Become a man, *as for our alliance,* *to ally us with god*

And with His blood He wrote that blissful bill

Upon the cross, as general acquittance

To ev’ry penitent in full creance;* *belief

And therefore, Lady bright! thou for us pray;

Then shalt thou stenten* alle His grievance, *put an end to

And make our foe to failen of his prey.

I.

I wote well thou wilt be our succour,

Thou art so full of bounty in certain;

For, when a soule falleth in errour,

Thy pity go’th, and haleth* him again; *draweth

Then makest thou his peace with his Sov’reign,

And bringest him out of the crooked street:

Whoso thee loveth shall not love in vain,

That shall he find *as he the life shall lete.* *when he leaves

life*

K.

*Kalendares illumined* be they *brilliant exemplars*

That in this world be lighted with thy name;

And whoso goeth with thee the right way,

Him shall not dread in soule to be lame;

Now, Queen of comfort! since thou art the same

To whom I seeke for my medicine,

Let not my foe no more my wound entame;* *injure, molest

My heal into thy hand all I resign.

L.

Lady, thy sorrow can I not portray

Under that cross, nor his grievous penance;

But, for your bothe’s pain, I you do pray,

Let not our *aller foe* make his boastance, *the foe of us all —

That he hath in his listes, with mischance, Satan*

*Convicte that* ye both have bought so dear; *ensnared that which*

As I said erst, thou ground of all substance!

Continue on us thy piteous eyen clear.

M.

Moses, that saw the bush of flames red

Burning, of which then never a stick brenn’d,* *burned

Was sign of thine unwemmed* maidenhead. *unblemished

Thou art the bush, on which there gan descend

The Holy Ghost, the which that Moses wend* *weened, supposed

Had been on fire; and this was in figure. <5>

Now, Lady! from the fire us do defend,

Which that in hell eternally shall dure.

N.

Noble Princess! that never haddest peer;

Certes if any comfort in us be,

That cometh of thee, Christe’s mother dear!

We have none other melody nor glee,* *pleasure

Us to rejoice in our adversity;

Nor advocate, that will and dare so pray

For us, and for as little hire as ye,

That helpe for an Ave-Mary or tway.

O.

O very light of eyen that be blind!

O very lust* of labour and distress! *relief, pleasure

O treasurer of bounty to mankind!

The whom God chose to mother for humbless!

From his ancill* <6> he made thee mistress *handmaid

Of heav’n and earth, our *billes up to bede;* *offer up our petitions*

This world awaiteth ever on thy goodness;

For thou ne failedst never wight at need.

P.

Purpose I have sometime for to enquere

Wherefore and why the Holy Ghost thee sought,

When Gabrielis voice came to thine ear;

He not to war* us such a wonder wrought, *afflict

But for to save us, that sithens us bought:

Then needeth us no weapon us to save,

But only, where we did not as we ought,

Do penitence, and mercy ask and have.

Q.

Queen of comfort, right when I me bethink

That I aguilt* have bothe Him and thee, *offended

And that my soul is worthy for to sink,

Alas! I, caitiff, whither shall I flee?

Who shall unto thy Son my meane* be? *medium of approach

Who, but thyself, that art of pity well?* *fountain

Thou hast more ruth on our adversity

Than in this world might any tongue tell!

R.

Redress me, Mother, and eke me chastise!

For certainly my Father’s chastising

I dare not abiden in no wise,

So hideous is his full reckoning.

Mother! of whom our joy began to spring,

Be ye my judge, and eke my soule’s leach;* *physician

For ay in you is pity abounding

To each that will of pity you beseech.

S.

Sooth is it that He granteth no pity

Withoute thee; for God of his goodness

Forgiveth none, *but it like unto thee;* *unless it please

He hath thee made vicar and mistress thee*

Of all this world, and eke governess

Of heaven; and represseth his justice

After* thy will; and therefore in witness *according to

He hath thee crowned in so royal wise.

T.

Temple devout! where God chose his wonning,* *abode

From which, these misbeliev’d deprived be,

To you my soule penitent I bring;

Receive me, for I can no farther flee.

With thornes venomous, O Heaven’s Queen!

For which the earth accursed was full yore,

I am so wounded, as ye may well see,

That I am lost almost, it smart so sore!

V.

Virgin! that art so noble of apparail,* *aspect

That leadest us into the highe tow’r

Of Paradise, thou me *wiss and counsail* *direct and counsel*

How I may have thy grace and thy succour;

All have I been in filth and in errour,

Lady! *on that country thou me adjourn,* *take me to that place*

That called is thy bench of freshe flow’r,

There as that mercy ever shall sojourn.

X.

Xpe <7> thy Son, that in this world alight,

Upon a cross to suffer his passioun,

And suffer’d eke that Longeus his heart pight,* <8> *pierced

And made his hearte-blood to run adown;

And all this was for my salvatioun:

And I to him am false and eke unkind,

And yet he wills not my damnation;

*This thank I you,* succour of all mankind! *for this I am

indebted to you*

Y.

Ysaac was figure of His death certain,

That so farforth his father would obey,

That him *ne raughte* nothing to be slain; *he cared not*

Right so thy Son list as a lamb to dey:* *die

Now, Lady full of mercy! I you pray,

Since he his mercy ’sured me so large,

Be ye not scant, for all we sing and say,

That ye be from vengeance alway our targe.* *shield, defence

Z.

Zachary you calleth the open well <9>

That washed sinful soul out of his guilt;

Therefore this lesson out I will to tell,

That, n’ere* thy tender hearte, we were spilt.** *were it not for

Now, Lady brighte! since thou canst and wilt, *destroyed, undone*

Be to the seed of Adam merciable;* *merciful

Bring us unto that palace that is built

To penitents that be *to mercy able!* *fit to receive mercy*

Explicit.* *The end

Notes to Chaucer’s A. B. C.

1. Chaucer’s A. B. C. — a prayer to the Virgin, in twenty three

verses, beginning with the letters of the alphabet in their

order — is said to have been written “at the request of Blanche,

Duchess of Lancaster, as a prayer for her private use, being a

woman in her religion very devout.” It was first printed in

Speght’s edition of 1597.

2. La Priere De Nostre Dame: French, “The Prayer of Our

Lady.”

3. Thieves seven: i.e. the seven deadly sins

4. Mary’s name recalls the waters of “Marah” or bitterness

(Exod. xv. 23), or the prayer of Naomi in her grief that she

might be called not Naomi, but “Mara” (Ruth i. 20). Mary,

however, is understood to mean “exalted.”

5. A typical representation. See The Prioress’s Tale, third

stanza.

6. The reference evidently is to Luke i. 38 — “Ecce ancilla

Domini,” (“Behold the handmaid of the Lord”) the Virgin’s

humble answer to Gabriel at the Annunciation.

7. “Xpe” represents the Greek letters chi rho epsilon, and is a

contraction for “Christe.”

8. According to tradition, the soldier who struck the Saviour to

the heart with his spear was named Longeus, and was blind;

but, touching his eyes by chance with the mingled blood and

water that flowed down the shaft upon his hands, he was

instantly restored to sight.

9. “In that day there shall be a fountain opened to the house of

David and to the inhabitants of Jerusalem for sin and for

uncleanness” (Zech. xiii. 1).

A GOODLY BALLAD OF CHAUCER.<1>

MOTHER of nurture, best belov’d of all,

And freshe flow’r, to whom good thrift God send

Your child, if it lust* you me so to call, *please

*All be I* unable myself so to pretend, *although I be

To your discretion I recommend

My heart and all, with ev’ry circumstance,

All wholly to be under your governance.

Most desire I, and have and ever shall,

Thinge which might your hearte’s ease amend

Have me excus’d, my power is but small;

Nathless, of right, ye oughte to commend

My goode will, which fame would entend* *attend, strive

To do you service; for my suffisance* *contentment

Is wholly to be under your governance.

Mieux un in heart which never shall apall, <2>

Ay fresh and new, and right glad to dispend

My time in your service, what so befall,

Beseeching your excellence to defend

My simpleness, if ignorance offend

In any wise; since that mine affiance

Is wholly to be under your governance.

Daisy of light, very ground of comfort,

The sunne’s daughter ye light, as I read;

For when he west’reth, farewell your disport!

By your nature alone, right for pure dread

Of the rude night, that with his *boistous weed* *rude garment*

Of darkness shadoweth our hemisphere,

Then close ye, my life’s lady dear!

Dawneth the day unto his kind resort,

And Phoebus your father, with his streames red,

Adorns the morrow, consuming the sort* *crowd

Of misty cloudes, that would overlade

True humble heartes with their mistihead.* *dimness, mistiness

New comfort adaws,* when your eyen clear *dawns, awakens

Disclose and spread, my life’s lady dear.

Je voudrais* — but the greate God disposeth, *I would wish

And maketh casual, by his Providence,

Such thing as manne’s fraile wit purposeth,

All for the best, if that your conscience

Not grudge it, but in humble patience

It receive; for God saith, withoute fable,

A faithful heart ever is acceptable.

Cauteles* whoso useth gladly, gloseth;** *cautious speeches

To eschew such it is right high prudence; **deceiveth

What ye said ones mine heart opposeth,

That my writing japes* in your absence *jests, coarse stories

Pleased you much better than my presence:

Yet can I more; ye be not excusable;

A faithful heart is ever acceptable.

Quaketh my pen; my spirit supposeth

That in my writing ye will find offence;

Mine hearte welketh* thus; anon it riseth; *withers, faints

Now hot, now cold, and after in fervence;

That is amiss, is caus’d of negligence,

And not of malice; therefore be merciable;

A faithful heart is ever acceptable.

L’Envoy.

Forthe, complaint! forth, lacking eloquence;

Forth little letter, of enditing lame!

I have besought my lady’s sapience

On thy behalfe, to accept in game

Thine inability; do thou the same.

Abide! have more yet! *Je serve Joyesse!* *I serve Joy*

Now forth, I close thee in holy Venus’ name!

Thee shall unclose my hearte’s governess.

Notes To a Goodly Ballad Of Chaucer

1. This elegant little poem is believed to have been addressed to

Margaret, Countess of Pembroke, in whose name Chaucer

found one of those opportunities of praising the daisy he never

lost. (Transcriber’s note: Modern scholars believe that Chaucer

was not the author of this poem)

2. Mieux un in heart which never shall apall: better one who in

heart shall never pall — whose love will never weary.

A BALLAD SENT TO KING RICHARD.

SOMETIME this world was so steadfast and stable,

That man’s word was held obligation;

And now it is so false and deceivable,* *deceitful

That word and work, as in conclusion,

Be nothing one; for turned up so down

Is all this world, through meed* and wilfulness, *bribery

That all is lost for lack of steadfastness.

What makes this world to be so variable,

But lust* that folk have in dissension? *pleasure

For now-a-days a man is held unable* *fit for nothing

*But if* he can, by some collusion,** *unless* *fraud, trick

Do his neighbour wrong or oppression.

What causeth this but wilful wretchedness,

That all is lost for lack of steadfastness?

Truth is put down, reason is holden fable;

Virtue hath now no domination;

Pity exil’d, no wight is merciable;

Through covetise is blent* discretion; *blinded

The worlde hath made permutation

From right to wrong, from truth to fickleness,

That all is lost for lack of steadfastness.

L’Envoy.

O Prince! desire to be honourable;

Cherish thy folk, and hate extortion;

Suffer nothing that may be reprovable* *a subject of reproach

To thine estate, done in thy region;* *kingdom

Show forth the sword of castigation;

Dread God, do law, love thorough worthiness,

And wed thy folk again to steadfastness!

L’ENVOY OF CHAUCER TO BUKTON. <1>

My Master Bukton, when of Christ our King

Was asked, What is truth or soothfastness?

He not a word answer’d to that asking,

As who saith, no man is all true, I guess;

And therefore, though I highte* to express *promised

The sorrow and woe that is in marriage,

I dare not write of it no wickedness,

Lest I myself fall eft* in such dotage.** *again **folly

I will not say how that it is the chain

Of Satanas, on which he gnaweth ever;

But I dare say, were he out of his pain,

As by his will he would be bounden never.

But thilke* doated fool that eft had lever *that

Y-chained be, than out of prison creep,

God let him never from his woe dissever,

Nor no man him bewaile though he weep!

But yet, lest thou do worse, take a wife;

Bet is to wed than burn in worse wise; <2>

But thou shalt have sorrow on thy flesh *thy life,* *all thy life*

And be thy wife’s thrall, as say these wise.

And if that Holy Writ may not suffice,

Experience shall thee teache, so may hap,

That thee were lever to be taken in Frise, <3>

Than eft* to fall of wedding in the trap. *again

This little writ, proverbes, or figure,

I sende you; take keep* of it, I read! *heed

“Unwise is he that can no weal endure;

If thou be sicker,* put thee not in dread.”** *in security **danger

The Wife of Bath I pray you that you read,

Of this mattere which that we have on hand.

God grante you your life freely to lead

In freedom, for full hard is to be bond.

Notes to L’Envoy of Chaucer to Bukton.

1. Tyrwhitt, founding on the reference to the Wife of Bath,

places this among Chaucer’s latest compositions; and states that

one Peter de Bukton held the office of king’s escheator for

Yorkshire in 1397. In some of the old editions, the verses were

made the Envoy to the Book of the Duchess Blanche — in very

bad taste, when we consider that the object of that poem was to

console John of Gaunt under the loss of his wife.

2. “But if they cannot contain, let them marry: for it is better to

marry than to burn.” 1 Cor. vii. 9

3. Lever to be taken in Frise: better to be taken prisoner in

Friesland — where probably some conflict was raging at the

time.

A BALLAD OF GENTLENESS.

THE firste stock-father of gentleness, <1>

What man desireth gentle for to be,

Must follow his trace, and all his wittes dress,* *apply

Virtue to love, and vices for to flee;

For unto virtue longeth dignity,

And not the reverse, safely dare I deem,

*All wear he* mitre, crown, or diademe. *whether he wear*

This firste stock was full of righteousness,

True of his word, sober, pious, and free,

*Clean of his ghost,* and loved business, *pure of spirit*

Against the vice of sloth, in honesty;

And, but his heir love virtue as did he,

He is not gentle, though he riche seem,

All wear he mitre, crown, or diademe.

Vice may well be heir to old richess,

But there may no man, as men may well see,

Bequeath his heir his virtuous nobless;

That is appropried* to no degree, *specially reserved

But to the first Father in majesty,

Which makes his heire him that doth him queme,* *please

All wear he mitre, crown, or diademe.

Notes to A Ballad of Gentleness

1. The firste stock-father of gentleness: Christ

THE COMPLAINT OF CHAUCER TO HIS PURSE.

To you, my purse, and to none other wight,

Complain I, for ye be my lady dear!

I am sorry now that ye be so light,

For certes ye now make me heavy cheer;

Me were as lief be laid upon my bier.

For which unto your mercy thus I cry,

Be heavy again, or elles must I die!

Now vouchesafe this day, ere it be night,

That I of you the blissful sound may hear,

Or see your colour like the sunne bright,

That of yellowness hadde peer.

Ye be my life! Ye be my hearte’s steer!* *rudder

Queen of comfort and of good company!

Be heavy again, or elles must I die!

Now, purse! that art to me my life’s light

And savour, as down in this worlde here,

Out of this towne help me through your might,

Since that you will not be my treasurere;

For I am shave as nigh as any frere. <1>

But now I pray unto your courtesy,

Be heavy again, or elles must I die!

Chaucer’s Envoy to the King.

O conqueror of Brute’s Albion, <2>

Which by lineage and free election

Be very king, this song to you I send;

And ye which may all mine harm amend,

Have mind upon my supplication!

Notes to The Complaint of Chaucer to his Purse

1. “I am shave as nigh as any frere” i.e. “I am as bare of coin as

a friar’s tonsure of hair.”

2. Brute, or Brutus, was the legendary first king of Britain.

GOOD COUNSEL OF CHAUCER. <1>

FLEE from the press, and dwell with soothfastness;

Suffice thee thy good, though it be small;

For hoard hath hate, and climbing tickleness,* *instability

Press hath envy, and *weal is blent* o’er all, *prosperity is blinded*

Savour* no more than thee behove shall; *have a taste for

Read* well thyself, that other folk canst read; *counsel

And truth thee shall deliver, it is no dread.* *doubt

Paine thee not each crooked to redress,

In trust of her that turneth as a ball; <2>

Great rest standeth in little business:

Beware also to spurn against a nail; <3>

Strive not as doth a crocke* with a wall; *earthen pot

Deeme* thyself that deemest others’ deed, *judge

And truth thee shall deliver, it is no dread.

What thee is sent, receive in buxomness;* *submission

The wrestling of this world asketh a fall;

Here is no home, here is but wilderness.

Forth, pilgrim! Forthe beast, out of thy stall!

Look up on high, and thank thy God of all!

*Weive thy lust,* and let thy ghost* thee lead, *forsake thy

And truth thee shall deliver, it is no dread. inclinations*

*spirit

Notes to Good Counsel of Chaucer

1. This poem is said to have been composed by Chaucer “upon

his deathbed, lying in anguish.”

2. Her that turneth as a ball: Fortune.

3. To spurn against a nail; “against the pricks.”

PROVERBS OF CHAUCER. <1>

WHAT should these clothes thus manifold,

Lo! this hot summer’s day?

After great heate cometh cold;

No man cast his pilche* away. *pelisse, furred cloak

Of all this world the large compass

Will not in mine arms twain;

Who so muche will embrace,

Little thereof he shall distrain.* *grasp

The world so wide, the air so remuable,* *unstable

The silly man so little of stature;

The green of ground and clothing so mutable,

The fire so hot and subtile of nature;

The water *never in one* — what creature *never the same*

That made is of these foure <2> thus flitting,

May steadfast be, as here, in his living?

The more I go, the farther I am behind;

The farther behind, the nearer my war’s end;

The more I seek, the worse can I find;

The lighter leave, the lother for to wend; <3>

The better I live, the more out of mind;

Is this fortune, *n’ot I,* or infortune;* *I know not* *misfortune

Though I go loose, tied am I with a loigne.* *line, tether

Notes to Proverbs of Chaucer

1. (Transcriber’s Note: Modern scholars believe that Chaucer’s

may have been the author of the first stanza of this poem, but

was not the author of the second and third).

2. These foure: that is, the four elements, of which man was

believed to be composed.

3. The lighter leave, the lother for to wend: The more easy

(through age) for me to depart, the less willing I am to go.

VIRELAY. <1>

ALONE walking

In thought plaining,

And sore sighing;

All desolate,

Me rememb’ring

Of my living;

My death wishing

Both early and late.

Infortunate

Is so my fate,

That, wot ye what?

Out of measure

My life I hate;

Thus desperate,

In such poor estate,

Do I endure.

Of other cure

Am I not sure;

Thus to endure

Is hard, certain;

Such is my ure,* *destiny <2>

I you ensure;

What creature

May have more pain?

My truth so plain

Is taken in vain,

And great disdain

In remembrance;

Yet I full fain

Would me complain,

Me to abstain

From this penance.

But, in substance,

None alleggeance* *alleviation

Of my grievance

Can I not find;

Right so my chance,

With displeasance,

Doth me advance;

And thus an end.

Notes to Virelay

1. (Transcriber’s note: Modern scholars believe that Chaucer

was not the author of this poem)

2. Ure: “heur,” or destiny; the same word that enters into

“bonheur” and “malheur.” (French: happiness & unhappiness)

“SINCE I FROM LOVE.” <1>

SINCE I from Love escaped am so fat,

I ne’er think to be in his prison ta’en;

Since I am free, I count him not a bean.

He may answer, and saye this and that;

I *do no force,* I speak right as I mean; *care not*

Since I from Love escaped am so fat.

Love hath my name struck out of his slat,* *slate, list

And he is struck out of my bookes clean,

For ever more; there is none other mean;

Since I from Love escaped am so fat.

Notes to “Since I from Love”

1. (Transcriber’s note: Modern scholars believe that Chaucer

was not the author of this poem)

CHAUCER’S WORDS TO HIS SCRIVENER.

ADAM Scrivener, if ever it thee befall

Boece or Troilus for to write anew,

Under thy long locks thou may’st have the scall* *scab

But *after my making* thou write more true! *according to my

So oft a day I must thy work renew, composing*

It to correct, and eke to rub and scrape;

And all is through thy negligence and rape.* *haste

CHAUCER’S PROPHECY. <1>

WHEN priestes *failen in their saws,* *come short of their

And lordes turne Godde’s laws profession*

Against the right;

And lechery is holden as *privy solace,* *secret delight*

And robbery as free purchase,

Beware then of ill!

Then shall the Land of Albion

Turne to confusion,

As sometime it befell.

Ora pro Anglia Sancta Maria, quod Thomas Cantuaria. <2>

Sweet Jesus, heaven’s King,

Fair and best of all thing,

You bring us out of this mourning,

To come to thee at our ending!

Notes to Chaucer’s Prophecy.

1. (Transcriber’s note: Modern scholars believe that Chaucer

was not the author of this poem)