Hoo! quod the Knyght, good sire, namoore of this,
Hold! cried the knight. Good sir, no more of this,
That ye han seyd is right ynough, ywis,
What you have said is right enough, and is
And muchel moore, for litel hevynesse
Very much more; a little heaviness
Is right ynough to muche folk, I gesse.
Is plenty for the most of us, I guess.
I seye for me, it is a greet disese
For me, I say it's saddening, if you please,
Where as men han been in greet welthe and ese,
As to men who've enjoyed great wealth and ease,
To heeren of hir sodeyn fal, allas!
To hear about their sudden fall, alas!
And the contrarie is joye and greet solas,
But the contrary's joy and great solace,
As whan a man hath been in povre estaat,
As when a man has been in poor estate
And clymbeth up, and wexeth fortunat,
And he climbs up and waxes fortunate,
And there abideth in prosperitee.
And there abides in all prosperity.
Swich thyng is galdsom, as it thynketh me,
Such things are gladsome, as it seems to me,
And of swich thyng were goodly for to telle.
And of such things it would be good to tell.
Ye, quod our Hoost, by seinte Poules belle,
Yea, quoth our host, and by Saint Paul's great bell,
Ye seye right sooth! This Monk, he clappeth lowde,
You say the truth; this monk, his clapper's loud.
He spak, how Fortune covered with a clowde-
He spoke how 'Fortune covered with a cloud'
I noot nevere what-and also of a 'Tragedie'-
I know not what, and of a 'tragedy,'
Right now ye herde; and pardee, no remedie
As now you heard, and gad! no remedy
It is for to biwaille ne compleyne
It is to wail and wonder and complain
That that is doon; and als it is a peyne,
That certain things have happened, and it's pain.
As ye han seyd, to heere of hevynesse.
As you have said, to hear of wretchedness.
Sire Monk, namoore of this, so God yow blesse!
Sir monk, no more of this, so God you bless!
Youre tale anoyeth al this compaignye;
Your tale annoys the entire company;
Swich talkyng is nat worth a boterflye,
Such talking is not worth a butterfly;
For ther-inne is ther no desport ne game.
For in it is no sport nor any game.
Wherfore sir Monk, or daun Piers by youre name,
Wherefore, sir monk, Don Peter by your name,
I pray yow hertely, telle us somwhat elles,
I pray you heartily tell us something else,
For sikerly, nere clynkyng of youre belles
For truly, but for clinking of the bells
That on your bridel hange on every syde,
That from your bridle hang on either side,
By hevene kyng, that for us alle dyde,
By Heaven's king, Who for us all has died,
I sholde er this han fallen doun for sleepe,
I should, ere this, have fallen down for sleep,
Althogh the slough had never been so deepe;
Although the mud had never been so deep;
Thanne hadde your tale al be toold in veyn.
Then had your story all been told in vain.
For, certeinly, as that thise clerkes seyn,
For certainly, as all these clerks complain,
Where as a man may have noon audience,
'Whenas a man has none for audience,
Noght helpeth it to tellen his sentence.
It's little help to speak his evidence.'
And wel I woot the substance is in me,
And well I know the substance is in me
If any thyng shal wel reported be.
To judge of things that well reported be.
Sir, sey somwhat of huntyng, I yow preye.
Sir, tell a tale of hunting now, I pray.
Nay, quod this Monk, I have no lust to pleye;
Nay, said this monk, I have no wish to play;
Not lat another telle as I have toold.
Now let another tell, as I have told.
Thanne spak oure Hoost, with rude speche and boold,
Then spoke our host out, in rude speech and bold,
And seyde unto the Nonnes Preest anon,
And said he unto the nun's priest anon:
Com neer, thou preest, com hyder, thou, sir John,
Come near, you priest, come hither, you Sir John,
Telle us swich thyng as may oure hertes glade;
Tell us a thing to make our hearts all glad;
Be blithe, though thou ryde upon a jade.
Be blithe, although you ride upon a jade.
What thogh thyn hors be bothe foul and lene?
What though your horse may be both foul and lean?
If he wol serve thee, rekke nat a bene!
If he but serves you, why, don't care a bean;
Looke that thyn herte be murie everemo.
Just see your heart is always merry. So.
Yis sir, quod he, yis, Hoost, so moot I go,
Yes, sir, said he, yes, host, so may I go,
But I be myrie, ywis, I wol be blamed.
For, save I'm merry, I know I'll be blamed.
And right anon his tale he hath attamed,
And right away his story has he framed,
And thus he seyde unto us everichon,
And thus he said unto us, every one,
This sweete preest, this goodly man sir John.
This dainty priest, this goodly man, Sir John.
A povre wydwe, somdel stape in age,
A widow poor, somewhat advanced in age,
Was whilom dwellyng in a narwe cotage
Lived, on a time, within a small cottage
Biside a greve, stondynge in a dale.
Beside a grove and standing down a dale.
This wydwe, of which I telle yow my tale,
This widow, now, of whom I tell my tale,
Syn thilke day that she was last a wyf,
Since that same day when she'd been last a wife
In pacience ladde a ful symple lyf,
Had led, with patience, her strait simple life,
For litel was hir catel and hir rente.
For she'd small goods and little income-rent;
By housbondrie, of swich as God hir sente,
By husbanding of such as God had sent
She foond hirself and eek hire doghtren two.
She kept herself and her young daughters twain.
Thre large sowes hadde she, and namo,
Three large sows had she, and no more, 'tis plain,
Three keen, and eek a sheep that highte Malle.
Three cows and a lone sheep that she called Moll.
Ful sooty was hir bour and eek hire halle,
Right sooty was her bedroom and her hall,
In whidh she eet ful many a sklendre meel-
Wherein she'd eaten many a slender meal.
Of poynaunt sauce hir neded never a deel.
Of sharp sauce, why she needed no great deal,
No deyntee morsel passed thurgh hir throte,
For dainty morsel never passed her throat;
Hir diete was accordant to hir cote.
Her diet well accorded with her coat.
Repleccioun ne made hir nevere sik,
Repletion never made this woman sick;
Attempree diete was al hir phisik,
A temperate diet was her whole physic,
And exercise, and hertes suffisaunce.
And exercise, and her heart's sustenance.
The goute lette hir nothyng for to daunce,
The gout, it hindered her nowise to dance,
Napoplexie shente nat hir heed.
Nor apoplexy spun within her head;
No wyn ne drank she, neither whit ne reed,
And no wine drank she, either white or red;
Hir bord was served moost with whit and blak,
Her board was mostly garnished, white and black,
Milk and broun breed, in which she foond no lak,
With milk and brown bread, whereof she'd no lack,
Seynd bacoun, and somtyme an ey or tweye,
Broiled bacon and sometimes an egg or two,
For she was as it were a maner deye.
For a small dairy business did she do.
A yeerd she hadde, enclosed al aboute
A yard she had, enclosed all roundabout
With stikkes, and a drye dych withoute,
With pales, and there was a dry ditch without,
In which she hadde a Cok, heet Chauntecleer,
And in the yard a cock called Chanticleer.
In al the land of crowyng nas his peer.
In all the land, for crowing, he'd no peer.
His voys was murier than the murle orgon
His voice was merrier than the organ gay
On messedayes, that in the chirche gon.
On Mass days, which in church begins to play;
Wel sikerer was his crowyng in his logge,
More regular was his crowing in his lodge
Than is a clokke, or an abbey orlogge.
Than is a clock or abbey horologe.
By nature he crew eche ascencioun
By instinct he'd marked each ascension down
Of the equynoxial in thilke toun;
Of equinoctial value in that town;
For whan degrees fiftene weren ascended,
For when fifteen degrees had been ascended,
Thanne crew he, that it myghte nat been amended.
Then crew he so it might not be amended.
His coomb was redder than the fyn coral,
His comb was redder than a fine coral,
And batailled, as it were a castel wal.
And battlemented like a castle wall.
His byle was blak, and as the jeet it shoon,
His bill was black and just like jet it shone;
Lyk asure were hise legges and his toon,
Like azure were his legs and toes, each one;
Hise nayles whiter than the lylye flour,
His spurs were whiter than the lily flower;
And lyk the burned gold was his colour.
And plumage of the burnished gold his dower.
This gentil cok hadde in his governaunce
This noble cock had in his governance
Sevene hennes, for to doon al his plesaunce,
Seven hens to give him pride and all pleasance,
Whiche were hise sustres and his paramours,
Which were his sisters and his paramours
And wonder lyk to hym as of colours;
And wondrously like him as to colours,
Of whiche the faireste hewed on hir throte
Whereof the fairest hued upon her throat
Was cleped faire damoysele Pertelote.
Was called the winsome Mistress Pertelote.
Curteys she was, discreet, and debonaire
Courteous she was, discreet and debonnaire,
And compaignable, and bar hyrself so faire
Companionable, and she had been so fair
Syn thilke day that she was seven nyght oold,
Since that same day when she was seven nights old,
That trewely she hath the herte in hoold
That truly she had taken the heart to hold
Of Chauntecleer loken in every lith.
Of Chanticleer, locked in her every limb;
He loved hir so, that wel was hym therwith.
He loved her so that all was well with him.
But swiche a joye was it to here hem synge
But such a joy it was to hear them sing,
Whan that the brighte sonne gan to sprynge,
Whenever the bright sun began to spring,
In sweete accord, My lief is faren in londe,-
In sweet accord, My love walks through the land.
For thilke tyme, as I have understonde,
For at that time, and as I understand,
Beestes and briddes koude speke and synge.
The beasts and all the birds could speak and sing.
And so bifel, that in the dawenynge,
So it befell that, in a bright dawning,
As Chauntecleer, among hise wyves alle,
As Chanticleer 'midst wives and sisters all
Sat on his perche, that was in the halle,
Sat on his perch, the which was in the hall,
And next hym sat this faire Pertelote,
And next him sat the winsome Pertelote,
This Chauntecleer gan gronen in his throte
This Chanticleer he groaned within his throat
As man that in his dreem is drecched soore.
Like man that in his dreams is troubled sore.
And whan that Pertelote thus herde hym roore
And when fair Pertelote thus heard him roar,
She was agast, and seyde, O herte deere,
She was aghast and said: O sweetheart dear,
What eyleth yow, to grone in this manere?
What ails you that you groan so? Do you hear?
Ye been a verray sleper, fy for shame!
You are a sleepy herald. Fie, for shame!
And he answerde and seyde thus, Madame,
And he replied to her thus: Ah, madame,
I pray yow that ye take it nat agrief.
I pray you that you take it not in grief:
By God, me thoughte I was in swich meschief
By God, I dreamed I'd come to such mischief,
Right now, that yet myn herte is soore afright.
Just now, my heart yet jumps with sore affright.
Now God, quod he, my swevene recche aright,
Now God, cried he, my vision read aright
And kepe my body out of foul prisoun.
And keep my body out of foul prison!
Me mette how that I romed up and doun
I dreamed, that while I wandered up and down
Withinne our yeerd, wheer as I saugh a beest
Within our yard, I saw there a strange beast
Was lyk an hound, and wolde han maad areest
Was like a dog, and he'd have made a feast
Upon my body, and han had me deed.
Upon my body, and have had me dead.
His colour was bitwixe yelow and reed,
His colour yellow was and somewhat red;
And tipped was his tayl and bothe hise eeris;
And tipped his tail was, as were both his ears,
With blak, unlyk the remenant of hise heeris;
With black, unlike the rest, as it appears;
His snowte smal, with glowynge eyen tweye.
His snout was small and gleaming was each eye.
Yet of his look, for feere almoost I deye!
Remembering how he looked, almost I die;
This caused me my gronyng, doutelees.
And all this caused my groaning, I confess.
Avoy! quod she, Fly on yow hertelees!
Aha, said she, fie on you, spiritless!
Allas, quod she, for by that God above
Alas! cried she, for by that God above,
Now han ye lost myn herte and al my love!
Now have you lost my heart and all my love;
I kan nat love a coward, by my feith,
I cannot love a coward, by my faith.
For certes, what so any womman seith,
For truly, whatsoever woman saith,
We alle desiren, if it myght bee,
We all desire, if only it may be,
To han housbondes hardy, wise, and free,
To have a husband hardy, wise, and free,
And secree, and no nygard, ne no fool,
And trustworthy, no niggard, and no fool,
Ne hym that is agast of every tool,
Nor one that is afraid of every tool,
Ne noon avauntour; by that God above,
Nor yet a braggart, by that God above!
How dorste ye seyn for shame unto youre love
How dare you say, for shame, unto your love
That any thyng myghte make yow aferd?
That there is anything that you have feared?
Have ye no mannes herte, and han a berd?
Have you not man's heart, and yet have a beard?
Allas, and konne ye been agast of swevenys?
Alas! And are you frightened by a vision?
No thyng, God woot, but vanitee in swevene is!
Dreams are, God knows, a matter for derision.
Swevenes engendren of replecciouns,
Visions are generated by repletions
And ofte of fume and of complecciouns,
And vapours and the body's bad secretions
Whan humours been to habundant in a wight.
Of humours overabundant in a wight.
Certes, this dreem which ye han met tonyght
Surely this dream, which you have had tonight,
Cometh of greet superfluytee
Comes only of the superfluity
Of youre rede colera, pardee,
Of your bilious irascibility,
Which causeth folk to dreden in hir dremes
Which causes folk to shiver in their dreams
Of arwes, and of fyre with rede lemes,
For arrows and for flames with long red gleams,
Of grete beestes, that they wol hem byte,
For great beasts in the fear that they will bite,
Of contekes, and of whelpes grete and lyte;
For quarrels and for wolf whelps great and slight;
Right as the humour of malencolie
Just as the humour of melancholy
Causeth ful many a man in sleep to crie
Causes full many a man, in sleep, to cry,
For feere of blake beres, or boles blake,
For fear of black bears or of bulls all black,
Or elles blake develes wole hem take.
Or lest black devils put them in a sack.
Of othere humours koude I telle also
Of other humours could I tell also,
That werken many a man in sleep ful wo,
That bring, to many a sleeping man, great woe;
But I wol passe as lightly as I kan.
But I'll pass on as lightly as I can.
Lo Catoun, which that was so wys a man,
Lo, Cato, and he was a full wise man,
Seyde he nat thus, 'ne do no fors of dremes'?
Said he not, we should trouble not for dreams?
Now sire, quod she, whan ye flee fro the bemes,
Now, sir, said she, when we fly from the beams,
For goddes love as taak som laxatyf!
For God's love go and take some laxative;
Up peril of my soule, and of my lyf,
On peril of my soul, and as I live,
I conseille yow the beste, I wol nat lye,
I counsel you the best, I will not lie,
That bothe of colere and of malencolye
That both for choler and for melancholy
Ye purge yow; and for ye shal nat tarie,
You purge yourself; and since you shouldn't tarry,
Though in this toun is noon apothecarie,
And on this farm there's no apothecary,
I shal myself to herbes techen yow,
I will myself go find some herbs for you
That shul been for youre hele and for youre prow.
That will be good for health and pecker too;
And in oure yeerd tho herbes shal I fynde,
And in our own yard all these herbs I'll find,
The whiche han of hir propretee by kynde
The which have properties of proper kind
To purge yow bynethe and eek above.
To purge you underneath and up above.
Foryet nat this, for Goddes owene love!
Forget this not, now, for God's very love!
Ye been ful coleryk of compleccioun;
You are so very choleric of complexion.
Ware the sonne in his ascencioun
Beware the mounting sun and all dejection,
Ne fynde yow nat repleet of humours hoote.
Nor get yourself with sudden humours hot;
And if it do, I dar wel leye a grote
For if you do, I dare well lay a groat
That ye shul have a fevere terciane,
That you shall have the tertian fever's pain,
Or an agu that may be youre bane.
Or some ague that may well be your bane.
A day or two ye shul have digestyves
A day or two you shall have digestives
Of wormes, er ye take youre laxatyves
Of worms before you take your laxatives
Of lawriol, centaure, and fumetere,
Of laurel, centuary, and fumitory,
Or elles of ellebor that groweth there,
Or else of hellebore purificatory,
Of katapuce, or of gaitrys beryis,
Or caper spurge, or else of dogwood berry,
Of herbe yve, growyng in oure yeerd, ther mery is!
Or herb ivy, all in our yard so merry;
Pekke hem up right as they growe, and ete hem yn!
Peck them just as they grow and gulp them in.
Be myrie, housbonde, for youre fader kyn,
Be merry, husband, for your father's kin!
Dredeth no dreem, I kan sey yow namoore!
Dread no more dreams. And I can say no more.
Madame, quod he, graunt mercy of youre loore,
Madam, said he, gramercy for your lore.
But nathelees, as touchyng Daun Catoun,
Nevertheless, not running Cato down,
That hath of wysdom swich a greet renoun,
Who had for wisdom such a high renown,
Though that he bad no dremes for to drede,
And though he says to hold no dreams in dread,
By God, men may in olde bookes rede
By God, men have, in many old books, read
Of many a man moore of auctorite
Of many a man more an authority
Than evere Caton was, so moot I thee,
That ever Cato was, pray pardon me,
That al the revers seyn of this sentence,
Who say just the reverse of his sentence,
And han wel founden by experience
And have found out by long experience
That dremes been significaciouns
That dreams, indeed, are good significations,
As wel of joye as of tribulaciouns
As much of joys as of all tribulations
That folk enduren in this lif present.
That folk endure here in this life present.
Ther nedeth make of this noon argument,
There is no need to make an argument;
The verray preeve sheweth it in dede.
The very proof of this is shown indeed.
Oon of the gretteste auctours that men rede
One of the greatest authors that men read
Seith thus, that whilom two felawes wente
Says thus: That on a time two comrades went
On pilgrimage in a ful good entente;
On pilgrimage, and all in good intent;
And happed so, they coomen in a toun
And it so chanced they came into a town
Wher as ther was swich congregacioun
Where there was such a crowding, up and down,
Of peple, and eek so streit of herbergage,
Of people, and so little harbourage,
That they ne founde as muche as o cotage
That they found not so much as one cottage
In which they bothe myghte logged bee;
Wherein the two of them might sheltered be.
Wherfore they mosten of necessitee
Wherefore they must, as of necessity,
As for that nyght departen compaignye,
For that one night at least, part company;
And ech of hem gooth to his hostelrye,
And each went to a different hostelry
And took his loggyng as it wolde falle.
And took such lodgment as to him did fall.
That oon of hem was logged in a stalle,
Now one of them was lodged within a stall,
Fer in a yeerd, with oxen of the plough;
Far in a yard, with oxen of the plow;
That oother man was logged wel ynough,
That other man found shelter fair enow,
As was his aventure or his fortune,
As was his luck, or was his good fortune,
That us governeth alle as in commune.
Whatever 'tis that governs us, each one.
And so bifel, that longe er it were day
So it befell that, long ere it was day,
This man mette in his bed, ther as he lay,
This last man dreamed in bed, as there he lay,
How that his felawe gan upon hym calle
That his poor fellow did unto him call,
And seyde, 'Allas, for in an oxes stalle
Saying: 'Alas! For in an ox's stall
This nyght I shal be mordred, ther I lye!
This night shall I be murdered where I lie.
Now help me, deere brother, or I dye;
Now help me, brother dear, before I die.
In alle haste com to me! he sayde.
Come in all haste to me.' 'Twas thus he said.
This man out of his sleep for feere abrayde;
This man woke out of sleep, then, all afraid;
But whan that he was wakened of his sleep,
But when he'd wakened fully from his sleep,
He turned hym and took of it no keep.
He turned upon his pillow, yawning deep,
Hym thoughte, his dreem nas but a vanitee.
Thinking his dream was but a fantasy.
Thus twies in his slepyng dremed hee,
And then again, while sleeping, thus dreamed he.
And atte thridde tyme yet his felawe
And then a third time came a voice that said
Cam, as hym thoughte, and seide, 'I am now slawe,
(Or so he thought): 'Now, comrade, I am dead;
Bihoold my bloody woundes depe and wyde;
Behold my bloody wounds, so wide and deep!
Arys up erly in the morwe-tyde,
Early arise tomorrow from your sleep,
And at the west gate of the toun,' quod he,
And at the west gate of the town,' said he,
'A carte ful of donge ther shaltow se,
A wagon full of dung there shall you see,
In which my body is hid ful prively.
Wherein is hid my body craftily;
Do thilke carte arresten boldely;
Do you arrest this wagon right boldly.
My gold caused my mordre, sooth to sayn.'-
They killed me for what money they could gain.
And tolde hym every point, how he was slayn,
And told in every point how he'd been slain,
With a ful pitous face, pale of hewe;
With a most pitiful face and pale of hue.
And truste wel, his dreem he foond ful trewe.
And trust me well, this dream did all come true;
For on the morwe, as soone as it was day,
For on the morrow, soon as it was day,
To his felawes in he took the way,
Unto his comrade's inn he took the way;
And whan that he cam to this oxes stalle,
And when he'd come into that ox's stall,
After his felawe he bigan to calle.
Upon his fellow he began to call.
The hostiler answerde hym anon,
The keeper of the place replied anon,
And seyde, 'Sire, your felawe is agon,
And said he: 'Sir, your friend is up and gone;
As soone as day he wente out of the toun.'
As soon as day broke he went out of town.'
This man gan fallen in suspecioun,
This man, then, felt suspicion in him grown,
Remembrynge on hise dremes that he mette,
Remembering the dream that he had had,
And forth he gooth, no lenger wolde he lette,
And forth he went, no longer tarrying, sad,
Unto the westgate of the toun; and fond
Unto the west gate of the town, and found
A dong carte, as it were to donge lond,
A dung-cart on its way to dumping-ground,
That was arrayed in that same wise,
And it was just the same in every wise
As ye han herd the dede man devyse.
As you have heard the dead man advertise;
And with an hardy herte he gan to crye,
And with a hardy heart he then did cry
'Vengeance and justice of this felonye;
Vengeance and justice on this felony:
My felawe mordred is this same myght,
'My comrade has been murdered in the night,
And in this carte he lith gapyng upright.
And in this very cart lies, face upright.
I crye out on the ministres,' quod he,
I cry to all the officers,' said he
'That sholden kepe and reulen this citee!
'That ought to keep the peace in this city.
Harrow! allas, heere lith my felawe slayn!'
Alas, alas, here lies my comrade slain!'
What sholde I moore unto this tale sayn?
Why should I longer with this tale detain?
The peple out-sterte, and caste the cart to grounde,
The people rose and turned the cart to ground,
And in the myddel of the dong they founde
And in the center of the dung they found
The dede man, that mordred was al newe.
The dead man, lately murdered in his sleep.
O blisful God, that art so just and trewe!
O Blessed God, Who art so true and deep!
Lo, howe that thou biwreyest mordre alway!
Lo, how Thou dost turn murder out alway!
Mordre wol out, that se we, day by day.
Murder will out, we see it every day.
Mordre is so wlatsom and abhomynable
Murder's so hateful and abominable
To God that is so just and resonable,
To God, Who is so just and reasonable,
That he ne wol nat suffre it heled be,
That He'll not suffer that it hidden be;
Though it abyde a yeer, or two, or thre.
Though it may skulk a year, or two, or three,
Mordre wol out, this my conclusioun.
Murder will out, and I conclude thereon.
And right anon ministres of that toun
Immediately the rulers of that town,
Han hent the carter, and so soore hym pyned,
They took the carter and so sore they racked
And eek the hostiler so soore engyned
Him and the host, until their bones were cracked,
That they biknewe hire wikkednesse anon,
That they confessed their wickedness anon,
And were anhanged by the nekke bon.
And hanged they both were by the neck, and soon.
Heere may men seen, that dremes been to drede!
Here may men see that dreams are things to dread.
And certes, in the same book I rede
And certainly, in that same book I read,
Right in the nexte chapitre after this-
Right in the very chapter after this
I gabbe nat, so have I joye or blis-
(I spoof not, as I may have joy and bliss),
Two men that wolde han passed over see
Of two men who would voyage oversea,
For certeyn cause, into a fer contree,
For some cause, and unto a far country,
If that the wynd ne hadde been contrarie,
If but the winds had not been all contrary,
That made hem in a citee for to tarie,
Causing them both within a town to tarry,
That stood ful myrie upon an haven-syde-
Which town was builded near the haven-side.
But on a day, agayn the even-tyde,
But then, one day, along toward eventide,
The wynd gan chaunge, and blew right as hem leste.
The wind did change and blow as suited best.
Jolif and glad they wente unto hir reste,
Jolly and glad they went unto their rest.
And casten hem ful erly for to saille,
And were prepared right early for to sail;
But herkneth, to that o man fil a greet mervaille;
But unto one was told a marvelous tale.
That oon of hem, in slepyng as he lay,
For one of them, a-sleeping as he lay,
Hym mette a wonder dreem agayn the day.
Did dream a wondrous dream ere it was day.
Hym thoughte a man stood by his beddes syde,
He thought a strange man stood by his bedside
And hym comanded that he sholde abyde,
And did command him, he should there abide,
And seyde hym thus, 'If thou tomorwe wende
And said to him: 'If you tomorrow wend,
Thow shalt be dreynt; my tale is at an ende.'
You shall be drowned; my tale is at an end.'
He wook, and tolde his felawe what he mette,
He woke and told his fellow what he'd met
And preyde hym his viage for to lette,
And prayed him quit the voyage and forget;
As for that day, he preyede hym to byde.
For just one day he prayed him there to bide.
His felawe, that lay by his beddes syde,
His comrade, who was lying there beside,
Gan for to laughe and scorned him ful faste.
Began to laugh and scorned him long and fast.
'No dreem,' quod he, 'may so myn herte agaste
'No dream,' said he, 'may make my heart aghast,
That I wol lette for to do my thynges.
So that I'll quit my business for such things.
I sette nat a straw by thy dremynges,
I do not care a straw for your dreamings,
For swevenes been but vanytees and japes.
For visions are but fantasies and japes.
Men dreme al day of owles or of apes,
Men dream, why, every day, of owls and apes,
And of many a maze therwithal.
And many a wild phantasm therewithal;
Men dreme of thyng that nevere was, ne shal;
Men dream of what has never been, nor shall.
But sith I see that thou wolt heere abyde
But since I see that you will here abide,
And thus forslewthen wilfully thy tyde,
And thus forgo this fair wind and this tide,
God woot it reweth me, and have good day.'
God knows I'm sorry; nevertheless, good day!'
And thus he took his leve and wente his way;
And thus he took his leave and went his way.
But er that he hadde half his cours yseyled,
But long before the half his course he'd sailed,
Noot I nat why, ne what myschaunce it eyled,
I know not why, nor what it was that failed,
But casuelly the shippes botme rente,
But casually the vessel's bottom rent,
And ship and men under the water wente
And ship and men under the water went,
In sighte of othere shippes it bisyde,
In sight of other ships were there beside,
That with hem seyled at the same tyde.
The which had sailed with that same wind and tide
And therfore, faire Pertelote so deere,
And therefore, pretty Pertelote, my dear,
By swiche ensamples olde yet maistow leere,
By such old-time examples may you hear
That no man sholde been to recchelees
And learn that no man should be too reckless
Of dremes, for I seye thee doutelees
Of dreams, for I can tell you, fair mistress,
That many a dreem ful soore is for to drede.
That many a dream is something well to dread
Lo, in the lyf of Seint Kenelm I rede,
Why in the 'Life' of Saint Kenelm I read
That was Kenulphus sone, the noble kyng,
(Who was Kenelphus' son, the noble king
Of Mercenrike how Kenelm mette a thyng.
Of Mercia), how Kenelm dreamed a thing;
A lite er he was mordred, on a day
A while ere he was murdered, so they say,
His mordre in his avysioun he say.
His own death in a vision saw, one day.
His norice hym expowned every deel
His nurse interpreted, as records tell,
His swevene, and bad hym for to kepe hym weel
That vision, bidding him to guard him well
For traisoun, but he nas but seven yeer oold,
From treason; but he was but seven years old,
And therfore litel tale hath he toold
And therefore 'twas but little he'd been told
Of any dreem, so hooly is his herte.
Of any dream, so holy was his heart.
By God, I hadde levere than my sherte
By God! I'd rather than retain my shirt
That ye hadde rad his legende, as have I.
That you had read this legend, as have I.
Dame Pertelote, I sey yow trewely,
Dame Pertelote, I tell you verily,
Macrobeus, that writ the avisioun
Macrobius, who wrote of Scipio
In Affrike of the worhty Cipioun,
The African a vision long ago,
Affermeth dremes, and seith that they been
He holds by dreams, saying that they have been
Warnynge of thynges, that men after seen.
Warnings of things that men have later seen.
And forther-moore I pray yow looketh wel
And furthermore, I pray you to look well
In the olde testament of Daniel,
In the Old Testament at Daniel,
If he heeld dremes any vanitee!
Whether he held dreams for mere vanity.
Reed eek of Joseph, and ther shul ye see
Read, too, of Joseph, and you there shall see
Wher dremes be somtyme, I sey nat alle,
Where dreams have sometimes been (I say not all)
Warnynge of thynges that shul after falle.
Warnings of things that, after did befall.
Looke of Egipte the kyng, daun Pharao,
Consider Egypt's king, Dan Pharaoh,
His baker and his butiller also,
His baker and his butler, these also,
Wher they ne felte noon effect in dremes!
Whether they knew of no effect from dreams.
Whoso wol seken actes of sondry remes
Whoso will read of sundry realms the themes
May rede of dremes many a wonder thyng.
May learn of dreams full many a wondrous thing.
Lo Cresus, which that was of Lyde kyng,
Lo, Croesus, who was once of Lydia king,
Mette he nat that he sat upon a tree,
Dreamed he not that he sat upon a tree,
Which signified, he sholde anhanged bee?
Which signified that hanged high he should be?
Lo her Adromacha, Ectores wyf,
Lo, how Andromache, great Hector's wife,
That day that Ector sholde lese his lyf
On that same day when Hector lost his life,
She dremed on the same nyght biforn
She dreamed upon the very night before
How that the lyf of Ector sholde be lorn,
That Hector's life should be lost evermore,
If thilke day he wente into bataille.
If on that day he battled, without fail.
She warned hym, but it myghte nat availle;
She warned him, but no warning could avail;
He wente for to fighte natheles,
He went to fight, despite all auspices,
But he was slayn anon of Achilles.
And so was shortly slain by Achilles.
But thilke is al to longe for to telle,
But that same tale is all too long to tell,
And eek it is ny day, I may nat dwelle.
And, too, it's nearly day, I must not dwell
Shortly I seye, as for conclusioun,
Upon this; I but say, concluding here,
That I shal han of this avisioun
That from this vision I have cause to fear
Adversitee, and I seye forthermoor
Adversity; and I say, furthermore,
That I ne telle of laxatyves no stoor,
That I do set by laxatives no store,
For they been venymes, I woot it weel,
For they are poisonous, I know it well.
I hem diffye, I love hem never a deel.
Them I defy and love not, truth to tell.
Now let us speke of myrthe, and stynte al this;
But let us speak of mirth and stop all this;
Madame Pertelote, so have I blis,
My lady Pertelote, on hope of bliss,
Of o thyng God hath sent me large grace,
In one respect God's given me much grace;
For whan I se the beautee of youre face,
For when I see the beauty of your face,
Ye been so scarlet reed aboute youre eyen,
You are so rosy-red beneath each eye,
It maketh al my drede for to dyen.
It makes my dreadful terror wholly die.
For, al so siker as In principio
For there is truth in In principio
Mulier est hominis confusio,-
Mulier est hominis confusio
Madame, the sentence of this Latyn is,
(Madam, the meaning of this latin is,
'Womman is mannes joye and al his blis.'
Woman is man's delight and all his bliss).
For whan I felle a-nyght your softe syde,
For when I feel at night your tender side,
Al be it that I may nat on yow ryde,
Although I cannot then upon you ride,
For that oure perche is maad so narwe, allas!
Because our perch so narrow is, alas!
I am so ful of joye and of solas,
I am so full of joy and all solace
That I diffye bothe swevene and dreem.
That I defy, then, vision, aye and dream.
And with that word he fly doun fro the beem,
And with that word he flew down from the beam,
For it was day, and eke hise hennes alle;
For it was day, and down went his hens all;
And with a chuk he gan hem for to calle,
And with a cluck he them began to call,
For he hadde founde a corn lay in the yerd.
For he had found some corn within the yard.
Real he was, he was namoore aferd;
Regal he was, and fears he did discard.
And fethered Pertelote twenty tyme,
He feathered Pertelote full many a time
And trad as ofte, er that it was pryme.
And twenty times he trod her ere 'twas prime.
He looketh as it were a grym leoun,
He looked as if he were a grim lion
And on hise toos he rometh up and doun,
As on his toes he strutted up and down;
Hym deigned nat to sette his foot to grounde.
He deigned not set his foot upon the ground.
He chukketh whan he hath a corn yfounde,
He clucked when any grain of corn he found,
And to hym rennen thanne hise wyves alle.
And all his wives came running at his call.
Thus roial as a prince is in an halle,
Thus regal, as a prince is in his hall,
Leve I this Chauntecleer in his pasture,
I'll now leave busy Chanticleer to feed,
And after wol I telle his aventure.
And with events that followed I'll proceed.
Whan that the monthe in which the world bigan
When that same month wherein the world began,
That highte March, whan God first maked man,
Which is called March, wherein God first made man,
Was compleet, and passed were also
Was ended, and were passed of days also,
Syn March bigan, thritty dayes and two,
Since March began, full thirty days and two,
Bifel that Chauntecleer in al his pryde,
It fell that Chanticleer, in all his pride,
Hise sevene wyves walkynge by his syde,
His seven wives a-walking by his side,
Caste up hise eyen to the brighte sonne,
Cast up his two eyes toward the great bright sun
That in the signe of Taurus hadde yronne
(Which through die sign of Taurus now had run
Twenty degrees and oon, and somwhat moore;
Twenty degrees and one, and somewhat more),
And knew by kynde, and by noon oother loore,
And knew by instinct and no other lore
That it was pryme, and crew with blisful stevene.
That it was prime, and joyfully he crew,
The sonne, he seyde, is clomben upon hevene
The sun, my love, he said, has climbed anew
Fourty degrees and oon, and moore, ywis.
Forty degrees and one, and somewhat more.
Madame Pertelote, my worldes blis,
My lady Pertelote, whom I adore,
Herkneth thise blisful briddes how they synge,
Mark now these happy birds, hear how they sing,
And se the fresshe floures how they sprynge.
And see all these fresh flowers, how they spring;
Ful is myn herte of revel and solas.
Full is my heart of revelry and grace.
But sodeynly hym fil a sorweful cas,
But suddenly he fell in grievous case;
For evere the latter ende of joye is wo.
For ever the latter end of joy is woe.
God woot that worldly joye is soone ago,
God knows that worldly joys do swiftly go;
And if a rethor koude faire endite,
And if a rhetorician could but write,
He in a cronycle saufly myghte it write,
He in some chronicle might well indite
As for a sovereyn notabilitee.
And mark it down as sovereign in degree.
Now every wys man, lat him herkne me:
Now every wise man, let him hark to me:
This storie is al so trewe, I undertake,
This tale is just as true, I undertake,
As is the book of Launcelot de Lake,
As is the book of Launcelot of the Lake,
That wommen holde in ful greet reverence.
Which women always hold in such esteem.
Now wol I come agayn to my sentence.
But now I must take up my proper theme.
A colfox, ful of sly iniquitee,
A brant-fox, full of sly iniquity,
That in the grove hadde wonned yeres three,
That in the grove had lived two years, or three,
By heigh ymaginacioun forn-cast,
Now by a fine premeditated plot
The same nyght thurghout the hegges brast
That same night, breaking through the hedge, had got
Into the yerd, ther Chauntecleer the faire
Into the yard where Chanticleer the fair
Was wont, and eek hise wyves, to repaire;
Was wont, and all his wives too, to repair;
And in a bed of wortes stille he lay,
And in a bed of greenery still he lay
Til it was passed undren of the day,
Till it was past the quarter of the day,
Waitynge his tyme on Chauntecleer to falle,
Waiting his chance on Chanticleer to fall,
As gladly doon thise homycides alle
As gladly do these killers one and all
That in await liggen to mordre men.
Who lie in ambush for to murder men.
O false mordrour, lurkynge in thy den!
O murderer false, there lurking in your den!
O newe Scariot! newe Genyloun!
O new Iscariot, O new Ganelon!
False dissymulour, O Greek synoun
O false dissimulator, Greek Sinon
That broghtest Troye al outrely to sorwe!
That brought down Troy all utterly to sorrow!
O Chauntecleer, acursed be that morwe
O Chanticleer, accursed be that morrow
That thou into that yerd flaugh fro the bemes!
When you into that yard flew from the beams!
Thou were ful wel ywarned by thy dremes
You were well warned, and fully, by your dreams
That thilke day was perilous to thee;
That this day should hold peril damnably.
But what that God forwoot moot nedes bee,
But that which God foreknows, it needs must be,
After the opinioun of certein clerkis.
So says the best opinion of the clerks.
Witnesse on hym, that any parfit clerk is,
Witness some cleric perfect for his works,
That in scole is greet altercacioun
That in the schools there's a great altercation
In this mateere, and greet disputisoun,
In this regard, and much high disputation
And hath been of an hundred thousand men;-
That has involved a hundred thousand men.
But I ne kan nat bulte it to the bren
But I can't sift it to the bran with pen,
As kan the hooly doctour Augustyn,
As can the holy Doctor Augustine,
Or Boece or the Bisshop Bradwardyn,-
Or Boethius, or Bishop Bradwardine,
Wheither that Goddes worthy forwityng
Whether the fact of God's great foreknowing
Streyneth me nedefully to doon a thyng,
Makes it right needful that I do a thing
(Nedely clepe I symple necessitee)
(By needful, I mean, of necessity);
Or elles, if free choys be graunted me
Or else, if a free choice he granted me,
To do that same thyng, or do it noght,
To do that same thing, or to do it not,
Though God forwoot it, er that it was wroght;
Though God foreknew before the thing was wrought;
Or if his wityng streyneth never a deel
Or if His knowing constrains never at all,
But by necessitee condicioneel,-
Save by necessity conditional.
I wel nat han to do of swich mateere;
I have no part in matters so austere;
My tale is of a Cok, as ye may heere,
My tale is of a cock, as you shall hear,
That took his conseil of his wyf, with sorwe,
That took the counsel of his wife, with sorrow,
To walken in the yerd, upon that morwe
To walk within the yard upon that morrow
That he hadde met that dreem, that I of tolde.
After he'd had the dream whereof I told.
Wommennes conseils been ful ofte colde;
Now women's counsels oft are ill to hold;
Wommannes conseil broghte us first to wo,
A woman's counsel brought us first to woe,
And made Adam fro Paradys to go,
And Adam caused from Paradise to go,
Ther as he was ful myrie, and wel at ese.
Wherein he was right merry and at ease.
But for I noot to whom it myght displese,
But since I know not whom it may displease
If I conseil of wommen wolde blame,
If woman's counsel I hold up to blame,
Passe over, for I seye it in my game.
Pass over, I but said it in my game.
Rede auctours, wher they trete of swich mateere,
Read authors where such matters do appear,
And what they seyn of wommen ye may heere.
And what they say of women, you may hear.
Thise been the cokkes wordes, and nat myne,
These are the cock's words, they are none of mine;
I kan noon harm of no womman divyne.
No harm in women can I e'er divine.
Faire in the soond, to bathe hire myrily,
All in the sand, a-bathing merrily,
Lith Pertelote, and alle hir sustres by,
Lay Pertelote, with all her sisters by,
Agayn the sonne; and Chauntecleer so free
There in the sun; and Chanticleer so free
Soony murier than the mermayde in the see-
Sang merrier than a mermaid in the sea
For Phisiologus seith sikerly
(For Physiologus says certainly
How that they syngen wel and myrily.
That they do sing, both well and merrily).
And so bifel, that as he cast his eye
And so befell that, as he cast his eye
Among the wortes on a boterflye,
Among the herbs and on a butterfly,
He was war of this fox that lay ful lowe.
He saw this fox that lay there, crouching low.
Nothyng ne liste hym thanne for to crowe,
Nothing of urge was in him, then, to crow;
But cride anon, cok! cok! and up he sterte,
But he cried Cock-cock-cock and did so start
As man that was affrayed in his herte.
As man who has a sudden fear at heart.
For natureelly a beest desireth flee
For naturally a beast desires to flee
Fro his contrarie, if he may it see,
From any enemy that he may see,
Though he never erst hadde seyn it with his eye.
Though never yet he's clapped on such his eye.
This Chauntecleer, whan he gan hym espye,
When Chanticleer the fox did then espy,
He wolde han fled, but that the fox anon
He would have fled but that the fox anon
Seyde, Gentil sire, allas, wher wol ye gon?
Said: Gentle sir, alas! Why be thus gone?
Be ye affrayed of me that am youre freend?
Are you afraid of me, who am your friend?
Now certes, I were worse than a feend
Now, surely, I were worse than any fiend
If I to yow wolde harm or vileynye.
If I should do you harm or villainy.
I am nat come your conseil for tespye,
I came not here upon your deeds to spy;
But trewely, the cause of my comynge
But, certainly, the cause of my coming
Was oonly for to herkne how that ye synge.
Was only just to listen to you sing.
For trewely, ye have as myrie a stevene
For truly, you have quite as fine a voice
As any aungel hath that is in hevene.
As angels have that Heaven's choirs rejoice;
Therwith ye han in musyk moore feelynge
Boethius to music could not bring
Than hadde Boece, or any that kan synge.
Such feeling, nor do others who can sing.
My lord youre fader-God his soule blesse!-
My lord your father (God his soul pray bless!)
And eek youre mooder, of hir gentillesse
And too your mother, of her gentleness,
Han in myn hous ybeen, to my greet ese;
Have been in my abode, to my great ease;
And certes, sire, ful fayn wolde I yow plese.
And truly, sir, right fain am I to please.
But for men speke of syngyng, I wol seye,
But since men speak of singing, I will say
So moote I brouke wel myne eyen tweye,
(As I still have my eyesight day by day),
Save yow I herde nevere man yet synge
Save you, I never heard a man so sing
As dide youre fader in the morwenynge.
As did your father in the grey dawning;
Certes, it was of herte al that he song!
Truly 'twas from the heart, his every song.
And for to make his voys the moore strong,
And that his voice might ever be more strong,
He wolde so peyne hym, that with bothe hise eyen
He took such pains that, with his either eye,
He moste wynke, so loude he solde cryen,
He had to blink, so loudly would he cry,
And stonden on his tiptoon therwithal,
A-standing on his tiptoes therewithal,
And strecche forth his nekke long and smal.
Stretching his neck till it grew long and small.
And eek he was of swich discrecioun,
And such discretion, too, by him was shown,
That ther nas no man in no regioun,
There was no man in any region known
That hym in song or wisedom myghte passe.
That him in song or wisdom could surpass.
I have wel rad in daun Burnel the Asse
I have well read, in Dan Burnell the Ass,
Among hise vers, how that ther was a cok,
Among his verses, how there was a cock,
For that a presstes sone yaf hym a knok,
Because a priest's son gave to him a knock
Upon his leg, whil he was yong and nyce,
Upon the leg, while young and not yet wise,
He made hym for to lese his benefice.
He caused the boy to lose his benefice.
But certeyn, ther nys no comparisoun
But, truly, there is no comparison
Bitwixe the wisedom and discrecioun
With the great wisdom and the discretion
Of youre fader, and of his subtiltee.
Your father had, or with his subtlety.
Now syngeth, sire, for seinte charitee,
Now sing, dear sir, for holy charity,
Lat se konne ye youre fader countrefete!
See if you can your father counterfeit.
This Chauntecleer hise wynges gan to bete,
This Chanticleer his wings began to beat,
As man that koude his traysoun nat espie,
As one that could no treason there espy,
So was he ravysshed with his flaterie.
So was he ravished by this flattery
Allas, ye lordes! many a fals flatour
Alas, you lords! Full many a flatterer
Is in youre courtes, and many a losengeour,
Is in your courts, and many a cozener,
That plesen yow wel moore, by my feith,
That please your honours much more, by my fay,
Than he that soothfastnesse unto yow seith.
Than he that truth and justice dares to say.
Redeth Ecclesiaste of Flaterye;
Go read the Ecclesiast on flattery;
Beth war, ye lordes, of hir trecherye.
Beware, my lords, of all their treachery!
This Chauntecleer stood hye upon his toos,
This Chanticleer stood high upon his toes,
Strecchynge his nekke, and heeld hise eyen cloos,
Stretching his neck, and both his eyes did close,
And gan to crowe loude for the nones,
And so did crow right loudly, for the nonce;
And daun Russell the fox stirte up atones,
And Russel Fox, he started up at once,
And by the gargat hente Chauntecleer,
And by the gorget grabbed our Chanticleer,
And on his bak toward the wode hym beer,
Flung him on back, and toward the wood did steer,
For yet ne was ther no man that hym sewed.
For there was no man who as yet pursued.
O destinee, that mayst nat been eschewed!
O destiny, you cannot be eschewed!
Allas, that Chauntecleer fleigh fro the bemes!
Alas, that Chanticleer flew from the beams!
Allas, his wyf ne roghte nat of dremes!
Alas, his wife recked nothing of his dreams!
And on a Friday fil al this meschaunce.
And on a Friday fell all this mischance.
O Venus, that art goddesse of plesaunce!
O Venus, who art goddess of pleasance,
Syn that thy servant was this Chauntecleer,
Since he did serve thee well, this Chanticleer,
And in thy servyce dide al his poweer,
And to the utmost of his power here,
Moore for delit, than world to multiplye,
More for delight than cocks to multiply,
Why woltestow suffre hym on thy day to dye?
Why would'st thou suffer him that day to die?
O Gaufred, deere Maister soverayn!
O Gaufred, my dear master sovereign,
That whan thy worthy kyng Richard was slayn
Who, when King Richard Lionheart was slain
With shot, compleynedest his deeth so soore,
By arrow, sang his death with sorrow sore,
Why ne hadde I now thy sentence and thy loore,
Why have I not your faculty and lore
The Friday for to chide, as diden ye?-
To chide Friday, as you did worthily?
For on a Friday soothyl slayn was he.
(For truly, on a Friday slain was he).
Thanne wolde I shewe yow, how that I koude pleyne
Then would I prove how well I could complain
For Chauntecleres drede and for his peyne.
For Chanticleer's great fear and all his pain.
Certes, swich cry ne lamentacioun
Certainly no such cry and lamentation
Was nevere of ladyes maad, whan Ylioun
Were made by ladies at Troy's debolation,
Was wonne, and Pirrus with his streite swerd,
When Pyrrhus with his terrible bared sword
Whan he hadde hent kyng Priam by the berd,
Had taken old King Priam by the beard
And slayn hym, as seith us Eneydos,
And slain him (as the Aeneid tells to us),
As maden alle the hennes in the clos,
As made then all those hens in one chorus
Whan they had seyn of Chauntecleer the sighte.
When they had caught a sight of Chanticleer.
But sovereynly dame Pertelote shrighte
But fair Dame Pertelote assailed the ear
Ful louder than dide Hasdrubales wyf,
Far louder than did Hasdrubal's good wife
Whan that hir housbonde hadde lost his lyf,
When that her husband bold had lost his life,
And that the Romayns hadde brend Cartage;
And Roman legionaries burned Carthage;
She was so ful of torment and of rage
For she so full of torment was, and rage,
That wilfully into the fyr she sterte,
She voluntarily to the fire did start
And brende hirselven with a stedefast herte.
And burned herself there with a steadfast heart.
O woful hennes, right so criden ye,
And you, O woeful hens, just so you cried
As whan that Nero brende the Citee
As when base Nero burned the city wide
Of Rome, cryden senatoures wyves,
Of Rome, and wept the senators' stern wives
For that hir husbondes losten alle hir lyves,
Because their husbands all had lost their lives,
Withouten gilt this Nero hath hem slayn.
For though not guilty, Nero had them slain.
Now I wole turne to my tale agayn.
Now will I turn back to my tale again.
This sely wydwe, and eek hir doghtres two,
This simple widow and her daughters two
Herden thise hennes crie, and maken wo,
Heard these hens cry and make so great ado,
And out at dores stirten they anon,
And out of doors they started on the run
And seyn the fox toward the grove gon,
And saw the fox into the grove just gone,
And bar upon his bak the cok away;
Bearing upon his back the cock away.
And cryden, Out! harrow! and weylaway!
And then they cried, Alas, and weladay!
Ha! ha! the fox! and after hym they ran,
Oh, oh, the fox! and after him they ran,
And eek with staves many another man,
And after them, with staves, went many a man;
Ran Colle, oure dogge, and Talbot, and Gerland,
Ran Coll, our dog, ran Talbot and Garland,
And Malkyn with a dystaf in hir hand,
And Malkin with a distaff in her hand;
Ran cow and calf, and eek the verray hogges,
Ran cow and calf and even the very hogs,
So were they fered for berkying of the dogges,
So were they scared by barking of the dogs
And shoutyng of the men and wommen eek,
And shouting men and women all did make,
They ronne so, hem thoughte hir herte breek;
They all ran so they thought their hearts would break.
They yolleden as feends doon in helle,
They yelled as very fiends do down in Hell;
The dokes cryden as men wolde hem quelle,
The ducks they cried as at the butcher fell;
The gees for feere flowen over the trees,
The frightened geese flew up above the trees;
Out of the hyve cam the swarm of bees,
Out of the hive there came the swarm of bees;
So hydous was the noyse, a! benedicitee!
So terrible was the noise, ah ben'cite!
Certes, he Jakke Straw and his meynee
Certainly old Jack Straw and his army
Ne made nevere shoutes half so shille,
Never raised shouting half so loud and shrill
Whan that they wolden any Flemyng kille,
When they were chasing Flemings for to kill,
As thilke day was maad upon the fox.
As on that day was raised upon the fox.
Of bras they broghten bemes and of box,
They brought forth trumpets made of brass, of box,
Of horn, of boon, in whiche they blewe and powped,
Of horn, of bone, wherein they blew and pooped,
And therwithal they skriked and they howped,
And therewithal they screamed and shrieked and whooped;
It seemed as that hevene sholde falle!
It seemed as if the heaven itself should fall!
Now, goode men, I pray yow, herkneth alle.
And now, good men, I pray you hearken all.
Lo, how Fortune turneth sodeynly
Behold how Fortune turns all suddenly
The hope and pryde eek of hir enemy!
The hope and pride of even her enemy!
This cok, that lay upon the foxes bak,
This cock, which lay across the fox's back,
In al his drede unto the fox he spak,
In all his fear unto the fox did clack
And seyde, Sire, if that I were as ye,
And say: Sir, were I you, as I should be,
Yet wolde I seyn, as wys God helpe me,
Then would I say (as God may now help me!),
'Turneth agayn, ye proude cherles alle,
'Turn back again, presumptuous peasants all!
A verray pestilence upon yow falle!
A very pestilence upon you fall!
Now am I come unto the wodes syde,
Now that I've gained here to this dark wood's side,
Maugree youre heed, the cok shal heere abyde,
In spite of you this cock shall here abide.
I wol hym ete, in feith, and that anon,'
I'll eat him, by my faith, and that anon!'
The fox answerde, In feith, it shal be don.
The fox replied: In faith, it shall be done!
And as he spak that word, al sodeynly
And as he spoke that word, all suddenly
This cok brak from his mouth delyverly,
This cock broke from his mouth, full cleverly,
And heighe upon a tree he fleigh anon.
And high upon a tree he flew anon.
And whan the fox saugh that he was gon,
And when the fox saw well that he was gone,
Allas! quod he, O Chauntecleer, allas!
Alas, quoth he, O Chanticleer, alas!
I have to yow, quod he, ydoon trespas,
I have against you done a base trespass
In as muche as I maked yow aferd,
In that I frightened you, my dear old pard,
Whan I yow hente and broght into this yerd.
When you I seized and brought from out that yard;
But, sire, I dide it of no wikke entente,
But, sir, I did it with no foul intent;
Com doun, and I shal telle yow what I mente;
Come down, and I will tell you what I meant.
I shal seye sooth to yow, God help me so.
I'll tell the truth to you, God help me so!
Nay, thanne, quod he, I shrewe us bothe two,
Nay then, said he, beshrew us both, you know,
And first I shrewe myself bothe blood and bones,
But first, beshrew myself, both blood and bones,
If thou bigyle me ofter than ones.
If you beguile me, having done so once,
Thou shalt namoore, thurgh thy flaterye,
You shall no more, with any flattery,
Do me to synge and wynke with myn eye;
Cause me to sing and close up either eye.
For he that wynketh whan he sholde see,
For he who shuts his eyes when he should see,
Al wilfully, God lat him nevere thee.
And wilfully, God let him ne'er be free!
Nay, quod the fox, but God yeve hym meschaunce,
Nay, said the fox, but, God give him mischance
That is so undiscreet of governaunce,
Who is so indiscreet in governance
That jangleth, whan he sholde holde his pees.
He chatters when he ought to hold his peace.
Lo, swich it si for to be recchelees,
Lo, such it is when watch and ward do cease,
And necligent, and truste on flaterye!
And one grows negligent with flattery.
But ye that holden this tale a folye,
But you that hold this tale a foolery,
As of a fox, or of a cok and hen,
As but about a fox, a cock, a hen,
Taketh the moralite, goode men;
Yet do not miss the moral, my good men.
For seint Paul seith, that al that writen is,
For Saint Paul says that all that's written well
To oure doctrine it is ywrite, ywis.
Is written down some useful truth to tell.
Taketh the fruyt, and lat the chaf be stille.
Then take the wheat and let the chaff lie still.
Now goode God, if that it be thy wille,
And now, good God, and if it be Thy will,
As seith my lord, so make us alle goode men,
As says Lord Christ, so make us all good men
And brynge us to his heighe blisse. Amen.
And bring us into His high bliss. Amen.