I may nat telle her wo vn-til tomorwe,
I am so wery for to speke of sorwe.

But fynally, when that the soth is wist
That Alla giltëlees was of hir wo,

I trowe an hundred tymës been they kist,
And swich a blisse is ther bitwix hem two
That, saue the Ioye that lasteth euermo,

Ther is noon lyk that any creature

Hath seyn or shal, whyl that the world may dure.

THE CLERKES TALE.

[Chaucer moralises on the story of Patient Grisildis.]

Lenuoy de Chaucer.

Grisild is deed, and eek hir pacience,
And bothe atonës buried in Itaille;
For which I crye in open audience,
No wedded man so hardy be tassaille
His wyuës pacience, in hope to fynde
Grisildës, for in certein he shal faille!

O noble wyuës, ful of heigh prudence,
Lat non humilitee your tongë naille,

Ne lat no clerk haue cause or diligence
To wryte of yow a storie of swich meruaille

As of Grisildis pacient and kynde;

Lest Chicheuache yow swelwe in hir entraille'!

Folweth 2 Ekko, that holdeth no silence,

But euere answereth at the countretaille3;

1 An allusion to the old French fable of Chichevache and Bicorne, two monstrous cows, of which the former fed on patient wives and was couse quently thin, the latter on patient husbands and was always fat.

2 follow: eth is the termination of 2nd pers. plural imperative.

in return.

Beth nat bidaffed' for your innocence,
But sharply tak on yow the gouernaille.
Emprinteth wel this lesson in your mynde
For commune profit, sith it may auaille.

Ye archewyuës, stondeth at defence,
Sin ye be stronge as is a greet camaille;
Ne suffreth nat that men yow don offence.
And slendre wyuës, feble as in bataille,
Beth egre as is a tygre yond in Ynde;
Ay clappeth as a mille, I yow consaille.

Ne dreed hem nat, do hem no reuerence;
For though thyn housbonde armed be in maille,
The arwes of thy crabbed eloquence

Shal perce his brest, and eek his auentaille';

In Ialousye I rede eek thou him bynde,

And thou shalt make him couche as doth a quaille.

If thou be fair, ther folk ben in presence
Shew thou thy visage and thy apparaille;
If thou be foul, be fre of thy dispence,
To gete thee frendës ay do thy trauaille;
Be ay of chere as lyght as leef on lynde,

And lat him care, and wepe, and wringe, and waille!

THE FRANKELEYNES TALE

In Armoryke, that cleped is Briteyne,

Ther was a knight, that lovede and dide his peyne

To serve a lady in his beste wise;

And many a labour, and many a greet emprise
He for his lady wrought, er sche were wonne ;
For sche was on the fairest 5 under sonne,

• befooled.

2 ru ing wives.

front of helmet.

the linden tree.

the one fairest.

And eek therto come of so heih kynrede,
That wel unnethës dorste this knight for drede
Telle hire his woo, his peyne, and his distresse.
But attë laste sche for his worthinesse,

And namely for his meke obeissance,
Hath suche a pité caught of his penaunce,
That prively sche fel of his acord

To take him for hir housbonde and hir lord,
(Of suche lordschipe as men han over her1 wyves);
And, for to lede the more in blisse her lyves,
Of his fre wille he swor hir as a knight,
That never in al his lyf by day ne night
Ne schulde he upon him take no maystrie
Ayeins hir wille, ne kythe hir jalousye,
But hir obeye, and folwe hir wille in al,
As any lovere to his lady schal;

Save that the name of sovereynëté,

That wolde he han for schame of his degre.

Sche thanketh him, and with ful grete humblesse Sche sayde: 'Sire, sith 3 of your gentilnesse

3

Ye profre me to han so large a reyne,

Ne wolde never God betwixe us tweyne,

As in my gilt, were eyther werre or stryf.

Sire, I wil be your humble trewë wijf,

Have heer my trouthe, til that myn hertë breste.'

Thus be they bothe in quiete and in reste.

For o thing, syrës, saufly dar I seye,
That frendës everich other moot obeye,

If they wille longë holden companye

Love wol nought ben constreigned by maystrye.
Whan maystrie cometh, the god of love ano
Beteth his wyngës, and fare wel, he is gon!
Love is a thing, as any spiryt, fre.
Wommen of kynde desiren liberté,
And nought to be constreigned as a thral;
And so do men, if I sooth seyen schal.

Here may men sen an humble wyse acord:

Thus hath sche take hire servaunt and hire lord,
Servaunt in love, and lord in mariage.

Than was he bothe in lordschipe and servage!
Servagë? nay, but in lordschipe above,
Sith he hath bothe his lady and his love;

His lady certës, and his wyf also,

The whiche that lawe of love accordeth to.
And whan he was in this prosperité,

Hoom with his wyf he goth to his cuntre,

Nought fer fro Penmark, ther his dwellyng was,

Wher as he lyveth in blisse and in solas.

[Arviragus goes to England for two years on military service, and leaves Dorigen at home.]

Now stood hir castel fastë by the see,
And often with hir frendës walked sche,
Hir to disporte upon the banke on heih,
Wher as sche many a schippe and bargë seih,
Seylinge her cours, wher as hem listë go.
But yit was ther a parcelle of hir wo,
For to hir self ful often seyde sche,

'Is there no schip, of so many as I se,

Wole bryngen hoom my lord? than were myn herte
Al waryssched' of this bitter peynës smerte.'

Another tyme ther wolde sche sitte and thinke,
And caste hir eyën dounward fro the brynke;
But whan sche saugh the grisly rokkës blake,
For verray fere so wolde hire hertë quake,
That on hire feet sche mighte hir nought sustene.
Than wolde sche sitte adoun upon the grene,

And pitously into the see byholde,

And sayn right thus, with sorowful sikës 2 colde.
" Eternë God, that thurgh thy purveyaunce
Ledest the world by certein governaunce,

i cured.

sighs.

In ydel, as men sayn, ye nothing make.
But, Lord, these grisly feendly rokkës blake,
That semen rather a foul confusioun

Of werk, then any fayr creacioun

Of suche a parfyt wys God and a stable,
Why han ye wrought this werk unresonable?
For by this werk, south, north, ne west, ne est,
Ther nis y-fostred man, ne brid, ne best;
Hit doth no good, to my wit, but anoyeth.
Se ye nought, Lord, how mankynd it destroyeth?
An hundred thousand bodyes of mankynde
Han rokkës slayn, al be they nought in mynde;
Which mankynd is so fair part of thy werk,
That thou it madest lyk to thyn owen werk,
Than semed it, ye hadde a gret chierte1
Toward mankynd; but how than may it be,
That ye suche menës 2 make it to distroyen?
Whiche menës doth no good, but ever anoyen.
I wot wel, clerkës woln sayn as hem leste,
By argumentz, that al is for the beste,
Though I ne can the causes nat yknowe;
But thilke God that made wynd to blowe,
As kepe my lord, this is my conclusioun ;
To clerkes lete I al disputison3;
But wolde God, that al the rokkës blake
Were sonken into hellë for his sake!

These rokkës sleen myn hertë for the feere.'
Thus wolde sche sayn with many a pitous teere
Hir freendes sawe that it nas no disport

To romen by the see, but discomfort,
And schopen1 for to pleyen somwhere elles.
They leden hir by ryverës and by welles,

And eek in other places delitables;

They dauncen and they playe at chesse and tables'. So on a day, right in the morwe tyde,

Unto a gardyn that was ther besyde,