Strecching his nekke, and heeld his eyen cloos,
And gan to crowe loude for the nones; 5
And daun Russel the fox sterte up at ones,
And by the gargat hente Chauntecleer,
And on his bak toward the wode him beer,
For yet ne was ther no man that him sewed.7
O destinee, that mayst nat been eschewed!
Allas, that Chantecleer fleigh fro the bemes!
Allas, his wyf ne roghte nat of dremes!
And on a Friday fil al this meschaunce.
O Venus, that art goddesse of plesaunce,
Sin that thy servant was this Chauntecleer,
And in thy service dide al his poweer,
More for delyt, than world to inultiplye,
Why woldestow suffre him on thy day to
dye?
But sovereynly dame Pertelote shrighte,
Ful louder than dide Hasdrubales 12 wyf,
Whan that hir housbond hadde lost his lyf,
And that the Romayns hadde brend Car-
tage;
She was so ful of torment and of rage,
That wilfully into the fyr she sterte,
And brende hir-selven with a stedfast herte.
O woful hennes, right so cryden ye,
As, whan that Nero brende the citee 550
Of Rome, cryden senatoures wyves,
For that hir housbondes losten alle hir
lyves;
Withouten gilt this Nero hath hem slayn.
Now wol I torne to my tale agayn.
This sely 13 widwe, and eek hir doghtres
two, Herden thise hennes crye and maken wo, And out at dores sterten they anoon,
And syen the fox toward the grove goon,
And bar upon his bak the cok away;
And cryden, Out! harrow! and weyla-
way!
Ha, ha, the fox!' and after him they ran, And eek with staves many another man; Ran Colle our dogge, and Talbot, and Ger
The gees for fere flowen over the trees; Out of the hyve cam the swarm of bees; So hidous was the novse, a! benedicite! Certes, he Jakke Straw,15 and his meynee,
Ne made never shoutes half so shrille,
Whan that they wolden any Fleming kille,
As thilke day was maad upon the fox.
Of bras thay broghten bemes,1 and of box,
Of horn, of boon, in whiche they blewe and
pouped,
And therewithal thay shryked and they houped;
It semed as that heven sholde falle.
Now, gode men, I pray yow herkneth alle!
Lo, how fortune turneth sodeiuly
The hope and pryde eek of hir enemy!
This cok, that lay upon the foxes bak,
In al his drede, un-to the fox he spak,
And seyde, 'Sire, if that I were as ye,
Yet sholde I seyn (as wis 2 God helpe me),
"Turneth agayn, ye proude cherles alle!
A verray pestilence up-on yow falle!
Now am I come un-to this wodes syde,
Maugrees your heed, the cok shal heer
abyde;
THE PROLOGUE OF THE
PARDONERS TALE
Here folweth the Prologe of the Pardoners Tale Radix malorum est Cupiditas: Ad Thimotheum, sexto.
'LORDINGS,' quod he, 'in chirches whan I preche,
I peyne me to han an hauteyn speche,8
And ringe it out as round as gooth a belle,
For I can al by rote that I telle.
My theme is alwey oon, and ever was
"Radix malorum est Cupiditas." 10
First I pronounce whennes that I come, And than my bulles shewe I, alle and
Our lige lordes seel on my patente,1
That shewe I first, my body to warente, 10
That no man be so bold, ne preest ne clerk,
Me to destourbe of Cristes holy werk;
And after that than telle I forth my tales,
Bulles of popes and of cardinales,
Of patriarkes, and bishoppes I shewe;
And in Latyn I speke a wordes fewe,
To saffron with my predicacioun,1
And for to stire men to devocioun.
Than shewe I forth my longe cristal stones,
Y-crammed ful of cloutes and of bones; 20
Reliks been they, as wenen they echoon.
Than have I in latoun 18 a sholder-boon
Which that was of an holy Jewes shepe.14
"Good men," seye I, "tak of my wordes
kepe;
If that this boon be wasshe in any welle,
If cow, or calf, or sheep, or oxe swelle
That any worm hath ete, or worm y-stonge, 16
Tak water of that welle, and wash his tonge,
And it is hool anon; and forthermore,
Of pokkes and of scabbe, and every sore 30
Shal every sheep be hool, that of this welle
Drinketh a draughte; tak kepe eek what I
telle.
If that the good-man, that the bestes oweth,1
Wol every wike,2 er that the cok him
Fastinge, drinken of this welle a draughte,
As thilke holy Jewe our eldres taughte,
His bestes and his stoor shal multiplye.
And, sirs, also it heleth jalousye;
For, though a man be falle in jalous rage,
Let maken with this water his potage,
And never shal he more his wyf mistriste,
Though he the sooth of hir defaute wiste;
Al had she taken preestes two or three.
Heer is a miteyn eek, that ye may see. He that his hond wol putte in this miteyn, He shal have multiplying of his greyn, Whan he hath sowen, be it whete or otes, So that he offre pens, or elles grotes.
Good men and wommen, o thing warne
If any wight be in this chirche now,
That hath doon sinue horrible, that he
Dar nat, for shame, of it y-shriven be,
Or any womman, be she yong or old,
That hath y-maad hir housbond cokewold,
Swich folk shul have no power ne no grace
To offren to my reliks in this place.
And who-so findeth him out of swich blame,
He wol com up and offre in Goddes name,
And I assoille him by the auctoritee
Which that by bulle y-graunted was to
By this gaude have I wonne, yeer by yeer,
An hundred mark sith I was Pardoner.
I stonde lyk a clerk in my pulpet,
And whan the lewed peple is doun y-set,
I preche, so as ye han herd bifore,
And telle an hundred false japes more.
Than peyne I me to strecche forth the
nekke,
And est and west upon the peple I bekke,
As doth a dowve sitting on a berne.
Myn hondes and my tonge goon so yerne,5 70
That it is joye to see my bisinesse.
Of avaryce and of swich cursednesse
Is al my preching, for to make hem free
To yeve her pens, and namely 6 un-to me.
1 "Own" and "owe" are the same word.
2 apparently "week."
But shortly myn entente I wol devyse; I preche of no-thing but for coveityse. Therfor my theme is yet, and ever was "Radix malorum est cupiditas." Thus can I preche agayn that same vyce Which that I use, and that is avaryce. But, though my-self be gilty in that sinne, Yet can I maken other folk to twinne 8 From avaryce, and sore to repente. But that is nat my principal entente. I preche no-thing but for coveityse; Of this matere it oughte y-nogh suffyse. Than telle I hem ensamples many oon Of olde stories, longe tyme agoon: For lewed peple loven tales olde; Swich thinges can they wel reporte and
And have a joly wenche in every toun.
But herkneth, lordings, in conclusioun;
Your lyking is that I shal telle a tale.
Now, have I dronke a draughte of corny ale,
By God, I hope I shal yow telle a thing
That shal, by resoun, been at your lyking.
For, though myself be a ful vicious man, 131
A moral tale yet I yow telle can,
Which I am wont to preche, for to winne. Now holde your pees, my tale I wol beginne.'
He seith, he can no difference finde
Bitwix a man that is out of his minde
And a man which that is dronkelewe,1
But that woodnesse, y-fallen in a shrewe,18
Persevereth lenger than doth dronkenesse.
O glotonye, ful of cursednesse,
O cause first of our confusioun,
O original of our dampnacioun,
Til Crist had boght us with his blood agayn!
Lo, how dere, shortly for to sayn,
Aboght was thilke cursed vileinye;
Corrupt was al this world for glotonye!
Adam our fader, and his wyf also,
Fro Paradys to labour and to wo
Were driven for that vyce, it is no drede;14
For whyl that Adam fasted, as I rede,
He was in Paradys; and whan that he
Eet of the fruyt defended 15 on the tree,
Anon 16 he was out-cast to wo and peyne.
O glotonye, on thee wel oghte us pleyne! 50
O, wiste a man how many maladyes
Folwen of excesse and of glotonyes,
He wolde been the more mesurable
Of his diete, sittinge at his table.
Allas! the shorte throte, the tendre mouth,
Maketh that, Est and West, and North and
South,
In erthe, in eir, in water men to-swinke 17 To gete a glotoun deyntee mete and drinke!
Of this matere, o Paul, wel canstow trete, 'Mete un-to wombe, and wombe eek un-to
And now that I have spoke of glotouye,
Now wol I yow defenden 12 hasardrye.
Hasard is verray moder of lesinges,
And of deceite, and cursed forsweringes,
Blaspheme of Crist, manslaughtre, and
wast also
Of catel 18 and of tyme; and forthermo,
It is repreve
14 and contrarie of honour,
For to ben holde a commune hasardour.
And ever the hyër he is of estaat,
The more is he holden desolaat.
If that a prince useth hasardrye,
In alle governaunce and policye
He is, as by commune opinioun,
Y-holde the lasse in reputacioun.
Stilbon,15 that was a wys embassadour, Was sent to Corinthe, in ful greet honour, Fro Lacidomie, to make hir alliaunce. And whan he cam, him happede, par
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