The grete Austin,1 hath greet compassioun

Of this Lucresse, that starf at Rome toun;

And in what wyse, I wol but shortly trete,

And of this thing I touche but the grete.2
Whan Ardea beseged was aboute
With Romains, that ful sterne were and
stonte,

8

Ful longe lay the sege, and litel wroghte, So that they were half ydel, as hem thoghte;

And in his pley Tarquinius the yonge Gan for to jape, for he was light of tonge,

20

And seyde, that 'It was an ydel lyf;
No man did ther no more than his wyf;
And lat us speke of wyves, that is best;
Praise every man his owne, as him lest,
And with our speche lat us ese our herte.'
A knight, that highte Colatyne, up
sterte,

And seyde thus, ‘Nay, for hit is no nede
To trowen on the word, but on the dede.
I have a wyf,' quod he, 'that, as I trowe,
Is holden good of alle that ever her
knowe;

30

Go we to-night to Rome, and we shul see.'

Tarquinius answerde, 'That lyketh me.' To Rome be they come, and faste hem dighte 4

To Colatynes hous, and doun they lighte, Tarquinius, and eek this Colatyne.

The husbond knew the estres 5 wel and

Whan I think on the sege or of that place;

God save my lord, I preye him for his grace:'

And ther-with-al ful tenderly she weep,
And of her werk she took no more keep,
But mekely she leet her eyen falle;
And thilke semblant sat her wel with-alle.
And eek her teres, ful of honestee,
Embelisshed her wyfly chastitee;
Her countenance is to her herte digne,
For they acordeden in dede and signe.
And with that word her husbond Colatyn,
Or she of him was war, com sterting in,
And seide, Dreed thee noght, for I am
here!'

And she anoon up roos, with blisful chere,
And kiste him, as of wyves is the wone.

60

And ay the more that he was in dispair, The more he coveteth and thoghte her

fair.

His blinde lust was al his covetinge.

80

A-morwe, whan the brid began to singe, Unto the sege he comth ful privily, And by himself he walketh sobrely, Th' image of her recording alwey newe; Thus lay her heer, and thus fresh was her

hewe; Thus sat, thus spak, thus span; this was her chere, Thus fair she was, and this was her manere.' Al this conceit his herte hath now y-take. And, as the see, with tempest al to-shake, That, after whan the storm is al ago, Yet wol the water quappe 8 a day or two, Right so, thogh that her forme wer ab

sent,

The plesaunce of her forme was present; 90 • wont, custom. 7 Perceived. 8 be tempestuous.

But natheles, nat plesaunce, but delyt, Or an unrightful talent 1 with despyt; 'For, maugre her,2 she shal my lemman 3 be;

Hap helpeth hardy man alday,' quod he; 'What ende that I make, hit shal be so;' And girt him with his swerde, and gan to go;

And forth he rit 5 til he to Rome is come,
And al aloon his wey than hath he nome
Unto the house of Colatyn ful right.
Doun was the sonne, and day hath lost his
light;

And in he com un-to a privy halke,"

100

And in the night ful theefly gan he stalke, Whan every wight was to his reste broght, Ne no wight had of tresoun swich a thoght. Were hit by window or by other gin,9 With swerde y-drawe, shortly he comth in Ther as she lay, this noble wyf Lucresse. And, as she wook, her bed she felte presse. 'What beste is that,' quod she, 'that weyeth thus ?'

130

And leye him in thy bed, and loude crye,
That I thee finde in suche avouterye; 12
And thus thou shalt be deed, and also lese 18
Thy name, for thou shalt none other chese.'

Thise Romain wyves loveden so hir name At thilke tyme, and dredden so the shame, That, what for fere of slaundre and drede of deeth,

She loste bothe at-ones wit and breeth, And in a swough 14 she lay and wex so deed,

Men mighte smyten of her arm or heed;
She feleth no-thing, neither foul ne fair.
Tarquinius, that art a kinges eyr,
And sholdest, as by linage and by right,
Doon as a lord and as a verray knight,
Why hastow doon dispyt to chivalrye?
Why hastow doon this lady vilanye?
Allas! of thee this was a vileins dede!

140

But now to purpos; in the story I rede, Whan he was goon, al this mischaunce is falle.

This lady sente after her frendes alle,
Fader, moder, husbond, al y-fere; 15
And al dischevele, with her heres clere, 150
In habit swich as women used tho
Unto the burying of her frendes go,
She sit in halle with a sorweful sighte.
Her frendes axen what her aylen mighte,
And who was deed? And she sit ay wep-
inge,

A word for shame ne may she forth outbringe,

So wel she loved clennesse and eek trouthe.
Of her had al the toun of Rome routhe,
And Brutus by her chaste blode hath swore
That Tarquin sholde y-banisht be ther-fore,
And al his kin; and let the peple calle,
And openly the tale he tolde hem alle,
And openly let carie her on a bere
Through al the toun, that men may see and
here

The horrible deed of her oppressioun.
Ne never was ther king in Rome toun
Sin thilke day; and she was holden there
A seint, and ever her day y-halwed dere

190

The which they gniden,10 and eete nat half y-nough.

No man yit knew the forwes 11 of his lond;
No man the fyr out of the flint yit fond;
Un-korven and un-grobbed 12 lay the vyne;
No man yit in the morter spyces grond
To clarre,13 ne to sause of galantyne.14

No mader, welde, or wood no litestere
Ne knew; 15 the flees was of his former hewe;
1 scrivener, scribe. 2 scab. 3 Unless. 4 destruc-
tiveness. 5 pleased. spoiled by pampering with
excessive luxury. 7 hand-mill. 8 mill. • swine's
food. 10 bruised. 11 furrows. 12 Unpruned and
uncultivated. 13 For spiced wine. 14 Galantine was
an elaborate fish-sauce.

15 No dyer knew the use of madder, weld, or woadthree dye-plants.

No flesh ne wiste offence of 16 egge or spere; No coyn ne knew man which was fals or trewe;

20

No ship yit karf the wawes grene and

blewe;

No marchaunt yit ne fette outlandish 17

ware;

No trompes for the werres folk ne knewe,
No toures heye, and walles rounde or square.

What sholde it han avayled to werreye? 18
Ther lay no profit, ther was no richesse;
But cursed was the tyme, I dar wel seye,
That men first dide hir swety bysinesse
To grobbe up metal, lurkinge in darknesse,
And in the riveres first gemmes soghte. 30
Allas! than sprong up al the cursednesse
Of covetyse, that first our sorwe broghte!

Thise tyraunts putte hem gladly nat in

pres

No wildnesse 19 ne no busshes for to winne
Ther poverte is, as seith Diogenes,
Ther as vitaile is eek so skars and thinne
That noght but mast or apples is therinne.
But, ther as bagges been and fat vitaile,
Ther wol they gon, and spare for no sinne
With al hir ost the cite for t'assaile.

40

Yit were no paleis-chaumbres, ne non halles;

In caves and [in] wodes softe and swete Slepten this blissed folk with-oute walles, On gras or leves in parfit quiete.

No doun of fetheres, ne no bleched shete Was kid 20 to hem, but in seurtee they

slepte;

Hir hertes were al oon, with-oute galles,
Everich of hem his feith to other kepte.

Unforged was the hauberk and the plate; 21
The lambish 22 peple, voyd of alle vyce, 50
Hadden no fantasye to debate,23

But ech of hem wolde other wel cheryce; 24

16 edge, knife. 17 foreign. 18 fight.

19 wilder20 known. 21 plate-armor. 22 innocent. 23 no inclination to contend. 24 cherish.

ness.