That fond his maifter wel in his chaffere, For often time he fond his box ful bare.

For fothly a prentis, a revelour, That haunteth dis, riot and paramour, His maifter fhal it in his fhoppe abie, Al have he no part of the minitralcie; For theft and riot they ben convertible, Al can they play on giterne or ribible. Revel and trouth, as in a low degree, They ben ful wroth all day, as men may fee.

This joly prentis with his maister abode, Til he was neigh out of his prentishode, Al were he fnibbed bothe erly and late, And fomtime lad with revel to Newgate : But at the last his maifter him bethought, Upon a day whan he his paper fought, Of a proverbe that faith this fame word, Wel bet is roten appel out of hord

Than that it rote alle the remenant :

So fareth it by a riotous fervant;

It is wel laffe harm to let him pace

Than he shende all the fervants in the place
Therfore his maister yaf him a quittance,

And bad him go, with forwe and with mefchance.
And thus this joly prentis had his leve:
Now let him riot all the night or leve.

And for ther n'is no these without a louke
That helpeth him to waften and to fouke
Of that he briben can or borwe may,
Anon he fent his bed and his array
Unto a compere of his owen fort
That loved dis, and riot, and difport,
And had a wif that held for countenance
A fhoppe, and fwived for hire fuftenance.

OUR Hofte faw wel that the brighte fonne
The ark of his artificial day had ronne
The fourthe part and half an houre and more;
And though he were not depe expert in lore,
He wifte it was the eighte-and-twenty day
Of April, that is meflager to May,

And faw wel that the fhadow of every tree
Was as in lengthe of the fame quantitee
That was the body erect that caused it,
And therfore by the shadow he toke his wit
That Phebus, which that fhone fo clere and bright,
Degrees was five-and-forty clombe on hight;
And for that day, as in that latitude,
It was ten of the clok he gan conclude,
And fodenly he plight his hors aboute.

Lordings, quod he, I warne you all this route
The fourthe partie of this day is gon:
Now for the love of God and of Seint John
Lefeth no time, as ferforth as ye may.
Lordings, the time it wasteth night and day,
And teleth from us, what prively fleping,
And what thurgh negligence in our waking,
As doth the ftreme, that turneth never again,
Defcending fro the montagne into a plain.
Wel can Senek and many a philofophre
Bewailen time more than gold in coffre;
For loffe of catel may recovered be,
But loffe of time fhendeth us, quod he.
It wol not come again withouten drede,
No more than wol Malkins maidenhede
When the hath loft it in hire wantonneffe:
Let us not moulen thus in idleneffe.

Sire Man of Lawe, quod he, so have ye blis,
Tel us a Tale anon, as for word is.
Ye ben fubmitted thurgh your free affent
To ftonde in this cas at my jugement.
Acquitteth you now, and holdeth your beheft;
Than have ye don your devoir at the left.

Hofte, quod he, de par dieux jeo affente,
To breken forword is not min entente.
Beheft is dette, and I wold hold it fayn
All my beheft, I can no better fayn.

For fwiche lawe as man yeveth another wight
He fhuld himfelven ufen it by right.
Thus wol our text; but natheles certain
I can right now no thrifty Tale fain,
But Chaucer (though he can but lewdely
On metres and on riming craftily)
Hath fayd hem in fwiche English as he can
Of olde time, as knoweth many a man;

And if he have not fayd hem, leve brother,
In o book, he hath fayd hem in another :
For he hath told of lovers up and doun
Mo than Ovide made of mentioun
In his Epiftolis, that ben ful olde.
What fhuld I tellen hem fin they ben tolde?
In youthe he made of Ceyes and Alcyon,
And fithen hath he fpoke of everich on
Thife noble wives, and thife lovers eke,
Who fo that wol his large volume feke
Cleped The Seintes Legende of Cupide :
Ther may he se the large woundes wide
Of Lucrece, and of Babylon Thisbe;
The fwerd of Dido for the falfe Enee;
The tree of Phillis for hire Demophon;
The plaint of Deianire and Hermion,
Of Adriane and Yfiphilee;

The barreine ile ftonding in the fee;
The dreint Leandre for his fayre Hero;
The teres of Heleine, and eke the wo
Of Brifeide and of Ladomia;
'The crueltee of thee, Que..e Medea,
Thy litel children hanging by the hals
For thy Jafon, that was of love fo fals:
O Hipermeftra, Penelope, Alcefte!
Your wif hood he commendeth with the befte.
But certainly no word ne writeth he
Of thilke wicke enfample of Canace,
That loved hire owen brother finfully;
(Of all fwiche curfed ftories I say Fy)
Or elles of Tyrius Appolonious,
How that the curfed king Antiochus
Berafte his doughter of hire maidenhede,
That is fo horrible a tale for to rede,
Whan he hire threw upon the pavement.
And therfore he of ful avisement
N'old never write in non of his fermons
Of fwiche unkinde abhominations:
Ne I wol non rcherfe, if that I may,
But of my Tale how fhal I don this day?
Me were loth to be likened douteles
To Mufes that men clepe Pierides,
(Metamorphofeos wrote what I mene)
But natheles I recche not a bene
Though I come after him with hawcbake;
I fpeke in profe, and let him rimes make.
And with that word he with a fobre chere
Began his Tale, and fayde as ye fhull here.

O SCATHFUL harm, condition of poverte,
With thirst, with cold, with hunger, fo confounded,
To asken helpe thee shameth in thine herte,
If thou non ask, so fore art thou ywounded,
That veray nede unwrappeth al thy wound hid.
Maugre thin hed thou most for indigence
Or ftele or begge, or borwe thy difpence.
Thou blameft Crist, and sayst ful bitterly,
He misdeparteth richeffe temporal;
Thy neighbour thou witeft finfully,
And fayft thou haft to litel and he hath all:
Parfay (fayft thou) fometime he reken fhall,
Whan that his tayl shal brennen in the glede,
For he nought helpeth needful in hir nede.

Herken what is the fentence of the wife,
Bet is to dien than have indigence,
Thy felve neighebour wol thee defpife;
If thou be poure farewel thy reverence.
Yet of the wife man take this fentence,
Alle the dayes of poure men ben wicke;
Beware therfore or thou come to that pricke.
If thou be poure, thy brother hateth thee,
And all thy frendes fleen fro thee, alas!
O riche marchants! ful of wele ben ye,
O noble, o prudent folk! as in this cas,
Your bagges ben not filled with ambes as,

But with fis cink, that renneth for your chance;
At Criftenmaffe mery may ye dance,

Ye feken lond and fee for your winninges;

As wife folk ye knowen all th' eftat
Of regnes; ye ben fathers of tidinges
And tales both of pees and of debat :
I were right now of tales defolat,
N'ere that a marchant, gon is many a yere,
Me taught a Tale which that ye fhull here.
In Surrie whilom dwelt a compagnie
Of chapmen rich, and therto fad and trewe,
That wide were fenten hir fpicerie,
Clothes of gold, and fatins riche of hewe:
Hir chaffare was fo thrifty and fo newe,
That every wight hath deintee to chaffare
With hem, and eke to fellen hem hir ware.
Now fell it that the maifters of that fort
Han fhapen hem to Rome for to wende,
Were it for chapmanhood or for difport,
Non other meffage wolde they thider fende,
But comen hemfelf to Rome, this is the ende;
And in fwiche place as thought hem avantage
For hir entente they taken hir herbergage.

Sojourned han these marchants in that toun
A certain time, as fell to hir plesance :
And fo befell that the excellent renoun
Of the emperoures doughter, Dame Custance,
Reported was with every circumstance
Unto these Surrien marchants in swiche wife
Fro day to day as I fhall you devife.

This was the commun vois of every man :
Our emperour of Rome, God him fe,
A doughter hath that fin the world began,
To recken as wel hire goodneffe as beaute,
N'as never fwiche another as is the;
I pray to God in honour hire fuftene,
And wold the were of all Europe the quene.
In hire is high beaute withouten pride,
Youthe withouten grenehed or folie :
To all hire werkes vertue is hire guide;
Humbleffe hath flaien in hire tyrannie :
She is mirrour of alle curtefie,

Hire herte is veray chambre of holineffe,
Hire hond miniftre of fredom for almeffe.

And al this vois was foth, as God is trewe;
But now to purpos let us turne agein.
These marchants han don fraught hir fhippes newe,
And whan they han this blisful maiden fein
Home to Surrie ben they went ful fayn,
And don hir nedes, as they han don yore,
And liven in wele; I can fay you no more.

Now fell it that these marchants ftood in grace-
Of him that was the Soudan of Surrie;
For whan they came from any ftrange place
He wold of his benigne curtefie
Make hem good chere, and befily espie
Tidings of fundry regnes, for to lere
The wonders that they mighte feen or here.
Amonges other thinges specially

These marchants han him told of Dame Cuftance
So gret nobleffe, in erneft feriously,
That this Soudan hath caught fo gret plefance
To han hire figure in his remembrance,
That all his luft and all his befy cure
Was for to love hire while his lif may dure.
Paraventure in thilke large book

Which that men clepe the Heven ywritten was
With fterres, whan that he his birthe took,
That he for love fhuld han his deth, alas!
For in the fterres, clerer than is glas,
Is writen, God wot, who fo coud it rede,
The deth of every man withouten drede.

In fterres many a winter therbeforn
Was writ the deth of Hector, Achilles,
Of Pompey, Julius, or they were born;
The ftrif of Thebes, and of Hercules,
Of Samplon, Turnus, and of Socrates
The deth; but mennes wittes ben fo dull
That no wight can wel rede it at the full.
This Soudan for his prive councel fent,
And fhortly of this matere for to pace,
He hath to hem declared his entent,

And fayd hem certain, but he might have grace
To han Cuftance, within a litel space
He n'as but ded, and charged hem in hie
To fhapen for his lif fom remedie.

Diverfe men diverfe things faiden;
They argumentes caften up and doun;
Many a fubtil refon forth they laiden;
They speken of magike and abufion;
But finally, as in conclufion,
They cannot seen in that non avantage,
Ne in non other way fave mariage.

Than faw they therein fwiche difficultee
By way of refon, for to speke all plain,
Because ther was swiche diverfitee
Betwene hir bothe lawes, that they fayn
They trowen that no Criften prince wold fayn
Wedden his childe under our law fwete,
That us was yeven by Mahound our prophete.
And he answered, Rather than I lefe
Cuftance I wol be criftened doubteles:
I mote ben hires, I may non other chese,
I pray you hold your arguments in pees;
Saveth my lif, and beth not reccheles
To geten hire that hath my life in cure,
For in this wo I may not long endure.
What nedeth greter dilatation?

I fay by tretife and ambaffatrie,
And by the Popes mediatioun,

And all the chirche, and all the chevalrie,
That in destruction of Maumetrie,
And in encrefe of Criftes lawe dere,
They ben accorded fo as ye may here:
How that the Soudan and his baronage,
And all his lieges, huld ycriftened be,
And he fhal han Cuftance in mariage,
And certain gold, I n'ot what quantitee,
And hereto finden fuffifant furetee.
The fame accord is fworne on eyther fide;
Now, fair Cuftance, almighty God thee gide.
Now wolden fom men waiten, as I geffe,
That I fhuld tellen all the purveiance
The which that the Emperour of his noblesse
Hath shapen for his doughter Dame Custance.
Wel may men know that fo gret ordinance
May no man tellen in a litel claufe
As was arraied for so high a cause.
Bishopes ben shapen with hire for to wende,
Lordes, ladies, and knightes of renoun,
And other folk ynow; this is the end:
And notified is thurghout all the toun
That every wight with gret devotioun
Should prayen Crift that he this mariage
Receive in gree, and fpede this viage.

The day is comen of hire departing, I fay the woful day fatal is come That ther may be no longer tarying, But forward they hem dreffen all and some. Cuftance, that was with forwe all overcome, Ful pale arift, and dresseth hire to wende, For wel fhe feth ther n'is non other ende. Alas! what wonder is it though she wept, That shal be sent to ftrange nation Fro frendes that fo tendrely hire kept, And to be bounde under fubjection

Of on the knoweth not his condition? Houfbondes ben all good, and han ben yore, That knowen wives, I dare fay no more.

Fader, (fhe faid) thy wretched child Custance,
Thy yonge doughter, foftered up fo foft,
And ye, my moder, my foveraine plefance
Over all thing, (out taken Crist on loft)
Cuftance your child hire recommendeth oft
Unto your grace, for I shal to Surrie,
Ne fhal I never feen you more with eye.
Alas! unto the Barbare nation

I mufte gon, fin that it is your will;
But Crift, that starfe for our redemption,
So yeve me grace his heftes to fulfill,

I wretched woman no force though I spill:
Women are borne to thraldom and penance,
And to ben under mannes governance.

I trow at Troye whan Pirrus brake the wall
Or Ilion brent, or Thebes the citee,
Ne at Rome for the harm thurgh Hanniball,
That Romans hath venquefhed times three,
N'as herd fwiche tendre weping for pitee
As in the chambre was for hire parting;
But forth fhe mote wheder fhe wepe or fing.
O firfte moving cruel firmament!.
With thy diurnal fwegh that croudeft ay,
And hurtleft all from eft til occident,
That naturally wold hold another way,
Thy crouding fet the heven in fwiche array
At the beginning of this fierce viage
That cruel Mars hath flain this marriage.
Infortunat afcendent tortuous,
Of which the lord is helpeles fall, alas!
Out of his angle into the derkeft hous,
O Mars, o Atyzar! as in this cas;
O feble Mone! unhappy ben thy pas,
Thou knitteft thee ther thou art not received,
Ther thou were wel fro thennes art thou weived.
Imprudent Emperour of Rome, alas!
Was ther no philofophre in al thy toun?
Is no time bet than other in swiche cas?
Of viage is ther non electioun,
Namely to folk of high conditioun,
Nat whan a rote is of a birth yknowe?
Alas! we ben to lewed or to flow.

To fhip is brought this woful faire maid
Solempnely, with every circumftance :
Now Jefu Crift be with you all, she said.
Ther n'is no more, but Farewel, fair Cuftance.
She peineth hire to make good countenance;
And forth I let hire fayle in this manere,
And turne I wol againe to my matere.

The mother of Soudan, well of vices,
Efpied hath hire fones pleine entente,
How he wol lete his old facrifices;
And right anon fhe for her confeil fente,
And they ben comen to know what the mente;
And whan affembled was this folk in fere,
She fet hire doun, and fayd as ye fhul here:
Lordes, (fhe fayd) ye known everich on
How that my fone in point is for to lete.
The holy lawes of our Alkaron,
Yeven by Goddes Meffager Mahomete;
But on avow to grete God I hete,
The lif fhal rather out of my body sterte
Than Mahometes lawe out of myn herte.
What fhuld us tiden of this newe lawe
But thraldom to our bodies and penance,
And afterward in helle to ben drawe,
For we reneied Mahound our creance?
But, Lordes, wol ye maken affurance,
As I fhal fay, affenting to my lore?
And I fhal make us fauf for evermore.

They fworen and affented every man
To live with hire and die, and by hire ftond;
And everich on, in the best wife he can,
To ftrengthen hire fhal all his frendes fond.
And the hath this emprise ytaken in hond
Which ye fhull heren that I fhal devife,
And to hem all fhe fpake right in this wife.
We fhul firft fein us Criftendom to take;
Cold water fhal not greve us but a lite;
And I fhal fwiche a fefte and revel make
That, as I trow, I fhal the Soudan quite :
For tho his wif be criftened never fo white
She fhal have nede to wash away the rede
Though fhe a font of water with hire lede.
O Soudanneffe! rote of iniquitee,
Virago thou Semyramee the fecond,
O ferpent under femininitee,

Like to the ferpent depe in helle ybound,
O feined woman! all that may confound
Vertue and imocence, thurgh thy malice
Is bred in thee, as neft of every vice.

O Sathan envious! fin thilke day
That thou were chafed from our heritage,
Wel knowest thou to woman the olde way:
Thou madeft Eva bring us in fervage,
Thou wolt fordon this Criften mariage:
Thin inftrument fo (wala wa the while!)
*Makest thou of women whan thou wolt begile.
This Soudanneffe, whom I thus blame and warrie,
Let prively hire confeil gon hir way:
What fhuld I in this Tale longer tarie ?
She rideth to the Soudan on a day,
And fayd him that fhe wold reinie hire lay,
And Cristendom of preftes hondes fong,
Repenting hire fhe Hethen was fo long;

Befeching him to don hire that honour That fhe might han the Criften folk to feft; To plofen hem I wol do my labour. The Soudan faith, I wol don at your heft, And kneling thanked hire of that request; So glad he was ne n'ifte not what to say, She kift hire fone, and home the goth hire way.

Arrived ben these Criften folk to lond In Surrie, with a gret folempne route, And haftily this Soudan fent his fond First to his mother and all the regne aboute, And fayd his wif was comen out of doute, And praide hem for to riden again the quene, The honour of his regne to fuftene.

Gret was the preffe, and riche was th' array
Of Surriens and Romanes met in fere.
The mother of the Soudan riche and gay
Received hire with all fo glad a chere
As any mother might hire doughter dere;
And to the nexte citee ther befide
A fofte pas folempnely they ride.

Nought trow I the triumph of Julius,
Of which that Lucan maketh fwiche a boft,
Was realler or more curious

Than was th' affemblee of this blisful hoft;
Butte this fcorpion, this wicked gost,
The Soudaneffe, for all hire flattering
Caft under this ful mortally to fting.

The Soudan cometh himself fone after this
So really, that wonder is to tell,
And welcometh hire with alle joy and blis.
And thus in mirth and joye I let hem dwell;
The fruit of this matere is that I tell.
Whan time came, men thought it for the best
That revel ftint, and men go to hir reft.

The time come is this olde Soudanneffe Ordeined hath the fefte of which I tolde, And to the fefte Criften folk him dreffe In general, ya, bothe yonge and olde. Ther may men feft and realtee beholde, And deintees mo than I can you devife; But all to dere they bought it or they rise. O foden wo, that ever art fucceffour To worldly blifs! fpreint is with bitternesse Th' ende of the joye of our worldly labour: Wo occupieth the fyn of our gladneffe. Herken this confeil for thy fikerneffe, Upon thy glade day have in thy minde The unware wo of harme that cometh behinde. For fhortly for to tellen at a word, The Soudan and the Criften everich on Ben all to-hewe and stiked at the bord But it were only Dame Cuftance alone. This old Soudaneffe, this curfed crone, Hath with hire frendes don this curfed dede, For the hirefelf wold all the contree lede.

Ne ther was Surrien non that was converted, That of the confeil of the Soudan wot, That he n'as all to-hewe er he afterted; And Cuftance han they taken anon fote-hot, And in a fhip all ftereles (God wot) They han hire fet, and bidden hire lerne fayle Out of Surrie againward to Itaille.

A certain trefor that she thither ladde,
And foth to fayn vitaille gret plentee,

They han hire yeven, and clothes eke fhe hadde,
And forth fhe fayleth in the falte fec.
O my Cuftance! ful of benignitee,
O Emperoures yonge doughter dere!
He that is Lord of fortune be thy ftere.