stand as sureties for them, and as hostages. And when they were come into the presence of Melibee, he spoke
to them as follows: "It stands thus, and true it is, that you, without just cause, and without right or reason,
have done great injury and wrong to me, to my wife Prudence, and to my daughter also. For you have entered
my house with violence, and you did such outrage here that all men know well enough that you have fully
deserved death; therefore do I ask of you whether you will leave the punishment, the chastisement, and the
vengeance of this thing to me and to my wife Prudence? Or will you not?"
Then the wisest of these three answered for all of them, saying: "Sir, we know well that we are unworthy to
come into the court of so great and so worthy a lord as you are. For we have so greatly erred, and have
offended guiltily in such wise against your lordship, that verily we have been deserving of death. But yet, for
the great goodness and kindness that all the world witnesses in your person, we submit ourselves to the
excellence and benignity of your gracious lordship, and stand ready to obey all your commands, beseeching
you, that of your mercy and pity you will consider our great repentance and humble submission, and will
grant us forgiveness for our outrageous trespass and offence. For well we know that your liberal grace and
mercy reach out farther into goodness than reach our outrageous guilts and trespasses into wickedness; and
this despite the fact that we have wickedly and damnably offended against your high lordship."
Then Melibee took them benignly up from the ground, and received their obligations and bonds, by their
oaths, and their pledges and sureties and hostages, and assigned a day for their reappearance before his court
to receive and accept his sentence and judgment, the which he should impose; and after this, each man
returned to his own home.
And when Dame Prudence saw her opportunity, she asked her lord, Melibee, what vengeance he purposed
taking on these adversaries.
To which Melibee replied: "Surely I think and fully purpose to confiscate all that they have and to strip them
out of their inheritances, and then to send them into perpetual banishment."
"Certainly," said Dame Prudence, "that were a cruel sentence and much against reason. For you are rich
enough, and have no need of other men's property. And you could easily in this way acquire a name for
covetousness, which is a vicious thing and ought to be avoided by every good man. For, after the word of the
apostle, covetousness is the root of all evil. Therefore were it better for you to lose an equal property of your
own than to take theirs from them in this manner. For better it is to lose goods with honour than to win them
by villainy and shame. And every man ought to be diligent about getting and keeping a good name. And he
should not only busy himself with the keeping of a good name, but he should impose upon himself the
constant task of renewing it. For it is written that 'The good fame or good name of a man is soon passed and
forgotten, unless it be renewed.' And touching what you say, that you will exile your adversaries, that seems
to me much against reason and out of all measure, considering how they have placed themselves within your
power. And it is written that 'He deserves to lose his privilege who abuses and misuses the might and the
power that are given to him.' And I submit that, even if you might impose upon them that pain by right and by
law, which I think that you could not, I say that you might not be able to put it into execution, by some
chance, and then were you as likely to fall again into war as you were before. Therefore, if you would have
men render you obedience, you must judge more courteously, that is to say, you must give more easy
sentences. For it is written that 'He who most courteously commands, men most readily obey.' Therefore I
pray you that in this need you contrive to conquer your own heart. For Seneca says: 'He that overcomes his
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own heart, conquers twice.' And Tullius says: 'There is nothing so commendable in a great lord as when he is
kindly and meek and easily satisfied.' And I pray you that you will forgo your vengeance in this manner, in
order that your good name may be kept and preserved; and that men may have cause and reason to praise you
for pity and for mercy, and that you yourself shall not have cause to repent for what you have done. For
Seneca says: 'He conquers but evilly who repents of his victory.' Wherefore, I pray you, let there be mercy in
your mind and in your heart, to the end that God Almighty may have mercy upon you at His last judgment.
For Saint James says in his Epistle: 'For he shall have judgment without mercy, who hath showed no mercy.'"
When Melibee had heard the great arguments and reasons of Dame Prudence, and her wise information and
teaching, his heart began to incline toward the desire of his wife, considering her true intent; and he
conformed his will to hers and assented fully to her counselling. And he thanked God, from Whom proceeds
all virtue and goodness, that He had sent him a wife of so very great discretion.
And when the day arrived for his adversaries to appear before him, he spoke to them kindly, in this wise:
"Howbeit that of your pride and presumption and folly, and in your negligence and ignorance, you have
borne yourselves badly and have trespassed against me, yet for as much as I see and behold your great
humility and that you are sorry and repentant for your crimes, it constrains me to show you grace and mercy.
Therefore do I receive you into my grace and forgive you utterly all the offences, injuries, and wrongs that
you have done against me and mine; to this effect and to this end: that God of His endless mercy will, at our
dying day, forgive us our sins that we have sinned against Him in this wretched world. For doubtless, if we
be sorry and repentant for the sins and crimes which we have committed in the sight of Our Lord, He is so
free and so merciful He will forgive us our guilt and bring us into His everlasting bliss. Amen."
HERE ENDS CHAUCER'S TALE OF MELIBEE AND OF DAME PRUDENCE
THE MONK'S PROLOGUE
The Merry Words of the Host to the Monk
When ended was my tale of Melibee
And of Prudence and her benignity,
Our host remarked: "As I am faithful man,
And by the precious corpus Madrian,
I'd rather than a barrel of good ale
That my wife Goodlief could have heard this tale!
For she has no such patience, I'll avow,
As had this Melibeus' Prudence, now.
By God's own bones! When I do beat my knaves
She fetches forth the stoutest gnarly staves
And cries out: 'Slay the damned dogs, every one!
And break their bones, backbone and every bone!'
And if but any neighbour, aye, of mine
Will not, in church, bow to her and incline,
Or happens to usurp her cherished place,
Why, she comes home and ramps right in my face,
Crying, 'False coward, go avenge your wife!
By corpus bones! Come, let me have your knife,
And you shall take my distaff and go spin!'
From day to day like this will she begin:
'Alas!' she cries, 'that ever fate should shape
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My marriage with a milksop coward ape
That may be overborne by every wight!
You dare not stand up for your own wife's right!'
This is my life, unless I choose to fight;
And through the door anon I must take flight,
Or else I'm lost, unless, indeed, that I
Be like a young wild lion, foolhardy.
I know well she will make me kill, one day,
Some neighbour man and have to run away.
For I am dangerous with a knife in hand,
Albeit that I dare not her withstand;
For she's big of arm, and wickedly inclined,
As anyone who crosses her will find.
But let us leave that doleful subject here.
"My lord the monk," said he, "be of good cheer
For you shall tell a tale, and verily.
Lo, Rochester is standing there hard by!
Ride up, my own liege lord, break not our game,
But, by my truth, I do not know your name,
Whether I ought to call you lord Don John,
Or Don Thomas, or else Don Albion?
Of what house are you, by your father's kin?
I vow to God you have a right fair skin;
It is a noble pasture where you're most;
You are not like a penitent or ghost.
Upon my faith, you are some officer,
Some worthy sexton, or a cellarer,
For by my father's soul, I guess, in sum,
You are a master when you are at home.
No cloisterer or novice can you be:
A wily governor you seem to me,
And therewithal a man of brawn and bone.
A person of some consequence you've grown.
I pray that God confound the silly fool
That put you first in a religious school;
You would have been a hen-hopper, all right!
Had you as good a chance as you have might
To work your lust in good engendering;
Why, you'd beget full many a mighty thing.
Alas! Why do you wear so wide a cope?
God give me sorrow but, if I were pope,
Not only you, but every mighty man,
Though he were shorn full high upon the pan,
Should have a wife. For all the world's forlorn!
Religion, why it's gathered all the corn
Of treading, and we laymen are but shrimps!
From feeble trees there come but wretched imps.
That's why our heirs are all so very slender
And feeble that they may not well engender.
That's why out goodwives always will essay
Religious folk, for you may better pay
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With Venus' payments than we others do;
God knows, in no light weight of coin pay you!
But be not wroth, my lord, because I play;
Full oft in jest have I heard truth, I say."
This worthy monk took all with sober sense,
And said: "I will do all my diligence,
So far as it accords with decency,
To tell to you a tale, or two, or three.
And if you care to hear, come hitherward,
And I'll repeat the life of Saint Edward;
Or rather, first some tragedies I'll tell,
Whereof I have a hundred in my cell.
Tragedy is to say a certain story
From ancient books which have preserved the glory
Of one that stood in great prosperity
And is now fallen out of high degree
In misery, where he ends wretchedly.
Such tales are versified most commonly
In six feet, which men call hexameter.
In prose are many written; some prefer
A quantitative metre, sundry wise.
Lo, this short prologue will enough suffice.
"Now hearken, if you'd like my speech to hear;
But first I do beseech, let it be clear
That I, in order, tell not all these things,
Be it of popes, of emperors, or kings,
Each in his place, as men in writings find,
But I put some before and some behind,
As they to memory may come by chance;
Hold me excused, pray, of my ignorance."
Explicit
THE MONK'S TALE
De Casibus Virorum Illustrium
I will bewail in manner of tragedy
The ills of those that stood in high degree
And fell so far there was no remedy
To bring them out of their adversity;
For certain 'tis, when Fortune wills to flee,
There may no man the course of her withhold;
Let no man trust in blind prosperity;
Be warned by these examples true and old.
LUCIFER
With Lucifer, though he was angel fair
And not a man, with him will I begin;
For though Fortune may not an angel dare,
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From high degree yet fell he for his sin
Down into Hell, and he lies yet therein.
O Lucifer, brightest of angels all,
Now art thou Satan, and thou may'st not win
From misery wherein thou far did'st fall!
ADAM
Lo, Adam, in the garden Damascene,
By God Almighty's finger wrought was he,
And not begotten of man's sperm unclean;
He ruled all Paradise, except one tree.
Had never earthly man so high degree
As Adam, till he, for misgovernance,
Was driven from his high prosperity
To labour, and to Hell, and to mischance.
SAMSON
Lo, Samson, whose birth was annunciated
By angel, long ere his nativity,
And was to God Almighty consecrated,
And had nobility while he could see.
Was never such another as was he
For body's strength, and therewith hardiness;
But to his wives he told his privity,
Whereby he slew himself for wretchedness.
Samson, this noble mighty champion,
Without a weapon in his hands, I say,
He slew and rent in two a young lion,
While to his wedding walking in the way.
His false wife could so please him, she did pray
Till she his secret held, when she, untrue,
Unto his foes that secret did betray
And him forsook for other loves and new.
Three hundred foxes Samson took, for ire,
And bound their brushes well together, and
Then set those foxes' tails alight with fire,
For he to every one had fixed a brand;
And they burned all the corn of all that land
And all the olive trees and vines, each one.
A thousand men he slew with his own hand,
With no weapon save an ass's jaw-bone.
When they were slain, he thirsted so that he
Was well nigh lost, for which he prayed, say I,
That God would on his pain have some pity
And send him drink, or must he surely die;
And from that ass's jaw-bone, then but dry,
Out of a tooth there sprang anon a well,
Whereof he drank his fill and laid it by.
Thus helped him God, as Judges, fifteen, tell.
By very force at Gaza, on a night,
Maugre Philistines of that said city,
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The great gates of the town he took with might,
And on his shoulders carried them, did he,
High on a hill where every man might see.
O noble mighty Samson, lief and dear,
Had'st thou not woman told thy privity,
In all this world had never been thy pear.
This Samson never liquor drank, nor wine.
Nor on his head came razor, nor a shear,
Obeying thus the angel's word divine,
For all his forces in his long locks were;
And fully twenty winters, year by year,
He held of Israel the governance.
But all too soon should he weep many a tear,
For women should betray him to mischance!
Delilah being his darling, her he told
That in his unshorn locks all his strength lay,
And him to foemen then she falsely sold.
For, sleeping in her bosom, on a day,
She clipped and sheared all his long hair away,
Then showed his state unto his enemies,
And when they found him lying in this array
They bound him fast and put out both his eyes.
Before his hair was sheared and shaven close,
There were no bonds wherewith men might him bind;
But now he lies in prison cell, morose,
And labours, when at mill they make him grind.
O noble Samson, strongest of mankind,
O judge, but late, in glory measureless,
Now may'st thou shed hot tears from thine eyes blind,
For thou from wealth art fallen to wretchedness.
This captive's end was as I now shall say;
His foes they made a feast upon a day,
And made him as their fool before them play,
All in a temple great, of rich array.
But at the last he made a stern affray;
For he two pillars took and caused them fall,
And down came roof and all, and there it lay,
Killing himself and enemies, each and all.
That is to say, those princes, every one,
And full three thousand others who were slain
By falling of that temple built of stone.
To Samson now I'll not revert again.
Be warned by this example old and plain.
Men should not tell their business to their wives
In such things as of secrecy they're fain,
And if it touch their limbs or touch their lives.
HERCULES
Of Hercules, the sovereign conquering power,
Sing his deeds' praise and sing his high renown;
For in his time of strength he was the flower.
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He slew, and made a lion's skin his own;
Of centaurs laid he all the boastings down;
He killed the cruel Harpies, those birds fell;
Brought golden apples from the dragon thrown;
And he stole Cerberus, the hound of Hell.
He slew the cruel tyrant Busiris
And made his horses eat him, flesh and bone;
To a fiery, venomous worm he wrote finis;
Achelous had two horns, but he broke one;
Cacus he slew within his cave of stone;
He slew the giant Anthaeus the strong;
He killed the Erymanthian boar anon;
And bore the heavens upon his shoulders long.
Was never man, since this old world began,
That slew so many monsters as did he.
Throughout all earth's wide realms his honour ran,
What of his strength and his high chivalry,
And every kingdom went he out to see.
He was so strong no man could hinder him;
At both ends of the world, as says Trophy,
In lieu of limits he set pillars grim.
A darling had this noble champion,
Deianira, sweet as is the May;
And as these ancient writers say, each one,
She sent to him a new shirt, fresh and gay.
Alas that shirt, alas and welaway!
Envenomed was so cunningly withal
That, ere he'd worn the thing but half a day,
It made the flesh from off his bones to fall.
Yet are there writers who do her excuse
Because of Nessus, who the shirt had made;
Howe'er it be, I will not her accuse;
But all his naked back this poison flayed
Until the flesh turned black, and torn, and frayed.
And when he saw no other remedy,
Upon a pyre of hot brands he was laid,
For of no poison would he deign to die.
Thus died this mighty worthy, Hercules.
Lo, who may trust to Fortune any throw?
And he who seeks on earth for fame and case
Ere he's aware, he's often brought down low.
Right wise is he that can his own heart know.
Beware, when Fortune may her smile disclose,
She lies in wait her man to overthrow,
And in such wise as he would least suppose.
NEBUCHADNEZZAR
The precious treasure and the mighty throne,
The glorious sceptre and royal majesty
That Nebuchadnezzar counted as his own
With tongue or pen not easily told may be.
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Twice of Jerusalem the victor he;
The Temple's vessels took he and was glad.
And Babylon was the ancient sovereign see
