"Think how noble, as says Valerius,
Was that same Tullius Hostilius,
Who out of poverty rose to high estate.
Seneca and Boethius inculcate,
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Expressly (and no doubt it thus proceeds),
That he is noble who does noble deeds;
And therefore, husband dear, I thus conclude:
Although my ancestors mayhap were rude,
Yet may the High Lord God, and so hope I,
Grant me the grace to live right virtuously.
Then I'll be gentle when I do begin
To live in virtue and to do no sin.
"And when you me reproach for poverty,
The High God, in Whom we believe, say I,
In voluntary poverty lived His life.
And surely every man, or maid, or wife
May understand that Jesus, Heaven's King,
Would not have chosen vileness of living.
Glad poverty's an honest thing, that's plain,
Which Seneca and other clerks maintain.
Whoso will be content with poverty,
I hold him rich, though not a shirt has he.
And he that covets much is a poor wight,
For he would gain what's all beyond his might,
But he that has not, nor desires to have,
Is rich, although you hold him but a knave.
"True poverty, it sings right naturally;
Juvenal gaily says of poverty:
'The poor man, when he walks along the way,
Before the robbers he may sing and play.'
Poverty's odious good, and, as I guess,
It is a stimulant to busyness;
A great improver, too, of sapience
In him that takes it all with due patience.
Poverty's this, though it seem misery-
Its quality may none dispute, say I.
Poverty often, when a man is low,
Makes him his God and even himself to know.
And poverty's an eye-glass, seems to me,
Through which a man his loyal friends may see.
Since you've received no injury from me,
Then why reproach me for my poverty.
"Now, sir, with age you have upbraided me;
And truly, sir, though no authority
Were in a book, you gentles of honour
Say that men should the aged show favour,
And call him father, of your gentleness;
And authors could I find for this, I guess.
"Now since you say that I am foul and old,
Then fear you not to be made a cuckold;
For dirt and age, as prosperous I may be,
Are mighty wardens over chastity.
Nevertheless, since I know your delight,
I'll satisfy your worldly appetite.
"Choose, now," said she, "one of these two things, aye,
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To have me foul and old until I die,
And be to you a true and humble wife,
And never anger you in all my life;
Or else to have me young and very fair
And take your chance with those who will repair
Unto your house, and all because of me,
Or in some other place, as well may be.
Now choose which you like better and reply."
This knight considered, and did sorely sigh,
But at the last replied as you shall hear:
"My lady and my love, and wife so dear,
I put myself in your wise governing;
Do you choose which may be the more pleasing,
And bring most honour to you, and me also.
I care not which it be of these things two;
For if you like it, that suffices me."
"Then have I got of you the mastery,
Since I may choose and govern, in earnest?"
"Yes, truly, wife," said he, "I hold that best."
"Kiss me," said she, "we'll be no longer wroth,
For by my truth, to you I will be both;
That is to say, I'll be both good and fair.
I pray God I go mad, and so declare,
If I be not to you as good and true
As ever wife was since the world was new.
And, save I be, at dawn, as fairly seen
As any lady, empress, or great queen
That is between the east and the far west,
Do with my life and death as you like best.
Throw back the curtain and see how it is."
And when the knight saw verily all this,
That she so very fair was, and young too,
For joy he clasped her in his strong arms two,
His heart bathed in a bath of utter bliss;
A thousand times, all in a row, he'd kiss.
And she obeyed his wish in everything
That might give pleasure to his love-liking.
And thus they lived unto their lives' fair end,
In perfect joy; and Jesus to us send
Meek husbands, and young ones, and fresh in bed,
And good luck to outlive them that we wed.
And I pray Jesus to cut short the lives
Of those who'll not be governed by their wives;
And old and querulous niggards with their pence,
And send them soon a mortal pestilence!
HERE ENDS THE WIFE OF BATH'S TALE
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THE FRIAR'S PROLOGUE
This worthy limiter, this noble friar,
He turned always a lowering face, and dire,
Upon the summoner, but for courtesy
No rude and insolent word as yet spoke he.
But at the last he said unto the wife:
"Lady," said he, "God grant you a good life!
You have here touched, as I may prosperous be,
Upon school matters of great difficulty;
You have said many things right well, I say;
But, lady, as we ride along our way,
We need but talk to carry on our game,
And leave authorities, in good God's name,
To preachers and to schools for clergymen.
But if it pleases all this company, then,
I'll tell you of a summoner, to make game.
By God, you could surmise it by the name
That of a summoner may no good be said;
I pray that no one will be angry made.
A summoner is a runner up and down
With summonses for fornication known,
And he is beaten well at each town's end."
Our host then spoke: "O sir, you should attend
To courtesy, like man of your estate;
In company here we will have no debate.
Tell forth your tale and let the summoner be."
"Nay," said the summoner, "let him say to me
What pleases him; when it falls to my lot,
By God I'll then repay him, every jot.
I'll then make plain to him what great honour
It is to be a flattering limiter;
I'll certainly tell him what his business is."
Our host replied: "Oh peace, no more of this!"
And after that he said unto the friar:
"Tell now your tale to us, good master dear."
HERE ENDS THE FRIAR'S PROLOGUE
THE FRIAR'S TALE
Once on a time there dwelt in my country
An archdeacon, a man of high degree,
Who boldly executed the Church's frown
In punishment of fornication known,
And of witchcraft and of all known bawdry,
And defamation and adultery
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Of church-wardens, and of fake testaments
And contracts, and the lack of sacraments,
And still of many another kind of crime
Which need not be recounted at this time,
And usury and simony also.
But unto lechers gave he greatest woe;
They should lament if they were apprehended;
And payers of short tithes to shame descended.
If anyone informed of such, 'twas plain
He'd not escape pecuniary pain.
For all short tithes and for small offering
He made folk pitifully to howl and sing.
For ere the bishop caught them with his crook,
They were already in the archdeacon's book.
Then had he, by his competent jurisdiction,
Power to punish them by such infliction.
He had a summoner ready to his hand,
A slyer rogue was not in all England;
For cunningly he'd espionage to trail
And bring reports of all that might avail.
He could protect of lechers one or two
To learn of four and twenty more, mark you.
For though this man were wild as is a hare,
To tell his evil deeds I will not spare;
For we are out of his reach of infliction;
They have of us no competent jurisdiction,
Nor ever shall for term of all their lives.
"Peter! So are the women of the dives,"
The summoner said, "likewise beyond my cure!"
"Peace, with mischance and with misadventure!"
Thus spoke our host, "and let him tell his tale.
Now tell it on, despite the summoner's wail,
Nor spare in anything, my master dear."
This false thief, then, this summoner (said the friar)
Had always panders ready to his hand,
For any hawk to lure in all England,
Who told him all the scandal that they knew;
For their acquaintances were nothing new.
They were all his informers privily;
And he took to himself great gain thereby;
His master knew not how his profits ran.
Without an order, and an ignorant man,
Yet would he summon, on pain of Christ's curse,
Those who were glad enough to fill his purse
And feast him greatly at the taverns all.
And just as Judas had his purses small
And was a thief, just such a thief was he.
His master got but half of every fee.
He was, if I'm to give him proper laud,
A thief, and more, a summoner, and a bawd.
He'd even wenches in his retinue,
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And whether 'twere Sir Robert, or Sir Hugh,
Or Jack, or Ralph, or whosoever 'twere
That lay with them, they told it in his ear;
Thus were the wench and he in partnership.
And he would forge a summons from his scrip,
And summon to the chapter-house those two
And fleece the man and let the harlot go.
Then would he say: "My friend, and for your sake,
Her name from our blacklist will I now take;
Trouble no more for what this may entail;
I am your friend in all where 'twill avail."
He knew more ways to fleece and blackmail you
Than could be told in one year or in two.
For in this world's no dog trained to the bow
That can a hurt deer from a sound one know
Better than this man knew a sly lecher,
Or fornicator, or adulterer.
And since this was the fruit of all his rent,
Therefore on it he fixed his whole intent.
And so befell that once upon a day
This summoner, ever lurking for his prey,
Rode out to summon a widow, an old rip,
Feigning a cause, for her he planned to strip.
It happened that he saw before him ride
A yeoman gay along a forest's side.
A bow he bore, and arrows bright and keen;
He wore a short coat of the Lincoln green,
And hat upon his head, with fringes black.
"Sir," said the summoner, "hail and well met, Jack!"
"Welcome," said he, "and every comrade good!
Whither do you ride under this greenwood?"
Said this yeoman, "Will you go far today?"
This summoner replied to him with: "Nay,
Hard by this place," said he, "'tis my intent
To ride, sir, to collect a bit of rent
Pertaining to my lord's temporality."
"And are you then a bailiff?"
"Aye," said he.
He dared not, no, for very filth and shame,
Say that he was a summoner, for the name.
"In God's name," said this yeoman then, "dear brother,
You are a bailiff and I am another.
I am a stranger in these parts, you see;
Of your acquaintance I'd be glad," said he,
"And of your brotherhood, if 'tis welcome.
I've gold and silver in my chest at home.
And if you chance to come into our shire,
All shall be yours, just as you may desire."
"Many thanks," said this summoner, "by my faith!"
And they struck hands and made their solemn oath
To be sworn brothers till their dying day.
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Gossiping then they rode upon their way.
This summoner, who was as full of words
As full of malice are these butcher birds,
And ever enquiring after everything,
"Brother," asked he, "where now is your dwelling,
If some day I should wish your side to reach?"
This yeoman answered him in gentle speech,
"Brother," said he, "far in the north country,
Where, as I hope, some day you'll come to me.
Before we part I will direct you so
You'll never miss it when that way you go."
"Now, brother," said this summoner, "I pray
You'll teach me, while we ride along our way,
Since that you are a bailiff, as am I,
A trick or two, and tell me faithfully
How, in my office, I may most coin win;
And spare not for nice conscience, nor for sin,
But as my brother tell your arts to me."
"Now by my truth, dear brother," then said he,
If I am to relate a faithful tale,
My wages are right scanty, and but small.
My lord is harsh to me and niggardly,
My job is most laborious, you see;
And therefore by extortion do I live.
Forsooth, I take all that these men will give;
By any means, by trick or violence,
From year to year I win me my expense.
I can no better tell you faithfully."
"Now truly," said this summoner, "so do I.
I never spare to take a thing, God wot,
Unless it be too heavy or too hot.
What I get for myself, and privately,
No kind of conscience for such things have I.
But for extortion, I could not well live,
Nor of such japes will I confession give.
Stomach nor any conscience have I, none;
A curse on father-confessors, every one.
Well are we met, by God and by Saint James!
But, my dear brother, tell your name or names."
Thus said the summoner, and in meanwhile
The yeoman just a little began to smile.
"Brother," said he, "and will you that I tell?
I am a fiend, my dwelling is in Hell.
But here I ride about in hope of gain
And that some little gift I may obtain.
My only income is what so is sent.
I see you ride with much the same intent
To win some wealth, you never care just how;
Even so do I, for I would ride, right now,
Unto the world's end, all to get my prey."
"Ah," cried he, "ben'cite! What do you say?
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I took you for a yeoman certainly.
You have a human shape as well as I;
Have you a figure then determinate
In Hell, where you are in your proper state?"
"Nay," said he, "there of figure we have none;
But when it pleases us we can take one,
Or else we make you think we have a shape,
Sometimes like man, or sometimes like an ape;
Or like an angel can I seem, you know.
It is no wondrous thing that this is so;
A lousy juggler can deceive, you see,
And by gad, I have yet more craft than he."
"Why," asked the summoner, "ride you then, or go,
In sundry shapes, and not in one, you know?"
"Because," said he, "we will such figures make
As render likely that our prey we'll take."
"What causes you to have all this labour?"
"Full many a cause, my dear sir summoner,"
Replied the fiend, "but each thing has its time.
The day is short, and it is now past prime,
And yet have I won not a thing this day.
I will attend to winning, if I may,
And not our different notions to declare.
For, brother mine, your wits are all too bare
To understand, though I told mine fully.
But since you ask me why thus labour we-
Well, sometimes we are God's own instruments
And means to do His orders and intents,
When so He pleases, upon all His creatures,
In divers ways and shapes, and divers features.
Without Him we've no power, 'tis certain,
If He be pleased to stand against our train.
And sometimes, at our instance, have we leave
Only the body, not the soul, to grieve;
As witness job, to whom we gave such woe.
And sometimes have we power of both, you know,
That is to say, of soul and body too.
And sometimes we're allowed to search and do
That to a man which gives his soul unrest,
And not his body, and all is for the best.
And when one does withstand all our temptation,
It is the thing that gives his soul salvation;
Albeit that it was not our intent
He should be saved; we'd have him impotent.
And sometimes we are servants unto man,
As to that old archbishop, Saint Dunstan,
And to the apostles servant once was I."
"Yet tell me," said the summoner, "faithfully,
Make you yourselves new bodies thus alway
Of elements?"
The fiend replied thus: "Nay.
