three Persons, truly may there right well be."
Then she to him full earnestly did preach
Of Jesus' coming, and of His pain did teach,
And many points His agony had shown:
How God's Son in this world a time did hold
To man a full remission to make known,
Who had been bound in sin and care of old:
All these things to Tibertius first she told.
And then Tibertius, with a good intent,
He with Valerian to Pope Urban went,
Who thanked God; and with a glad heart and light
He christened him, and made him in that place
Perfect in knowledge, and God's very knight.
And after this Tibertius got such grace
That every day he saw, in time and space,
God's angel; aye, and every kind of boon
He asked of God, the same was granted soon.
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'Twere hard in proper order to explain
How many wonders Jesus for them wrought;
But at the last, to tell it short and plain,
They by the sergeants of Rome town were sought,
And to Almachius the prefect brought,
Who questioned them and learned their whole intent,
And unto Jupiter's image had them sent,
Saying: "Who will not go and sacrifice,
Strike off his head, that is my sentence here."
These martyrs, then, of whom I do apprise,
One Maximus, who was an officer
Of the prefect's, and his corniculer,
Took them; and when the saints forth he had led,
Himself he wept, for pity that he had.
When Maximus had learned their creed and lore,
Of executioners obtained he leave,
And to his house he led them, without more;
And by their preaching, ere it came to eve,
They from the executioners did reave,
And Maximus and from his folk, each one,
The false faith, to believe in God alone.
Cecilia came, when it was fully night,
With priests, who christened them together there;
And afterward, when day came with its light,
Cecilia them bade, with steadfast cheer:
"Now Christ's own knights together, lief and dear,
The works of darkness cast you all away,
And arm you in the armour of the day.
"You have indeed fought the good fight- all hail!
Your course is done, your faith you have preserved,
Go to the crown of life that shall not fail;
The Righteous judge, Whom you have so well served,
Will give it to you, since you've it deserved."
And when, as I have told this thing was said,
To make the sacrifice they forth were led.
But when before the image they were brought,
Briefly to tell the end as it is known,
They'd not incense, and sacrificed they naught,
But on their knees they reverently knelt down,
With humble heart and firm devotion shown,
And so they lost their heads there in that place.
Their spirits went unto the King of Grace.
This Maximus, who saw this thing betide,
With pitying tears he told folk then, forthright.
That he their souls had seen to Heaven glide
With angels full of glory and of light,
And by his words converted many a wight;
For which Almachius had him beaten so,
With whips of lead, he did his life forgo.
Cecilia him buried with the others,
Valerian and Tibertius, quietly.
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Thus in the tomb he rested with the brothers;
And after this Almachius speedily
Ordered his servants fetch him openly
Cecilia, that she might in his presence
Make sacrifice to Jove and burn incense.
But since they were converted by her lore,
They wept, and to a full belief they came
In what she said, and cried out more and more,
"O Christ, God's Son, Whose substance is the same,
Thou'rt very God, and blessed be Thy name,
Who hast so good a servant Thee to serve;
This with one voice we say, nor will we swerve."
Almachius, who heard of this same thing,
Commanded that they bring her him to see,
And when she came, this was his questioning:
"What manner of woman are you?" then asked he.
"I am a noblewoman born," said she.
"I ask," said he, "though to your harm and grief,
Of your religion and of your belief."
"You have begun your questions foolishly,"
Said she, "who would two answers so include
In one demand; you asked me ignorantly."
Almachius answered that exactitude:
"Whence comes your answering so rough and rude?"
"Whence?" asked she, when that she was thus constrained,
"From conscience and from simple faith unfeigned."
Almachius said: "And do you take no heed
Of power I wield?" And she replied like this:
"Your might," said she, "is scarce a thing to dread;
For power of every mortal man but is
Like to a bladder full of wind, ywis.
For with a needle's point, when it is blown,
Prick it, and all the pride of it comes down."
"Erroneously have you begun," said he,
"And deep in error do you still remain;
Know you not how our mighty princes free
Have ordered us such error to restrain,
That every Christian man shall suffer pain,
Unless his Christianity he deny?
He shall be free if he'll do that, say I."
"Your princes err, and your nobility,"
Cecilia said, "and with a mad sentence
Condemn our guilt all guiltless though we be;
And you, who know full well our innocence,
Merely because we do our. reverence
To Christ and bear ourselves the Christian name,
You thus impute to us a crime and blame.
"But we, who know far better than can you
Its virtue, will not once the name gainsay."
Almachius said: "Choose one of these things two:
Deny that faith, or sacrifice today,
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That you may now escape from death that way."
Whereat the holy, blessed, lovely maid
Began to laugh, and to the judge she said:
"O judge, convicted by your own folly,
Will you that I deny my innocence
And make myself a criminal?" asked she.
"Lo, he dissimulates in audience,
He glares and rages in his violence!"
To whom Almachius: "O unhappy wretch,
Do you not know how far my might may stretch?
"Did not our mighty princes to me give,
Aye, both the power and authority
To give to people death or make them live?
Why do you speak so proudly then to me?"
"I speak to you but steadfastly," said she,
"Not proudly, for I say, upon my side,
We've deadly hatred for the vice of pride.
"And if to hear a truth you do not fear,
Then will I show, all openly, by right,
That you have said a full great falsehood here.
You say, your princes have you given the might
Both to condemn and give life to a wight;
But you can merely him of life bereave,
You have no other power or other leave!
"You may but say, your princes did declare
You were death's officer; if more you claim,
You lie, for of more power you are bare."
"This bold speech drop!" Almachius did exclaim,
"And do your sacrifice in our gods' name.
I care not what you wrongfully impute;
Like a philosopher I'll bear it, mute;
"But those same wrongs which I cannot endure
Are those you speak against our gods," said he.
Cecilia replied: "O vain creature,
You've nothing said, since speaking first to me,
That I've not learned thereby your great folly,
And that you were and are, in every wise,
An ignorant officer and vain justice.
"There is no proving, by your outward eye,
That you're not blind; what can be seen by all,
That it is stone- that men see well, say I-
Yet that same stone a god you think and call.
I charge you, let your hand upon it fall,
And test it well, and 'twill be stone, you'll find,
Since you can see it not with your eyes blind.
"It is a shame that all the people shall
So scorn you, judge, and laugh at your folly;
For commonly men know it above all
That mighty God is in His heaven high,
And idols such as these, they testify,
May bring no profit to themselves or you-
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They have no power, nothing can they do."
These words and many other such said she,
And he grew wroth and bade she should be led
Home to her house. "And in her house," said he,
"Boil her in bath heated by great flames red."
And as he bade, so was it done, 'tis said;
For in a bath they locked her and began
(All night and day) a great fire there to fan.
The long night through, and a long day also,
For all the fire and all the bath's great heat,
She sat there cool and calm and felt no woe,
Nor did it make her any drop to sweat.
But in that bath her life should she lose yet;
For he, Almachius, with bad intent,
To slay her in the bath his headsman sent.
The executioner three times her smote
Upon the neck, and could not strike again,
Although he failed to cut in two her throat,
For at that time the ordinance was plain
That no man might another give the pain
Of striking four blows, whether soft or sore;
This executioner dared do no more.
But half dead, with her neck cut three times there,
He let her lie, and on his way he went.
The Christian folk that all about her were,
With sheets caught up the precious blood she spent;
And three days lived she in this same torment,
But never ceased at all the faith to teach,
That she had fostered; dying did she preach;
To them she gave her goods and everything,
And of Pope Urban put them in the care,
And said: "This much I asked of Heaven's King,
A respite of three days, that you might share
With me these souls; and too I would prepare
Before I go my house a church to make,
That it be kept forever for my sake."
Saint Urban, with his deacons, privately,
The body took and buried it by night
Among his other saints, right honourably.
Her house is Church of Saint Cecilia hight;
Saint Urban hallowed it, as well he might;
Wherein in noble wise unto this day
To Christ and to His saint men service pay.
HERE IS ENDED THE SECOND NUN'S TALE
THE CANON'S YEOMAN'S PROLOGUE
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When Saint Cecilia's Life was done, and whiles
We had not farther gone a good five miles,
At Boughton-under-Blean us did o'ertake
A man, who was clothed all in clothes of black,
And underneath he had a surplice white.
His hackney was of dappled-grey, so bright
With sweat that it was marvelous to see;
It seemed that he had spurred him for miles three.
The horse too that his yeoman rode upon
So sweat that scarcely could it go; and on
The breast strap of the harness foam stood high,
Whereof he was as flecked as is a pie.
A double wallet on his crupper lay,
And as it seemed, he went in light array.
Lightly, for summer, rode this worthy man,
And in my heart to wonder I began
What he could be, until I understood
The way he had his cloak sewed to his hood;
From which, when long I had communed with me,
I judged at length some canon he must be.
His hat hung on his back down by a lace,
For he had ridden more than trot or pace;
He had spurred hard, indeed, as madman would.
A burdock leaf he had beneath his hood
To curb the sweat and keep his head from heat
But what a joy it was to see him sweat!
His forehead dripped as a distillatory
Were full of plantain and of pellitory.
And this man when he came began to cry:
"God save," said he, "this jolly company!
Fast I have spurred," said he then, "for your sake,
Because I wanted you to overtake,
To ride on in this merry company."
His yeoman too was full of courtesy,
And said: "Good sirs, all in the morningtide
Out of your hostelry I saw you ride,
And warned my lord and master, full and plain,
And he to ride with you is truly fain
For his amusement; he loves dalliance."
"Friend, for your warning, God give you good chance,"
Said then our host, "for truly it would seem
Your lord is wise, and so I may well deem;
He is right jocund also, I dare lay.
Can he a merry tale tell, on the way,
Wherewith to gladden this our company?"
"Who, sir? My lord? Yea, yea, without a lie,
He knows of mirth and of all jollity
Not but enough; and also, sir, trust me,
If you but knew him as well as do I,
You'd wonder much how well and craftily
He can behave, and that in different wise.
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He's taken on him many an enterprise
That were right hard for anyone that's here
(Unless he learned it) to effect, I fear.
As plainly as he rides, here among you,
It would be to your profit if you knew
Him well; you'd not give up his acquaintance
For much of wealth, I dare lay in balance
All that I have of goods in my possession.
He is a man of wondrous high discretion,
I warn you well, he's a surpassing man."
"Well," said our host, "then pray tell, if you can,
Is he a clerk, or not? Tell what he is."
"Nay, he is greater than a clerk, ywis,"
This yeoman said, "and briefly, if you'll wait,
Host, of his craft a little I'll relate.
"I say, my lord has so much subtlety
(But all his art you cannot learn from me,
And yet I help by working at his side),
That all this pleasant land through which we ride,
From here right into Canterbury town,
Why, he could turn it all clean upside-down
And pave it all with silver and with gold."
And when this yeoman had this story told
Unto our host, our host said: "Ben' cite!
This thing is wondrous marvelous to me,
Since your lord is a man of such science,
For which men should hold him in reverence,
That of his dignity his care's so slight;
His over-garment is not worth a mite
For such a man as he, so may I go!
It is all dirty and it's torn also.
Why is your lord so slovenly, pray I,
And yet has power better clothes to buy,
If but his deeds accord well with your speech?
Tell me that, sir, and that I do beseech."
"Why?" asked this yeoman, "Why ask this of me?
God help me, wealthy he will never be!
(But I will, not stand back of what I say,
And therefore keep it secret, I you pray).
He is too wise, in faith, as I believe;
That which is overdone, as I conceive,
Won't turn out right, clerks say, and that's a vice.
In that, I hold him ignorantly nice.
For when a man has overmuch of wit,
It often happens he misuses it;
So does my lord, and this thing grieves me sore.
May God amend it, I can say no more."
"No matter then, good yeoman," said our host;
"Since of the learning of your lord you boast,
Tell how he works, I pray you heartily,
Since he's so clever and withal so sly.
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Where do you dwell, if you may tell it me?"
"Within the suburbs of a town," said he,
"Lurking in corners and in alleys blind,
Wherein these thieves and robbers, every kind,
Have all their privy fearful residence,
As those who dare not show men their presence;
So do we live, if I'm to tell the truth."
"Now," said our host, "Let me go on, forsooth.
Why are you so discoloured in the face?"
"Peter!" cried he. "God give it evil grace!
I am so wont upon the fire to blow
That it has changed my colour, as I trow.
I'm not wont in a mirror, sir, to pry,
But I work hard to learn to multiply.
We stir and mix and stare into the fire,
But for all that we fail of our desire,
And never do we come to our conclusion.
To many folk we bring about illusion,
And borrow gold, perhaps a pound or two,
Or ten, or twelve, or any sum will do,
And make them think, aye, at the least, it's plain,
That from a pound of gold we can make twain!
It is all false, but yet we have great hope
That we can do it, and after it we grope.
But that science is so far us before,
We never can, in spite of all we swore,
Come up with it, it slides away so fast;
And it will make us beggars at the last."
The while this yeoman chattered on like this,
The canon nearer drew and did not miss
A thing he said; suspicion always woke
In him, indeed, when anybody spoke.
For Cato says suspicion's ever fed
