Canterbury Tales and Other Poems by Geoffrey Chaucer (best summer reads .TXT) 📕

herself, who prays that she may have a year’s respite. Nature grants the prayer, pronounces judgment accordingly, and dismisses the assembly; and after a chosen choir has sung a roundel in honour of the Goddess, all the birds fly away, and the poet awakes. It is probable that Chaucer derived the idea of the poem from a French source; Mr Bell gives the outline of a fabliau, of which three versions existed, and in which a contention between two ladies regarding the merits of their respective lovers, a knight and a clerk, is decided by Cupid in a Court composed of birds, which assume their sides according to their different natures.

Whatever the source of the idea, its management, and the whole workmanship of the poem, especially in the more humorous passages, are essentially Chaucer’s own.]

 

THE life so short, the craft so long to learn, Th’assay so hard, so sharp the conquering, The dreadful joy, alway that *flits so yern; fleets so fast*

All this mean I by* Love, that my feeling with reference to Astoneth with his wonderful working, amazes So sore, y-wis, that, when I on him think, Naught wit I well whether I fleet or sink, float For all be* that I know not Love indeed, albeit, although

Nor wot how that he *quiteth folk their hire, rewards folk for Yet happeth me full oft in books to read their service*

Of his miracles, and of his cruel ire; There read I well, he will be lord and sire; I dare not saye, that his strokes be sore; But God save such a lord! I can no more.

 

Of usage, what for lust and what for lore, On bookes read I oft, as I you told.

But wherefore speak I alle this? Not yore Agone, it happed me for to behold

Upon a book written with letters old;

And thereupon, a certain thing to learn, The longe day full fast I read and yern. eagerly For out of the old fieldes, as men saith, Cometh all this new corn, from year to year; And out of olde bookes, in good faith, Cometh all this new science that men lear. learn But now to purpose as of this mattere: To reade forth it gan me so delight,

That all the day me thought it but a lite. little while This book, of which I make mention,

Entitled was right thus, as I shall tell; “Tullius, of the Dream of Scipion:” <1>

Chapters seven it had, of heav’n, and hell, And earth, and soules that therein do dwell; Of which, as shortly as I can it treat, Of his sentence I will you say the great. important part First telleth it, when Scipio was come To Africa, how he met Massinisse,

That him for joy in armes hath y-nome. taken <2>

Then telleth he their speech, and all the bliss That was between them till the day gan miss. fail And how his ancestor Africane so dear

Gan in his sleep that night to him appear.

 

Then telleth it, that from a starry place How Africane hath him Carthage y-shew’d, And warned him before of all his grace, <3>

And said him, what man, learned either lewd, ignorant That loveth *common profit,* well y-thew’d, the public advantage

He should unto a blissful place wend, go Where as the joy is without any end.

 

Then asked he,* if folk that here be dead *i.e. the younger Scipio Have life, and dwelling, in another place?

And Africane said, “Yea, withoute dread;” doubt And how our present worldly lives’ space Meant but a manner death, <4> what way we trace; And rightful folk should go, after they die, To Heav’n; and showed him the galaxy.

 

Then show’d he him the little earth that here is, *To regard* the heaven’s quantity; *by comparison with And after show’d he him the nine spheres; <5>

And after that the melody heard he,

That cometh of those spheres thrice three, That wells of music be and melody

In this world here, and cause of harmony.

 

Then said he him, since earthe was so lite, small And full of torment and of *harde grace, evil fortune That he should not him in this world delight.

Then told he him, in certain yeares’ space, That ev’ry star should come into his place, Where it was first; and all should *out of mind, perish from memory*

That in this world is done of all mankind.

 

Then pray’d him Scipio, to tell him all The way to come into that Heaven’s bliss; And he said: “First know thyself immortal, And look aye busily that thou work and wiss guide affairs To common profit, and thou shalt not miss To come swiftly unto that place dear,

That full of bliss is, and of soules clear. noble <6>

 

“And breakers of the law, the sooth to sayn, And likerous* folk, after that they be dead, lecherous Shall whirl about the world always in pain, Till many a world be passed, out of dread; without doubt*

And then, forgiven all their wicked deed, They shalle come unto that blissful place, To which to come God thee sende grace!”

 

The day gan failen, and the darke night, That reaveth* beastes from their business, *taketh away Berefte me my book for lack of light,

And to my bed I gan me for to dress, prepare Full fill’d of thought and busy heaviness; For both I hadde thing which that I n’old, would not And eke I had not that thing that I wo’ld.

 

But, finally, my spirit at the last,

Forweary* of my labour all that day, utterly wearied Took rest, that made me to sleepe fast; And in my sleep I mette, as that I say, dreamed How Africane, right in the self array same garb*

That Scipio him saw before that tide, time Was come, and stood right at my bedde’s side.

 

The weary hunter, sleeping in his bed, To wood again his mind goeth anon;

The judge dreameth how his pleas be sped; The carter dreameth how his cartes go’n; The rich of gold, the knight fights with his fone; foes The sicke mette he drinketh of the tun; <7>

The lover mette he hath his lady won.

 

I cannot say, if that the cause were,

For* I had read of Africane beforn, because That made me to mette that he stood there; But thus said he; “Thou hast thee so well borne In looking of mine old book all to-torn, Of which Macrobius raught not a lite, recked not a little*

That *somedeal of thy labour would I quite.” I would reward you for some of your labour*

Cytherea, thou blissful Lady sweet!

That with thy firebrand dauntest *when thee lest, when you please*

That madest me this sweven* for to mette, *dream Be thou my help in this, for thou may’st best!

As wisly* as I saw the north-north-west, <8> *surely When I began my sweven for to write,

So give me might to rhyme it and endite. write down This foresaid Africane me hent* anon, *took And forth with him unto a gate brought Right of a park, walled with greene stone; And o’er the gate, with letters large y-wrought, There were verses written, as me thought, On either half, of full great difference, Of which I shall you say the plain sentence. meaning “Through me men go into the blissful place <9>

Of hearte’s heal and deadly woundes’ cure; Through me men go unto the well of grace; Where green and lusty May shall ever dure; This is the way to all good adventure; Be glad, thou reader, and thy sorrow off cast; All open am I; pass in and speed thee fast.”

 

“Through me men go,” thus spake the other side, “Unto the mortal strokes of the spear, Of which disdain and danger is the guide; There never tree shall fruit nor leaves bear; This stream you leadeth to the sorrowful weir, Where as the fish in prison is all dry; <10>

Th’eschewing is the only remedy.”

 

These verses of gold and azure written were, On which I gan astonish’d to behold;

For with that one increased all my fear, And with that other gan my heart to bold; take courage That one me het,* that other did me cold; heated No wit had I, for error, for to choose *perplexity, confusion To enter or fly, or me to save or lose.

 

Right as betwixten adamantes* two *magnets Of even weight, a piece of iron set,

Ne hath no might to move to nor fro;

For what the one may hale,* the other let;* attract **restrain So far’d I, that *n’ist whether me was bet knew not whether it was T’ enter or leave, till Africane, my guide, better for me*

Me hent* and shov’d in at the gates wide. caught And said, “It standeth written in thy face, Thine error, though thou tell it not to me; perplexity, confusion But dread thou not to come into this place; For this writing is nothing meant by* thee, does not refer to

Nor by none, but* he Love’s servant be; *unless For thou of Love hast lost thy taste, I guess, As sick man hath of sweet and bitterness.

 

“But natheless, although that thou be dull, That thou canst not do, yet thou mayest see; For many a man that may not stand a pull, Yet likes it him at wrestling for to be, And deeme* whether he doth bet,** or he; judge *better And, if thou haddest cunning* to endite, skill I shall thee showe matter of to write.” to write about*

 

With that my hand in his he took anon, Of which I comfort caught,* and went in fast. *took But, Lord! so I was glad and well-begone! fortunate For *over all,* where I my eyen cast, everywhere

Were trees y-clad with leaves that ay shall last, Each in his kind, with colour fresh and green As emerald, that joy it was to see’n.

 

The builder oak; and eke the hardy ash; The pillar elm, the coffer unto carrain; The box, pipe tree; the holm, to whippe’s lash The sailing fir; the cypress death to plain; The shooter yew; the aspe for shaftes plain; Th’olive of peace, and eke the drunken vine; The victor palm; the laurel, too, divine. <11>

 

A garden saw I, full of blossom’d boughes, Upon a river, in a greene mead,

Where as sweetness evermore enow is,

With flowers white, blue, yellow, and red, And colde welle* streames, nothing dead, *fountain That swamme full of smalle fishes light, With finnes red, and scales silver bright.

 

On ev’ry bough the birdes heard I sing, With voice of angels in their harmony, That busied them their birdes forth to bring; The pretty conies* to their play gan hie; rabbits *haste And further all about I gan espy

The dreadful* roe, the buck, the hart, and hind, *timid Squirrels, and beastes small, of gentle kind. nature Of instruments of stringes in accord

Heard I so play a ravishing sweetness, That God, that Maker is of all and Lord, Ne hearde never better, as I guess:

Therewith a wind, unneth* it might be less, scarcely Made in the leaves green a noise soft, Accordant the fowles’ song on loft.* in keeping with **above Th’air of the place so attemper* was, mild That ne’er was there grievance of hot nor cold; annoyance There was eke ev’ry wholesome spice and grass, Nor no