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

proffer such dowaire As I first brought, it is well in my mind, It was my wretched clothes, nothing fair, The which to me were hard now for to find.

O goode God! how gentle and how kind

Ye seemed by your speech and your visage, The day that maked was our marriage!

 

“But sooth is said, — algate* I find it true, *at all events For in effect it proved is on me, —

Love is not old as when that it is new.

But certes, Lord, for no adversity,

To dien in this case, it shall not be

That e’er in word or work I shall repent That I you gave mine heart in whole intent.

 

“My Lord, ye know that in my father’s place Ye did me strip out of my poore weed, raiment And richely ye clad me of your grace;

To you brought I nought elles, out of dread, But faith, and nakedness, and maidenhead; And here again your clothing I restore, And eke your wedding ring for evermore.

 

“The remnant of your jewels ready be

Within your chamber, I dare safely sayn: Naked out of my father’s house,” quoth she, “I came, and naked I must turn again.

All your pleasance would I follow fain: cheerfully But yet I hope it be not your intent

That smockless* I out of your palace went. naked “Ye could not do so dishonest a thing, dishonourable That thilke womb, in which your children lay, *that Shoulde before the people, in my walking, Be seen all bare: and therefore I you pray, Let me not like a worm go by the way:

Remember you, mine owen Lord so dear,

I was your wife, though I unworthy were.

 

“Wherefore, in guerdon* of my maidenhead, *reward Which that I brought and not again I bear, As vouchesafe to give me to my meed reward But such a smock as I was wont to wear, That I therewith may wrie* the womb of her *cover That was your wife: and here I take my leave Of you, mine owen Lord, lest I you grieve.”

 

“The smock,” quoth he, “that thou hast on thy back, Let it be still, and bear it forth with thee.”

But well unnethes* thilke word he spake, *with difficulty But went his way for ruth and for pity.

Before the folk herselfe stripped she, And in her smock, with foot and head all bare, Toward her father’s house forth is she fare. gone The folk her follow’d weeping on her way, And fortune aye they cursed as they gon: go But she from weeping kept her eyen drey, dry Nor in this time worde spake she none.

Her father, that this tiding heard anon, Cursed the day and time, that nature

Shope* him to be a living creature. *formed, ordained For, out of doubt, this olde poore man Was ever in suspect of her marriage:

For ever deem’d he, since it first began, That when the lord *fulfill’d had his corage, had gratified his whim*

He woulde think it were a disparage disparagement To his estate, so low for to alight,

And voide* her as soon as e’er he might. dismiss Against his daughter hastily went he to meet (For he by noise of folk knew her coming), And with her olde coat, as it might be, He cover’d her, full sorrowfully weeping: But on her body might he it not bring, For rude was the cloth, and more of age By dayes fele than at her marriage. *many <11>

 

Thus with her father for a certain space Dwelled this flow’r of wifely patience, That neither by her words nor by her face, Before the folk nor eke in their absence, Ne shewed she that her was done offence, Nor of her high estate no remembrance

Ne hadde she, *as by* her countenance. to judge from

 

No wonder is, for in her great estate

Her ghost* was ever in plein** humility; spirit *full No tender mouth, no hearte delicate,

No pomp, and no semblant of royalty;

But full of patient benignity,

Discreet and prideless, aye honourable, And to her husband ever meek and stable.

 

Men speak of Job, and most for his humbless, As clerkes, when them list, can well indite, Namely* of men; but, as in soothfastness, *particularly Though clerkes praise women but a lite, little There can no man in humbless him acquite As women can, nor can be half so true

As women be, *but it be fall of new. unless it has lately come to pass*

 

*Pars Sexta Sixth Part*

 

From Bologn’ is the earl of Panic’ come, Of which the fame up sprang to more and less; And to the people’s eares all and some Was know’n eke, that a newe marchioness He with him brought, in such pomp and richess That never was there seen with manne’s eye So noble array in all West Lombardy.

 

The marquis, which that shope* and knew all this, *arranged Ere that the earl was come, sent his message messenger For thilke poore sely* Griseldis; *innocent And she, with humble heart and glad visage, Nor with no swelling thought in her corage, mind Came at his hest,* and on her knees her set, *command And rev’rently and wisely she him gret. greeted “Griseld’,” quoth he, “my will is utterly, This maiden, that shall wedded be to me, Received be to-morrow as royally

As it possible is in my house to be;

And eke that every wight in his degree Have *his estate* in sitting and service, what befits his And in high pleasance, as I can devise. condition

 

“I have no women sufficient, certain,

The chambers to array in ordinance

After my lust;* and therefore would I fain *pleasure That thine were all such manner governance: Thou knowest eke of old all my pleasance; Though thine array be bad, and ill besey, poor to look on *Do thou thy devoir at the leaste way.” do your duty in the quickest manner*

“Not only, Lord, that I am glad,” quoth she, “To do your lust, but I desire also

You for to serve and please in my degree, Withoute fainting, and shall evermo’:

Nor ever for no weal, nor for no woe,

Ne shall the ghost* within mine hearte stent* spirit **cease To love you best with all my true intent.”

 

And with that word she gan the house to dight, arrange And tables for to set, and beds to make, And *pained her* to do all that she might, she took pains

Praying the chambereres* for Godde’s sake *chamber-maids To hasten them, and faste sweep and shake, And she the most serviceable of all

Hath ev’ry chamber arrayed, and his hall.

 

Aboute undern* gan the earl alight, *afternoon <5>

That with him brought these noble children tway; For which the people ran to see the sight Of their array, so *richely besey; rich to behold*

And then at erst amonges them they say, for the first time

That Walter was no fool, though that him lest pleased To change his wife; for it was for the best.

 

For she is fairer, as they deemen* all, *think Than is Griseld’, and more tender of age, And fairer fruit between them shoulde fall, And more pleasant, for her high lineage: Her brother eke so fair was of visage, That them to see the people hath caught pleasance, Commending now the marquis’ governance.

 

“O stormy people, unsad* and ev’r untrue, variable And undiscreet, and changing as a vane, Delighting ev’r in rumour that is new, For like the moon so waxe ye and wane: Aye full of clapping, dear enough a jane, worth nothing <12>*

Your doom* is false, your constance evil preveth,* judgment **proveth A full great fool is he that you believeth.”

 

Thus saide the sad* folk in that city, *sedate When that the people gazed up and down; For they were glad, right for the novelty, To have a newe lady of their town.

No more of this now make I mentioun,

But to Griseld’ again I will me dress, And tell her constancy and business.

 

Full busy was Griseld’ in ev’ry thing

That to the feaste was appertinent;

Right nought was she abash’d* of her clothing, *ashamed Though it were rude, and somedeal eke to-rent; tattered But with glad cheer* unto the gate she went *expression With other folk, to greet the marchioness, And after that did forth her business.

 

With so glad cheer* his guestes she receiv’d expression And so conningly each in his degree, *cleverly, skilfully That no defaulte no man apperceiv’d,

But aye they wonder’d what she mighte be That in so poor array was for to see,

And coude* such honour and reverence; *knew, understood And worthily they praise her prudence.

 

In all this meane while she not stent ceased This maid, and eke her brother, to commend With all her heart in full benign intent, So well, that no man could her praise amend: But at the last, when that these lordes wend go To sitte down to meat, he gan to call

Griseld’, as she was busy in the hall.

 

“Griseld’,” quoth he, as it were in his play, “How liketh thee my wife, and her beauty?”

“Right well, my Lord,” quoth she, “for, in good fay, faith A fairer saw I never none than she:

I pray to God give you prosperity;

And so I hope, that he will to you send Pleasance enough unto your lives end.

 

“One thing beseech I you, and warn also, That ye not pricke with no tormenting

This tender maiden, as ye have done mo: me <13>

For she is foster’d in her nourishing

More tenderly, and, to my supposing,

She mighte not adversity endure

As could a poore foster’d creature.”

 

And when this Walter saw her patience, Her gladde cheer, and no malice at all, And* he so often had her done offence, although And she aye sad and constant as a wall, *steadfast Continuing ev’r her innocence o’er all, The sturdy marquis gan his hearte dress prepare To rue upon her wifely steadfastness.

 

“This is enough, Griselda mine,” quoth he, “Be now no more *aghast, nor evil paid, afraid, nor displeased*

I have thy faith and thy benignity

As well as ever woman was, assay’d,

In great estate and poorely array’d:

Now know I, deare wife, thy steadfastness;”

And her in arms he took, and gan to kiss.

 

And she for wonder took of it no keep; notice She hearde not what thing he to her said: She far’d as she had start out of a sleep, Till she out of her mazedness abraid. awoke “Griseld’,” quoth he, “by God that for us died, Thou art my wife, none other I have,

Nor ever had, as God my soule save.

 

“This is thy daughter, which thou hast suppos’d To be my wife; that other faithfully

Shall be mine heir, as I have aye dispos’d; Thou bare them of thy body truely:

At Bologna kept I them privily:

Take them again, for now may’st thou not say That thou hast lorn* none of thy children tway. *lost “And folk, that otherwise have said of me, I warn them well, that I have done this deed For no malice, nor for no cruelty,

But to assay in thee thy womanhead:

And not to slay my children (God forbid), But for to keep them privily and still, Till I thy purpose knew, and all thy will.”

 

When she this heard,