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

as ye commanded me,

And if ye vouchesafe, ye may go see.

Do as you list, have your behest in mind, For, quick or dead, right there ye shall me find; In you hes all to *do me live or dey; cause me to But well I wot the rockes be away.” live or die*

 

He took his leave, and she astonish’d stood; In all her face was not one drop of blood: She never ween’d t’have come in such a trap.

“Alas!” quoth she, “that ever this should hap!

For ween’d I ne’er, by possibility,

That such a monster or marvail might be; It is against the process of nature.”

And home she went a sorrowful creature; For very fear unnethes* may she go. *scarcely She weeped, wailed, all a day or two,

And swooned, that it ruthe was to see: But why it was, to no wight tolde she, For out of town was gone Arviragus.

But to herself she spake, and saide thus, With face pale, and full sorrowful cheer, In her complaint, as ye shall after hear.

“Alas!” quoth she, “on thee, Fortune, I plain, complain That unware hast me wrapped in thy chain, From which to scape, wot I no succour, Save only death, or elles dishonour;

One of these two behoveth me to choose.

But natheless, yet had I lever* lose *sooner, rather My life, than of my body have shame,

Or know myselfe false, or lose my name; And with my death *I may be quit y-wis. I may certainly purchase Hath there not many a noble wife, ere this, my exemption*

And many a maiden, slain herself, alas!

Rather than with her body do trespass?

Yes, certes; lo, these stories bear witness. <22>

When thirty tyrants full of cursedness wickedness Had slain Phidon in Athens at the feast, They commanded his daughters to arrest, And bringe them before them, in despite, All naked, to fulfil their foul delight; And in their father’s blood they made them dance Upon the pavement, — God give them mischance.

For which these woeful maidens, full of dread, Rather than they would lose their maidenhead, They privily *be start* into a well, *suddenly leaped And drowned themselves, as the bookes tell.

They of Messene let inquire and seek

Of Lacedaemon fifty maidens eke,

On which they woulde do their lechery: But there was none of all that company That was not slain, and with a glad intent Chose rather for to die, than to assent To be oppressed* of her maidenhead. *forcibly bereft Why should I then to dien be in dread?

Lo, eke the tyrant Aristoclides,

That lov’d a maiden hight Stimphalides, When that her father slain was on a night, Unto Diana’s temple went she right,

And hent* the image in her handes two, *caught, clasped From which image she woulde never go;

No wight her handes might off it arace, pluck away by force Till she was slain right in the selfe* place. *same Now since that maidens hadde such despite To be defouled with man’s foul delight, Well ought a wife rather herself to sle, slay Than be defouled, as it thinketh me.

What shall I say of Hasdrubale’s wife, That at Carthage bereft herself of life?

For, when she saw the Romans win the town, She took her children all, and skipt adown Into the fire, and rather chose to die, Than any Roman did her villainy.

Hath not Lucretia slain herself, alas!

At Rome, when that she oppressed* was *ravished Of Tarquin? for her thought it was a shame To live, when she hadde lost her name.

The seven maidens of Milesie also

Have slain themselves for very dread and woe, Rather than folk of Gaul them should oppress.

More than a thousand stories, as I guess, Could I now tell as touching this mattere.

When Abradate was slain, his wife so dear <23>

Herselfe slew, and let her blood to glide In Abradate’s woundes, deep and wide,

And said, ‘My body at the leaste way

There shall no wight defoul, if that I may.’

Why should I more examples hereof sayn?

Since that so many have themselves slain, Well rather than they would defouled be, I will conclude that it is bet* for me *better To slay myself, than be defouled thus.

I will be true unto Arviragus,

Or elles slay myself in some mannere,

As did Demotione’s daughter dear,

Because she woulde not defouled be.

O Sedasus, it is full great pity

To reade how thy daughters died, alas!

That slew themselves *for suche manner cas. in circumstances of As great a pity was it, or well more, the same kind*

The Theban maiden, that for Nicanor

Herselfe slew, right for such manner woe.

Another Theban maiden did right so;

For one of Macedon had her oppress’d,

She with her death her maidenhead redress’d. vindicated What shall I say of Niceratus’ wife,

That for such case bereft herself her life?

How true was eke to Alcibiades

His love, that for to dien rather chese, chose Than for to suffer his body unburied be?

Lo, what a wife was Alceste?” quoth she.

“What saith Homer of good Penelope?

All Greece knoweth of her chastity.

Pardie, of Laedamia is written thus,

That when at Troy was slain Protesilaus, <24>

No longer would she live after his day.

The same of noble Porcia tell I may;

Withoute Brutus coulde she not live,

To whom she did all whole her hearte give. <25>

The perfect wifehood of Artemisie <26>

Honoured is throughout all Barbarie.

O Teuta <27> queen, thy wifely chastity To alle wives may a mirror be.” <28>

 

Thus plained Dorigen a day or tway,

Purposing ever that she woulde dey; die But natheless upon the thirde night

Home came Arviragus, the worthy knight, And asked her why that she wept so sore.

And she gan weepen ever longer more.

“Alas,” quoth she, “that ever I was born!

Thus have I said,” quoth she; “thus have I sworn. “

And told him all, as ye have heard before: It needeth not rehearse it you no more.

This husband with glad cheer,* in friendly wise, *demeanour Answer’d and said, as I shall you devise. relate “Is there aught elles, Dorigen, but this?”

“Nay, nay,” quoth she, “God help me so, *as wis assuredly*

This is too much, an* it were Godde’s will.” *if “Yea, wife,” quoth he, “let sleepe what is still, It may be well par’venture yet to-day.

Ye shall your trothe holde, by my fay.

For, God so wisly* have mercy on me, certainly I had well lever sticked for to be, I had rather be slain*

For very love which I to you have,

But if ye should your trothe keep and save.

Truth is the highest thing that man may keep.”

But with that word he burst anon to weep, And said; “I you forbid, on pain of death, That never, while you lasteth life or breath, To no wight tell ye this misaventure;

As I may best, I will my woe endure,

Nor make no countenance of heaviness,

That folk of you may deeme harm, or guess.”

And forth he call’d a squier and a maid.

“Go forth anon with Dorigen,” he said, “And bringe her to such a place anon.”

They take their leave, and on their way they gon: But they not wiste why she thither went; He would to no wight telle his intent.

 

This squier, which that hight Aurelius, On Dorigen that was so amorous,

Of aventure happen’d her to meet

Amid the town, right in the quickest* street, nearest As she was bound to go the way forthright *prepared, going <29>

Toward the garden, there as she had hight. promised And he was to the garden-ward also;

For well he spied when she woulde go

Out of her house, to any manner place; But thus they met, of aventure or grace, And he saluted her with glad intent,

And asked of her whitherward she went.

And she answered, half as she were mad, “Unto the garden, as my husband bade,

My trothe for to hold, alas! alas!”

Aurelius gan to wonder on this case,

And in his heart had great compassion

Of her, and of her lamentation,

And of Arviragus, the worthy knight,

That bade her hold all that she hadde hight; So loth him was his wife should break her truth troth, pledged word And in his heart he caught of it great ruth, pity Considering the best on every side,

*That from his lust yet were him lever abide, see note <30>*

Than do so high a churlish wretchedness wickedness Against franchise,* and alle gentleness; *generosity For which in fewe words he saide thus; “Madame, say to your lord Arviragus,

That since I see the greate gentleness Of him, and eke I see well your distress, That him were lever* have shame (and that were ruth)* rather **pity Than ye to me should breake thus your truth, I had well lever aye* to suffer woe, forever Than to depart the love betwixt you two. sunder, split up I you release, Madame, into your hond, Quit ev’ry surement and ev’ry bond, *surety That ye have made to me as herebeforn, Since thilke time that ye were born.

Have here my truth, I shall you ne’er repreve reproach *Of no behest;* and here I take my leave, of no (breach of) As of the truest and the beste wife promise

That ever yet I knew in all my life.

But every wife beware of her behest;

On Dorigen remember at the least.

Thus can a squier do a gentle deed,

As well as can a knight, withoute drede.” doubt She thanked him upon her knees bare,

And home unto her husband is she fare, gone And told him all, as ye have hearde said; And, truste me, he was so *well apaid, satisfied*

That it were impossible me to write.

Why should I longer of this case indite?

Arviragus and Dorigen his wife

In sov’reign blisse ledde forth their life; Ne’er after was there anger them between; He cherish’d her as though she were a queen, And she was to him true for evermore;

Of these two folk ye get of me no more.

 

Aurelius, that his cost had *all forlorn, utterly lost*

Cursed the time that ever he was born.

“Alas!” quoth he, “alas that I behight promised Of pured* gold a thousand pound of weight *refined To this philosopher! how shall I do?

I see no more, but that I am fordo. ruined, undone Mine heritage must I needes sell,

And be a beggar; here I will not dwell, And shamen all my kindred in this place, But* I of him may gette better grace. *unless But natheless I will of him assay

At certain dayes year by year to pay,

And thank him of his greate courtesy.

My trothe will I keep, I will not he.”

With hearte sore he went unto his coffer, And broughte gold unto this philosopher, The value of five hundred pound, I guess, And him beseeched, of his gentleness,

To grant him *dayes of* the remenant; time to pay up

And said; “Master, I dare well make avaunt, I failed never of my truth as yet.

For sickerly my debte shall be quit

Towardes you how so that e’er I fare

To go abegging in my kirtle bare:

But would ye vouchesafe, upon surety,

Two year, or three, for to respite me, Then were I well, for elles must I sell Mine heritage; there is no more to tell.”

 

This philosopher soberly* answer’d, *gravely And saide thus, when he these wordes heard; “Have I not holden covenant