The Canterbury Tales

Fragment II

The Man of Law's Tale

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Heere begynneth the Man

of Lawe his Tale.

Pars I

Pars II

Pars III

In surrye whilom dwelte a compaignye

135

Of chapmen riche, and therto sadde and trewe,

That wyde-where senten hir spicerye,

Clothes of gold, and satyns riche of hewe.

Hir chaffare was so thrifty and so newe

That every wight hath deyntee to chaffare

140

With hem, and eek to sellen hem hire ware.

Now fil it that the maistres of that sort

Han shapen hem to rome for to wende;

Were it for chapmanhod or for disport,

Noon oother message wolde they thider sende,

145

But comen hemself to rome, this is the ende;

And in swich place as thoughte hem avantage

For hire entente, they take hir herbergage.

Sojourned han thise merchantz in that toun

A certein tyme, as fil to hire plesance.

150

And so bifel that th' excellent renoun

Of the emperoures doghter, dame custance,

Reported was, with every circumstance,

Unto thise surryen marchantz in swich wyse.

Fro day to day, as I shal yow devyse.

155

This was the commune voys of every man:

Oure emperour of rome – God hym see! –

A doghter hath that, syn the world bigan,

To rekene as wel hir goodnesse as beautee,

Nas nevere swich another as is shee.

160

I prey to God in honour hire susteene,

And wolde she were of al europe the queene.

In hire is heigh beautee, withoute pride,

Yowthe, withoute grenehede or folye;

To alle hire werkes vertu is hir gyde;

165

Humblesse hath slayn in hire al tirannye.

She is mirour of alle curteisye;

Hir herte is verray chambre of hoolynesse,

Hir hand, ministre of fredam for almesse.

And al this voys was sooth, as God is trewe.

170

But now to purpos lat us turne agayn.

Thise marchantz han doon fraught hir shippes newe,

And whan they han this blisful mayden sayn,

Hoom to surrye been they went ful fayn,

And doon hir nedes as they han doon yoore,

175

And lyven in wele; I kan sey yow namoore.

Now fil it that thise marchantz stode in grace

Of hym that was the sowdan of surrye;

For whan they cam from any strange place,

He wolde, of his benigne curteisye,

180

Make hem good chiere, and bisily espye

Tidynges of sondry regnes, for to leere

The wondres that they myghte seen or heere.

Amonges othere thynges, specially,

Thise marchantz han hym toold of dame custance

185

So greet noblesse in ernest, ceriously,

That this sowdan hath caught so greet plesance

To han hir figure in his remembrance,

That al his lust and al his bisy cure

Was for to love hire while his lyf may dure.

190

Paraventure in thilke large book

Which that men clepe the hevene ywriten was

With sterres, whan that he his birthe took,

That he for love sholde han his deeth, allas!

For in the sterres, clerer than is glas,

195

Is writen, God woot, whoso koude it rede,

The deeth of every man, withouten drede.

In sterres, many a wynter therbiforn,

Was writen the deeth of ector, achilles,

Of pompei, julius, er they were born;

200

The strif of thebes; and of ercules,

Of sampson, turnus, and of socrates

The deeth; but mennes wittes ben so dulle

That no wight kan wel rede it atte fulle.

This sowdan for his privee conseil sente,

205

And, shortly of this matiere for to pace,

He hath to hem declared his entente,

And seyde hem, certein, but he myghte have grace

To han custance withinne a litel space,

He nas but deed; and charged hem in hye

210

To shapen for his lyf som remedye.

Diverse men diverse thynges seyden;

They argumenten, casten up and doun;

Many a subtil resoun forth they leyden;

They speken of magyk and abusioun.

215

But finally, as in conclusioun,

They kan nat seen in that noon avantage,

Ne in noon oother wey, save mariage.

Thanne sawe they therinne swich difficultee

By wey of reson, for to speke al playn,

220

By cause that ther was swich diversitee

Bitwene hir bothe lawes, that they sayn

They trowe, that no cristen prince wolde fayn

Wedden his child under oure lawe sweete

That us was taught by mahoun, oure prophete.

225

And he answerde, rather than I lese

Custance, I wol be cristned, doutelees.

I moot been hires, I may noon oother chese.

I prey yow hoold youre argumentz in pees;

Saveth my lyf, and beth noght recchelees

230

To geten hire that hath my lyf in cure;

For in this wo I may nat longe endure.

What nedeth gretter dilatacioun?

I seye, by tretys and embassadrie,

And by the popes mediacioun,

235

And al the chirche, and al the chivalrie,

That in destruccioun of mawmettrie,

And in encrees of cristes lawe deere,

They been acorded, so as ye shal heere:

How that the sowdan and his baronage

240

And alle his liges sholde ycristned be,

And he shal han custance in mariage,

And certein gold, I noot what quantitee;

And heer-to founden sufficient suretee.

This same accord was sworn on eyther syde;

245

Now, faire custance, almyghty God thee gyde!

Now wolde som men waiten, as I gesse,

That I sholde tellen al the purveiance

That th' emperour, of his grete noblesse,

Hath shapen for his doghter, dame custance.

250

Wel may men knowen that so greet ordinance

May no man tellen in a litel clause

As was arrayed for so heigh a cause.

Bisshopes been shapen with hire for to wende,

Lordes, ladies, knyghtes of renoun,

255

And oother folk ynowe, this is th' ende;

And notified is thurghout the toun

That every wight, with greet devocioun,

Sholde preyen crist that he this mariage

Receyve in gree, and spede this viage.

260

The day is comen of hir departynge;

I seye, the woful day fatal is come,

That ther may be no lenger tariynge,

But forthward they hem dressen, alle and some.

Custance, that was with sorwe al overcome,

265

Ful pale arist, and dresseth hire to wende;

For wel she seeth ther is noon oother ende.

Allas! what wonder is it thogh she wepte,

That shal be sent to strange nacioun

Fro freendes that so tendrely hire kepte,

270

And to be bounden under subjeccioun

Of oon, she knoweth nat his condicioun?

Housbondes been alle goode, and han ben yoore;

That knowen wyves; I dar sey yow na moore.

Fader, she seyde, thy wrecched child custance,

275

Thy yonge doghter fostred up so softe,

And ye, my mooder, my soverayn plesance

Over alle thyng, out-taken crist on-lofte,

Custance youre child hire recomandeth ofte

Unto youre grace, for I shal to surrye,

280

Ne shal I nevere seen yow moore with ye.

Allas! unto the barbre nacioun

I moste anoon, syn that it is youre wille;

But crist, that starf for our redempcioun

So yeve me grace his heestes to fulfille!

285

I, wrecche womman, no fors though I spille!

Wommen are born to thraldom and penance,

And to been under mannes governance.

I trowe at troye, whan pirrus brak the wal,

Or ilion brende, at thebes the citee,

290

N' at rome, for the harm thurgh hanybal

That romayns hath venquysshed tymes thre,

Nas herd swich tendre wepyng for pitee

As in the chambre was for hire departynge;

But forth she moot, wher-so she wepe or synge.

295

O firste moevyng! crueel firmament,

With thy diurnal sweigh that crowdest ay

And hurlest al from est til occident

That naturelly wolde holde another way,

Thy crowdyng set the hevene in swich array

300

At the bigynnyng of this fiers viage,

That crueel mars hath slayn this mariage.

Infortunat ascendent tortuous,

Of which the lord is helplees falle, allas,

Out of his angle into the derkeste hous!

305

O mars, o atazir, as in this cas!

O fieble moone, unhappy been thy paas!

Thou knyttest thee ther thou art nat receyved;

Ther thou were weel, fro thennes artow weyved.

Imprudent emperour of rome, allas!

310

Was ther no philosophre in al thy toun?

Is no tyme bet than oother in swich cas?

Of viage is ther noon eleccioun,

Namely to folk of heigh condicioun?

Noght whan a roote is of a burthe yknowe?

315

Allas, we been to lewed or to slowe!

To shippe is brought this woful faire mayde

Solempnely, with every circumstance.

Now jhesu crist be with yow alle! she sayde;

Ther nys namoore, but farewel, faire custance!

320

She peyneth hire to make good contenance;

And forth I lete hire saille in this manere,

And turne I wole agayn to my matere.

The mooder of the sowdan, welle of vices,

Espied hath hir sones pleyn entente,

325

How he wol lete his olde sacrifices;

And right anon she for hir conseil sente,

And they been come to knowe what she mente.

And whan assembled was this folk in-feere,

She sette hire doun, and seyde as ye shal heere.

330

Lordes, quod she, ye knowen everichon,

How that my sone in point is for to lete

The hooly lawes of our alkaron,

Yeven by goddes message makomete.

But oon avow to grete God I heete,

335

The lyf shal rather out of my body sterte

Or makometes lawe out of myn herte!

What sholde us tyden of this newe lawe

But thraldom to oure bodies and penance,

And afterward in helle to be drawe,

340

For we reneyed mahoun oure creance?

But, lordes, wol ye maken assurance,

As I shal seyn, assentynge to my loore,

And I shal make us sauf for everemoore?

They sworen and assenten, every man,

345

To lyve with hire and dye, and by hire stonde,

And everich, in the beste wise he kan,

To strengthen hire shal alle his frendes fonde;

And she hath this emprise ytake on honde,

Which ye shal heren that I shal devyse,

350

And to hem alle she spak right in this wyse:

We shul first feyne us cristendom to take, –

Coold water shal nat greve us but a lite!

And I shal swich a feeste and revel make

That, as I trowe, I shal the sowdan quite.

355

For thogh his wyf be cristned never so white,

She shal have nede to wasshe awey the rede,

Thogh she a font-ful water with hire lede.

O sowdanesse, roote of iniquitee!

Virago, thou semyrame the secounde!

360

O serpent under femynynytee,

Lik to the serpent depe in helle ybounde!

O feyned womman, al that may confounde

Vertu and innocence, thurgh thy malice,

Is bred in thee, as nest of every vice!

365

O sathan, envious syn thilke day

That thou were chaced from oure heritage,

Wel knowestow to wommen the olde way!

Thou madest eva brynge us in servage;

Thou wolt fordoon this cristen mariage.

370

Thyn instrument so, weylawey the while!

Makestow of wommen, whan thou wolt bigile.

This sowdanesse, whom I thus blame and warye,

Leet prively hire conseil goon hire way.

What sholde I in this tale lenger tarye?

375

She rydeth to the sowdan on a day,

And seyde hym that she wolde reneye hir lay,

And cristendom of preestes handes fonge,

Repentynge hire she hethen was so longe;

Bisechynge hym to doon hire that honour,

380

That she moste han the cristen folk to feeste, –

To plesen hem I wol do my labour.

The sowdan seith, I wol doon at youre heeste;

And knelynge thanketh hire of that requeste.

So glad he was, he nyste what to seye.

385

She kiste hir sone, and hoom she gooth hir weye.

Explicit prima pars

Sequitur pars secunda.

Arryved been this cristen folk to londe

In surrye, with a greet solempne route,

And hastifliche this sowdan sente his sonde,

First to his mooder, and al the regne aboute,

390

And seyde his wyf was comen, out of doute,

And preyde hire for to ryde agayn the queene,

The honour of his regne to susteene.

Greet was the prees, and riche was th' array

Of surryens and romayns met yfeere;

395

The mooder of the sowdan, riche and gay,

Receyveth hire with also glad a cheere

As any mooder myghte hir doghter deere,

And to the nexte citee ther bisyde

A softe paas solempnely they ryde.

400

Noght trowe I the triumphe of julius,

Of which that lucan maketh swich a boost,

Was roialler ne moore curius

Than was th' assemblee of this blisful hoost.

But this scorpioun, this wikked goost,

405

The sowdanesse, for al hire flaterynge,

Caste under this ful mortally to stynge.

The sowdan comth hymself soone after this

So roially, that wonder is to telle,

And welcometh hire with alle joye and blis.

410

And thus in murthe and joye I lete hem dwelle;

The fryt of this matiere is that I telle.

Whan tyme cam, men thoughte it for the beste

That revel stynte, and men goon to hir reste.

The tyme cam this olde sowdanesse

415

Ordeyned hath this feeste of which I tolde,

And to the feeste cristen folk hem dresse

In general, ye, bothe yonge and olde.

Heere may men feeste and roialtee biholde,

And deyntees mo than I kan yow devyse;

420

But al to deere they boghte it er they ryse.

O sodeyn wo, that evere art successour

To worldly blisse, spreynd with bitternesse!

The ende of the joye of oure worldly labour!

Wo occupieth the fyn of oure gladnesse.

425

Herke this conseil for thy sikernesse:

Upon thy glade day have in thy mynde

The unwar wo or harm that comth bihynde.

For shortly for to tellen, at o word,

The sowdan and the cristen everichone

430

Been al tohewe and stiked at the bord,

But it were oonly dame custance allone.

This olde sowdanesse, cursed krone,

Hath with hir freendes doon this cursed dede,

For she hirself wolde al the contree lede.

435

Ne ther was surryen noon that was converted,

That of the conseil of the sowdan woot,

That he nas al tohewe er he asterted.

And custance han they take anon, foot-hoot,

And in a ship al steerelees, God woot,

440

They han hir set, and bidde hire lerne saille

Out of surrye agaynward to ytaille.

A certein tresor that she thider ladde,

And, sooth to seyn, vitaille greet plentee

They han hire yeven, and clothes eek she hadde,

445

And forth she sailleth in the salte see.

O my custance, ful of benignytee,

O emperoures yonge doghter deere,

He that is lord of fortune be thy steere!

She blesseth hire, and with ful pitous voys

450

Unto the croys of crist thus seyde she:

O cleere, o welful auter, hooly croys,

Reed of the lambes blood ful of pitee,

That wessh the world fro the olde iniquitee,

Me fro the feend and fro his clawes kepe,

455

That day that I shal drenchen in the depe.

Victorious tree, proteccioun of trewe,

That oonly worthy were for to bere

The kyng of hevene with his woundes newe,

The white lamb, that hurt was with a spere,

460

Flemere of feendes out of hym and here

On which thy lymes feithfully extenden,

Me kepe, and yif me myght my lyf t' amenden.

Yeres and dayes fleet this creature

Thurghout the see of grece unto the strayte

465

Of marrok, as it was hire aventure.

On many a sory meel now may she bayte;

After hir deeth ful often may she wayte,

Er that the wilde wawes wol hire dryve

Unto the place ther she shal arryve.

470

Men myghten asken why she was nat slayn

Eek at the feeste? who myghte hir body save?

And I answere to that demande agayn,

Who saved danyel in the horrible cave

Ther every wight save he, maister and knave,

475

Was with the leon frete er he asterte?

No wight but god, that he bar in his herte.

God liste to shewe his wonderful myracle

In hire, for we sholde seen his myghty werkis;

Crist, which that is to every harm triacle,

480

By certeine meenes ofte, as knowen clerkis,

Dooth thyng for certein ende that ful derk is

To mannes wit, that for oure ignorance

Ne konne noght knowe his prudent purveiance.

Now sith she was nat at the feeste yslawe,

485

Who kepte hire fro the drenchyng in the see?

Who kepte jonas in the fisshes mawe

Til he was spouted up at nynyvee?

Wel may men knowe it was no wight but he

That kepte peple ebrayk from hir drenchynge,

490

With drye feet thurghout the see passynge.

Who bad the foure spirites of tempest

That power han t' anoyen lond and see,

Bothe north and south, and also west and est,

Anoyeth, neither see, ne land, ne tree?

495

Soothly, the comandour of that was he

That fro the tempest ay this womman kepte

As wel whan she wook as whan she slepte.

Where myghte this womman mete and drynke have

Thre yeer and moore? how lasteth hire vitaille?

500

Who fedde the egipcien marie in the cave,

Or in desert? no wight but crist, sanz faille.

Fyve thousand folk it was as greet mervaille

With loves fyve and fisshes two to feede.

God sente his foyson at hir grete neede.

505

She dryveth forth into oure occian

Thurghout oure wilde see, til atte laste

Under an hoold that nempnen I ne kan,

Fer in northhumberlond the wawe hire caste,

And in the sond hir ship stiked so faste

510

That thennes wolde it noght of al a tyde;

The wyl of crist was that she sholde abyde.

The constable of the castel doun is fare

To seen this wrak, and al the ship he soghte,

And foond this wery womman ful of care;

515

He foond also the tresor that she broghte.

In hir langage mercy she bisoghte,

The lyf out of hir body for to twynne,

Hire to delivere of wo that she was inne.

A maner latyn corrupt was hir speche,

520

But algates therby was she understonde.

The constable, whan hym lyst no longer seche,

This woful womman broghte he to the londe.

She kneleth doun and thanketh goddes sonde;

But what she was she wolde no man seye,

525

For foul ne fair, thogh that she sholde deye.

She seyde she was so mazed in the see

That she forgat hir mynde, by hir trouthe.

The constable hath of hire so greet pitee,

And eek his wyf, that they wepen for routhe.

530

She was so diligent, withouten slouthe,

To serve and plesen everich in that place,

That alle hir loven that looken in hir face.

This constable and dame hermengyld, his, wyf,

Were payens, and that contree everywhere;

535

But hermengyld loved hire right as hir lyf,

And custance hath so longe sojourned there,

In orisons, with many a bitter teere,

Til jhesu hath converted thurgh his grace

Dame hermengyld, constablesse of that place.

540

In al that lond no cristen dorste route;

Alle cristen folk been fled fro that contree

Thurgh payens, that conquereden al aboute

The plages of the north, by land and see.

To walys fledde the cristyanytee

545

Of olde britons dwellynge in this ile;

Ther was hir refut for the meene while.

But yet nere cristene britons so exiled

That ther nere somme that in hir privetee

Honoured crist and hethen folk bigiled,

550

And ny the castel swiche ther dwelten three.

That oon of hem was blynd and myghte nat see,

But it were with thilke eyen of his mynde

With whiche men seen, after that they ben blynde.

Bright was the sonne as in that someres day,

555

For which the constable and his wyf also

And custance han ytake the righte way

Toward the see a furlong wey or two,

To pleyen and to romen to and fro;

And in hir walk this blynde man they mette,

560

Croked and oold, with eyen faste yshette.

In name of crist, cride this blinde britoun,

Dame hermengyld, yif me my sighte agayn!

This lady weex affrayed of the soun,

Lest that hir housbonde, shortly for to sayn,

565

Wolde hire for jhesu cristes love han slayn,

Til custance made hire boold, and bad hire wirche

The wyl of crist, as doghter of his chirche.

The constable weex abasshed of that sight,

And seyde, what amounteth al this fare?

570

Custance answerde, sire, it is cristes myght,

That helpeth folk out of the feendes snare.

And so ferforth she gan oure lay declare

That she the constable, er that it was eve

Converted, and on crist made hym bileve.

575

This constable was nothyng lord of this place

Of which I speke, ther he custance fond,

But kepte it strongly many a wyntres space

Under alla, kyng of al northhumbrelond,

That was ful wys, and worthy of his hond

580

Agayn the scottes, as men may wel heere;

But turne I wole agayn to my mateere.

Sathan, that evere us waiteth to bigile,

Saugh of custance al hire perfeccioun,

And caste anon how he myghte quite hir while,

585

And made a yong knyght that dwelte in that toun

Love hire so hoote, of foul affeccioun,

That verraily hym thoughte he sholde spille,

But he of hire myghte ones have his wille.

He woweth hire, but it availleth noght;

590

She wolde do no synne, by no weye.

And for despit he compassed in his thoght

To maken hire on shameful deeth to deye.

He wayteth whan the constable was aweye,

And pryvely upon a nyght he crepte

595

In hermengyldes chambre, whil she slepte.

Wery, forwaked in hire orisouns,

Slepeth custance, and hermengyld also.

This knyght, thurgh sathanas temptaciouns,

Al softely is to the bed ygo,

600

And kitte the throte of hermengyld atwo,

And leyde the blody knyf by dame custance,

And wente his wey, ther God yeve hym meschance!

Soone after cometh this constable hoom agayn,

And eek alla, that kyng was of that lond,

605

And saugh his wyf despitously yslayn,

For which ful ofte he weep and wroong his hond,

And in the bed the blody knyf he fond

By dame custance. Allas! what myghte she seye?

For verray wo hir wit was al aweye.

610

To kyng alla was toold al this meschance,

And eek the tyme, and where, and in what wise

That in a ship was founden this custance,

As heer-biforn that ye han herd devyse.

The kynges herte of pitee gan agryse,

615

Whan he saugh so benigne a creature

Falle in disese and in mysaventure.

For as the lomb toward his deeth is broght,

So stant this innocent bifore the kyng.

This false knyght, that hath this tresoun wroght,

620

Berth hire on hond that she hath doon thys thyng.

But nathelees, ther was greet moornyng

Among the peple, and seyn they kan nat gesse

That she had doon so greet a wikkednesse;

For they han seyn hire evere so vertuous,

625

And lovynge hermengyld right as hir lyf.

Of this baar witnesse everich in that hous,

Save he that hermengyld slow with his knyf.

This gentil kyng hath caught a greet motyf

Of this witnesse, and thoghte he wolde enquere

630

Depper in this, a trouthe for to lere.

Allas! custance, thou hast no champioun,

Ne fighte kanstow noght, so weylaway!

But he that starf for our redempcioun,

And boond sathan (and yet lith ther he lay),

635

So be thy stronge champion this day!

For, but if crist open myracle kithe,

Withouten gilt thou shalt be slayn as swithe.

She sette hire doun on knees, and thus she sayde:

Immortal god, that savedest susanne

640

Fro false blame, and thou, merciful mayde,

Marie I meene, doghter to seint anne,

Bifore whos child angeles synge osanne,

If I be giltlees of this felonye,

My socour be, for ellis shal I dye!

645

Have ye nat seyn somtyme a pale face,

Among a prees, of hym that hath be lad

Toward his deeth, wher as hym gat no grace,

And swich a colour in his face hath had,

Men myghte knowe his face that was bistad,

650

Amonges alle the faces in that route?

So stant custance, and looketh hire aboute.

O queenes, lyvynge in prosperitee,

Duchesses, and ye ladyes everichone,

Haveth som routhe on hire adversitee!

655

An emperoures doghter stant allone;

She hath no wight to whom to make hir mone.

O blood roial, that stondest in this drede,

Fer been thy freendes at thy grete nede!

This alla kyng hath swich compassioun,

660

As gentil herte is fulfild of pitee,

That from his eyen ran the water doun.

Now hastily do fecche a book, quod he,

And if this knyght wol sweren how that she

This womman slow, yet wol we us avyse

665

Whom that we wole that shal been oure justise.

A britoun book, written with evaungiles,

Was fet, and on this book he swoor anoon

She gilty was, and in the meene whiles

An hand hym smoot upon the nekke-boon,

670

That doun he fil atones as a stoon,

And bothe his eyen broste out of his face

In sighte of every body in that place.

A voys was herd in general audience,

And seyde, thou hast desclaundred, giltelees,

675

The doghter of hooly chirche in heigh presence;

Thus hastou doon, and yet holde I my pees!

Of this mervaille agast was al the prees;

As mazed folk they stoden everichone,

For drede of wreche, save custance allone.

680

Greet was the drede and eek the repentance

Of hem that hadden wrong suspecioun

Upon this sely innocent, custance;

And for this miracle, in conclusioun,

And by custances mediacioun,

685

The kyng – and many another in that place –

Converted was, thanked be cristes grace!

This false knyght was slayn for his untrouthe

By juggement of alla hastifly;

And yet custance hadde of his deeth greet routhe.

690

And after this jhesus, of his mercy,

Made alla wedden ful solempnely

This hooly mayden, that is so bright and sheene;

And thus hath crist ymaad custance a queene.

But who was woful, if I shal nat lye,

695

Of this weddyng but donegild, and namo,

The kynges mooder, ful of tirannye?

Hir thoughte hir cursed herte brast atwo.

She wolde noght hir sone had do so;

Hir thoughte a despit that he sholde take

700

So strange a creature unto his make.

Me list nat of the chaf, ne of the stree,

Maken so long a tale as of the corn.

What sholde I tellen of the roialtee

At mariage, or which cours goth biforn;

705

Who bloweth in a trumpe or in an horn?

The fruyt of every tale is for to seye:

They ete, and drynke, and daunce, and synge, and pleye.

They goon to bedde, as it was skile and right;

For thogh that wyves be ful hooly thynges,

710

They moste take in pacience at nyght

Swiche manere necessaries as been plesynges

To folk that han ywedded hem with rynges,

And leye a lite hir hoolynesse aside,

As for the tyme, – it may no bet bitide.

715

On hire he gat a knave child anon,

And to a bisshop, and his constable eke,

He took his wyf to kepe, whan he is gon

To scotlond-ward, his foomen for to seke.

Now faire custance, that is so humble and meke,

720

So longe is goon with childe, til that stille

She halt hire chambre, abidyng cristes wille.

The tyme is come a knave child she beer;

Mauricius at the fontstoon they hym calle.

This constable dooth forth come a messageer,

725

And wroot unto his kyng, that cleped was alle,

How that this blisful tidyng is bifalle,

And othere tidynges spedeful for to seye.

He taketh the lettre, and forth he gooth his weye.

This messager, to doon his avantage,

730

Unto the kynges mooder rideth swithe,

And salueth hire ful faire in his langage:

Madame, quod he, ye may be glad and blithe,

And thanketh God an hundred thousand sithe!

My lady queene hath child, withouten doute,

735

To joye and blisse to al this regne aboute.

Lo, heere the lettres seled of this thyng,

That I moot bere with al the haste I may.

If ye wol aught unto youre sone the kyng,

I am youre servant, bothe nyght and day.

740

Donegild answerde, as now at this tyme, nay;

But heere al nyght I wol thou take thy reste.

To-morwe wol I seye thee what me leste.

This messager drank sadly ale and wyn,

And stolen were his lettres pryvely

745

Out of his box, whil he sleep as a swyn;

And countrefeted was ful subtilly

Another lettre, wroght ful synfully,

Unto the kyng direct of this mateere

Fro his constable, as ye shal after heere.

750

The lettre spak the queene delivered was

Of so horrible a feendly creature

That in the castel noon so hardy was

That any while dorste ther endure.

The mooder was an elf, by aventure

755

Ycomen, by charmes or by sorcerie,

And every wight hateth hir compaignye.

Wo was this kyng whan he this lettre had sayn,

But to no wight he tolde his sorwes soore,

But of his owene hand he wroot agayn,

760

Welcome the sonde of crist for everemoore

To me that am now lerned in his loore!

Lord, welcome be thy lust and thy plesaunce;

My lust I putte al in thyn ordinaunce.

Kepeth this child, al be it foul or feir,

765

And eek my wyf, unto myn hoom-comynge.

Crist, whan hym list, may sende me an heir

Moore agreable than this to my likynge.

This lettre he seleth, pryvely wepynge,

Which to the messager was take soone,

770

And forth he gooth; ther is na moore to doone.

O messager, fulfild of dronkenesse,

Strong is thy breeth, thy lymes faltren ay,

And thou biwreyest alle secreenesse.

Thy mynde is lorn, thou janglest as a jay,

775

Thy face is turned in a newe array.

Ther dronkenesse regneth in any route,

Ther is no conseil hyd, withouten doute.

O donegild, I ne have noon englissh digne

Unto thy malice and thy tirannye!

780

And therfore to the feend I thee resigne;

Lat hym enditen of thy traitorie!

Fy, mannysh, fy! – o nay, by god, I lye –

Fy, feendlych spirit, for I dar wel telle,

Thogh thou heere walke, thy spirit is in helle!

785

This messager comth fro the kyng agayn,

And at the kynges moodres court he lighte,

And she was of this messager ful fayn,

And plesed hym in al that ever she myghte.

He drank, and wel his girdel underpighte;

790

He slepeth, and he fnorteth in his gyse

Al nyght, til the sonne gan aryse.

Eft were his lettres stolen everychon,

And countrefeted lettres in this wyse:

The king comandeth his constable anon,

795

Up peyne of hangyng, and on heigh juyse,

That he ne sholde suffren in no wyse

Custance in-with his reawme for t' abyde

Thre dayes and o quarter of a tyde;

But in the same ship as he hire fond,

800

Hire, and hir yonge sone, and al hir geere,

He sholde putte, and croude hire fro the lond,

And charge hire that she never eft coome theere.

O my custance, wel may thy goost have feere,

And, slepynge, in thy dreem been in penance,

805

Whan donegild cast al this ordinance.

This messager on morwe, whan he wook,

Unto the castel halt the nexte way,

And to the constable he the lettre took;

And whan that he this pitous lettre say,

810

Ful ofte he seyde, allas! and weylaway!

Lord crist, quod he, how may this world endure,

So ful of synne is many a creature?

O myghty god, if that it be thy wille,

Sith thou art rightful juge, how may it be

815

That thou wolt suffren innocentz to spille,

And wikked folk regne in prosperitee?

O goode custance, allas! so wo is me

That I moot be thy tormentour, or deye

On shames deeth; ther is noon oother weye.

820

Wepen bothe yonge and olde in al that place

Whan that the kyng this cursed lettre sente,

And custance, with a deedly pale face,

The ferthe day toward hir ship she wente.

But nathelees she taketh in good entente

825

The wyl of crist, and knelynge on the stronde,

She seyde, lord, ay welcome be thy sonde!

He that me kepte fro the false blame

While I was on the lond amonges yow,

He kan me kepe from harm and eek fro shame

830

In salte see, althogh I se noght how.

As strong as evere he was, he is yet now.

In hym triste I, and in his mooder deere,

That is to me my seyl and eek my steere.

Hir litel child lay wepyng in hir arm,

835

And knelynge, pitously to hym she seyde,

Pees, litel sone, I wol do thee noon harm.

With that hir coverchief of hir heed she breyde,

And over his litel eyen she it leyde,

And in hir arm she lulleth it ful faste,

840

And into hevene hire eyen up she caste.

Mooder, quod she, and mayde bright, marie,

Sooth is that thurgh wommanes eggement

Mankynde was lorn, and damned ay to dye,

For which thy child was on a croys yrent.

845

Thy blisful eyen sawe al his torment;

Thanne is ther no comparison bitwene

Thy wo and any wo man may sustene.

Thow sawe thy child yslayn bifore thyne yen,

And yet now lyveth my litel child, parfay!

850

Now, lady bright, to whom alle woful cryen,

Thow glorie of wommanhede, thow faire may,

Thow haven of refut, brighte sterre of day,

Rewe on my child, that of thy gentillesse,

Rewest on every reweful in distresse.

855

O litel child, allas! what is thy gilt,

That nevere wroghtest synne as yet, pardee?

Why wil thyn harde fader han thee spilt?

O mercy, deere constable, quod she,

As lat my litel child dwelle heer with thee;

860

And if thou darst nat saven hym, for blame,

So kys hym ones in his fadres name!

Therwith she looked bakward to the londe,

And seyde, farewel, housbonde routhelees!

And up she rist, and walketh doun the stronde

865

Toward the ship, – hir folweth al the prees, –

And evere she preyeth hire child to holde his pees;

And taketh hir leve, and with an hooly entente

She blisseth hire, and into ship she wente.

Vitailled was the ship, it is no drede,

870

Habundantly for hire ful longe space,

And othere necessaries that sholde nede

She hadde ynogh, heryed be goddes grace!

For wynd and weder almyghty God purchace,

And brynge hire hoom! I kan no bettre seye,

875

But in the see she dryveth forth hir weye.

Explicit secunda pars

Sequitur pars tercia.

Alla the kyng comth hoom soone after this

Unto his castel, of the which I tolde,

And asketh where his wyf and his child is.

The constable gan aboute his herte colde,

880

And pleynly al the manere he hym tolde

As ye han herd – i kan telle it no bettre –

And sheweth the kyng his seel and eek his lettre,

And seyde, lord, as ye comanded me

Up peyne of deeth, so have I doon, certein.

885

This messager tormented was til he

Moste biknowe and tellen, plat and pleyn,

Fro nyght to nyght, in what place he had leyn;

And thus, by with and sotil enquerynge,

Ymagined was by whom this harm gan sprynge.

890

The hand was knowe that the lettre wroot,

And al the venym of this cursed dede,

But in what wise, certeinly, I noot.

Th' effect is this, that alla, out of drede,

His mooder slow – that may men pleynly rede –

895

For that she traitour was to hire ligeance.

Thus endeth olde donegild, with meschance!

The sorwe that this alla nyght and day

Maketh for his wyf, and for his child also,

Ther is no tonge that it telle may.

900

But now wol I unto custance go,

That fleteth in the see, in peyne and wo,

Fyve yeer and moore, as liked cristes sonde,

Er that hir ship approched unto londe.

Under an hethen castel, atte laste,

905

Of which the name in my text noght I fynde,

Custance, and eek hir child, the see up caste.

Almyghty god, that saveth al mankynde,

Have on custance and on hir child som mynde,

That fallen is in hethen hand eft soone,

910

In point to spille, as I shal telle yow soone.

Doun fro the castel comth ther many a wight

To gauren on this ship and on custance.

But shortly, from the castel, on a nyght,

The lordes styward – God yeve hym meschance! –

915

A theef, that hadde reneyed oure creance,

Cam into ship allone, and seyde he sholde

Hir lemman be, wher-so she wolde or nolde.

Wo was this wrecched womman tho bigon;

Hir child cride, and she cride pitously.

920

But blisful marie heelp hire right anon;

For with hir struglyng wel and myghtily

The theef fil over bord al sodeynly,

And in the see he dreynte for vengeance;

And thus hath crist unwemmed kept custance.

925

O foule lust of luxurie, lo, thyn ende!

Nat oonly that thou feyntest mannes mynde,

But verraily thou wolt his body shende.

Th' ende of thy werk, or of thy lustes blynde,

Is compleynyng. Hou many oon may men fynde

930

That noght for werk somtyme, but for th' entente

To doon this synne, been outher slayn or shente!

How may this wayke womman han this strengthe

Hire to defende agayn this renegat?

O golias, unmesurable of lengthe,

935

Hou myghte david make thee so maat,

So yong and of armure so desolaat?

Hou dorste he looke upon thy dredful face?

Wel may men seen, it nas but goddes grace.

Who yaf judith corage or hardynesse

940

To sleen hym olofernus in his tente,

And to deliveren out of wrecchednesse

The peple of god? I seye, for this entente,

That right as God spirit of vigour sente

To hem, and saved hem out of meschance,

945

So sente he myght and vigour to custance.

Forth gooth hir ship thurghout the narwe mouth

Of jubaltare and septe, dryvynge ay

Somtyme west, and somtyme north and south,

And somtyme est, ful many a wery day,

950

Til cristes mooder – blessed be she ay! –

Hath shapen, thurgh hir endelees goodnesse,

To make an ende of al hir hevynesse.

Now lat us stynte of custance but a throwe,

And speke we of the romayn emperour,

955

That out of surrye hath by lettres knowe

The slaughtre of cristen folk, and dishonour

Doon to his doghter by a fals traytour,

I mene the cursed wikked sowdanesse

That at the feeste leet sleen bothe moore and lesse.

960

For which this emperour hath sent anon

His senatour, with roial ordinance,

And othere lordes, God woot, many oon,

On surryens to taken heigh vengeance.

They brennen, sleen, and brynge hem to meschance

965

Ful many a day; but shortly, this is th' ende,

Homward to rome they shapen hem to wende.

This senatour repaireth with victorie

To rome-ward, saillynge ful roially,

And mette the ship dryvynge, as seith the storie,

970

In which custance sit ful pitously.

Nothyng ne knew he what she was, ne why

She was in swich array, ne she nyl seye

Of hire estaat, althogh she sholde deye.

He bryngeth hire to rome, and to his wyf

975

He yaf hire, and hir yonge sone also;

And with the senatour she ladde hir lyf.

Thus kan oure lady bryngen out of wo

Woful custance, and many another mo.

And longe tyme dwelled she in that place,

980

In hooly werkes evere, as was hir grace.

The senatoures wyf hir aunte was,

But for al that she knew hire never the moore.

I wol no lenger tarien in this cas,

But to kyng alla, which I spak of yoore,

985

That for his wyf wepeth and siketh soore,

I wol retourne, and lete I wol custance

Under the senatoures governance.

Kyng alla, which that hadde his mooder slayn,

Upon a day fil in swich repentance

990

That, if I shortly tellen shal and playn,

To rome he comth to receyven his penance;

And putte hym in the popes ordinance

In heigh and logh, and jhesu crist bisoghte

Foryeve his wikked werkes that he wroghte.

995

The fame anon thurgh rome toun is born,

How alla kyng shal comen in pilgrymage,

By herbergeours that wenten hym biforn;

For which the senatour, as was usage,

Rood hym agayns, and many of his lynage,

1000

As wel to shewen his heighe magnificence

As to doon any kyng a reverence.

Greet cheere dooth this noble senatour

To kyng alla, and he to hym also;

Everich of hem dooth oother greet honour.

1005

And so bifel that in a day or two

This senatour is to kyng alla go

To feste, and shortly, if I shal nat lye,

Custances sone wente in his compaignye.

Som men wolde seyn at requeste of custance

1010

This senatour hath lad this child to feeste;

I may nat tellen every circumstance, –

Be as be may, ther was he at the leeste.

But sooth is this, that at his moodres heeste

Biforn alla, durynge the metes space,

1015

The child stood, lookynge in the kynges face.

This alla kyng hath of this child greet wonder,

And to the senatour he seyde anon,

Whos is that faire child that stondeth yonder?

I noot, quod he, by god, and by seint john!

1020

A mooder he hath, but fader hath he noon

That I of woot – and shortly, in a stounde,

He tolde alla how that this child was founde.

But God woot, quod this senatour also,

So vertuous a lyvere in my lyf

1025

Ne saugh I nevere as she, ne herde of mo,

Of worldly wommen, mayde, ne of wyf.

I dar wel seyn hir hadde levere a knyf

Thurghout hir brest, than ben a womman wikke;

There is no man koude brynge hire to that prikke.

1030

Now was this child as lyk unto custance

As possible is a creature to be.

This alla hath the face in remembrance

Of dame custance, and ther on mused he

If that the childes mooder were aught she

1035

That is his wyf, and pryvely he sighte,

And spedde hym fro the table that he myghte.

Parfay, thoghte he, fantome is in myn heed!

I oghte deme, of skilful juggement,

That in the salte see my wyf is deed.

1040

And afterward he made his argument:

What woot I if that crist have hyder ysent

My wyf by see, as wel as he hire sente

To my contree fro thennes that she wente?

And after noon, hoom with the senatour

1045

Goth alla, for to seen this wonder chaunce.

This senatour dooth alla greet honour,

And hastifly he sente after custaunce.

But trusteth weel, hire liste nat to daunce,

Whan that she wiste wherfore was that sonde;

1050

Unnethe upon hir feet she myghte stonde.

Whan alla saugh his wyf, faire he hire grette,

And weep, that it was routhe for to see;

For at the firste look he on hire sette,

He knew wel verraily that it was she.

1055

And she, for sorwe, as doumb stant as a tree,

So was hir herte shet in hir distresse,

Whan she remembred his unkyndenesse.

Twyes she swowned in his owene sighte;

He weep, and hym excuseth pitously.

1060

Now god, quod he, and alle his halwes brighte

So wisly on my soule as have mercy,

That of youre harm as giltelees am I

As is maurice my sone, so lyk youre face;

Elles the feend me fecche out of this place!

1065

Long was the sobbyng and the bitter peyne,

Er that hir woful hertes myghte cesse;

Greet was the pitee for to heere hem pleyne,

Thurgh whiche pleintes gan hir wo encresse.

I pray yow alle my labour to relesse;

1070

I may nat telle hir wo until to-morwe,

I am so wery for to speke of sorwe.

But finally, whan that the sothe is wist

That alla giltelees was of hir wo,

I trowe an hundred tymes been they kist,

1075

And swich a blisse is ther bitwix hem two

That, save the joye that lasteth everemo,

Ther is noon lyk that any creature

Hath seyn or shal, whil that the world may dure.

Tho preyde she hir housbonde mekely,

1080

In relief of hir longe, pitous pyne,

That he wolde preye hir fader specially

That of his magestee he wolde enclyne

To vouche sauf som day with hym to dyne.

She preyde hym eek he sholde by no weye

1085

Unto hir fader no word of hire seye.

Som men wolde seyn how that the child maurice

Dooth this message unto this emperour;

But, as I gesse, alla was nat so nyce

To hym that was of so sovereyn honour

1090

As he that is of cristen folk the flour,

Sente any child, but it is bet to deeme

He wente hymself, and so it may wel seeme.

This emperour hath graunted gentilly

To come to dyner, as he hym bisoughte;

1095

And wel rede I he looked bisily

Upon this child, and on his doghter thoghte.

Alla goth to his in, and as hym oghte,

Arrayed for this feste in every wise

As ferforth as his konnyng may suffise.

1100

The morwe cam, and alla gan hym dresse,

And eek his wyf, this emperour to meete;

And forth they ryde in joye and in gladnesse.

And whan she saugh hir fader in the strete,

She lighte doun, and falleth hym to feete.

1105

Fader, quod she, youre yonge child custance

Is now ful clene out of youre remembrance.

I am youre doghter custance, quod she,

That whilom ye han sent unto surrye.

It am I, fader, that in the salte see

1110

Was put allone and dampned for to dye.

Now, goode fader, mercy I yow crye!

Sende me namoore unto noon hethenesse,

But thonketh my lord heere of his kyndenesse.

Who kan the pitous joye tellen al

1115

Bitwixe hem thre, syn they been thus ymette?

But of my tale make an ende I shal;

The day goth faste, I wol no lenger lette.

This glade folk to dyner they hem sette;

In joye and blisse at mete I lete hem dwelle

1120

A thousand foold wel moore than I kan telle.

This child maurice with sithen emperour

Maad by the pope, and lyved cristenly;

To cristes chirche he dide greet honour.

But I lete al his storie passen by;

1125

Of custance is my tale specially.

In the olde romayn geestes may men fynde

Maurices lyf; I bere it noght in mynde.

This kyng alla, whan he his tyme say,

With his custance, his hooly wyf so sweete,

1130

To engelond been they come the righte way,

Wher as they lyve in joye and in quiete.

But litel while it lasteth, I yow heete,

Joye of this world, for tyme wol nat abyde;

Fro day to nyght it changeth as the tyde.

1135

Who lyved euere in swich delit o day

That hym ne moeved outher conscience,

Or ire, or talent, or som kynnes affray,

Envye, or pride, or passion, or offence?

I ne seye but for this ende this sentence,

1140

That litel while in joye or in plesance

Lasteth the blisse of alla with custance.

For deeth, that taketh of heigh and logh his rente,

Whan passed was a yeer, evene as I gesse,

Out of this world this kyng alla he hente,

1145

For whom custance hath ful greet hevynesse.

Now lat us prayen God his soule blesse!

And dame custance, finally to seye,

Toward the toun of rome goth hir weye.

To rome is come this hooly creature,

1150

And fyndeth hire freendes hoole and sounde;

Now is she scaped al hire aventure.

And whan that she hir fader hath yfounde,

Doun on hir knees falleth she to grounde;

Wepynge for tendrenesse in herte blithe,

1155

She heryeth God an hundred thousand sithe.

In vertu and in hooly almus-dede

They lyven alle, and nevere asonder wende;

Til deeth departeth hem, this lyf they lede.

And fareth now weel! my tale is at an ende.

1160

Now jhesu crist, that of his myght may sende

Joye after wo, governe us in his grace,

And kepe us alle that been in this place! amen

Heere endeth the Tale

of the Man of Lawe.