The Canterbury Tales

Fragment III

The Wife of Bath's Prologue

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The Prologe of the Wyves

Tale of Bathe.

Experience, though noon auctoritee

Were in this world, is right ynogh for me

To speke of wo that is in mariage;

For, lordynges, sith I twelve yeer was of age,

5

Thonked be God that is eterne on lyve,

Housbondes at chirche dore I have had fyve, –

If I so ofte myghte have ywedded bee, –

And alle were worthy men in hir degree.

But me was toold, certeyn, nat longe agoon is,

10

That sith that crist ne wente nevere but onis

To weddyng, in the cane of galilee,

That by the same ensample taughte he me

That I ne sholde wedded be but ones.

Herkne eek, lo, which a sharp word for the nones,

15

Biside a welle, jhesus, God and man,

Spak in repreeve of the samaritan:

Thou hast yhad fyve housbondes, –quod he,

– And that ilke man that now hath thee

Is noght thyn housbonde, –thus seyde he certeyn.

20

What that he mente therby, I kan nat seyn;

But that I axe, why that the fifthe man

Was noon housbonde to the samaritan?

How manye myghte she have in mariage?

Yet herde I nevere tellen in myn age

25

Upon this nombre diffinicioun.

Men may devyne and glosen, up and doun,

But wel I woot, expres, withoute lye,

God bad us for to wexe and multiplye;

That gentil text kan I wel understonde.

30

Eek wel I woot, he seyde myn housbonde

Sholde lete fader and mooder, and take to me.

But of no nombre mencion made he,

Of bigamye, or of octogamye;

Why sholde men thanne speke of it vileynye?

35

Lo, heere the wise kyng, daun salomon;

I trowe he hadde wyves mo than oon.

As wolde God it were leveful unto me

To be refresshed half so ofte as he!

Which yifte of God hadde he for alle his wyvys!

40

No man hath swich that in this world alyve is.

God woot, this noble kyng, as to my wit,

The firste nyght had many a myrie fit

With ech of hem, so wel was hym on lyve.

Yblessed be God that I have wedded fyve!

45

Welcome the sixte, whan that evere he shal.

For sothe, I wol nat kepe me chaast in al.

Whan myn housbonde is fro the world ygon,

Som cristen man shal wedde me anon,

For thanne, th' apostle seith that I am free

50

To wedde, a goddes half, where it liketh me.

He seith that to be wedded is no synne;

Bet is to be wedded than to brynne

What rekketh me, thogh folk seye vileynye

Of shrewed lameth and his bigamye?

55

I woot wel abraham was an hooly man,

And jacob eek, as ferforth as I kan;

And ech of hem hadde wyves mo than two,

And many another holy man also.

Wher can ye seye, in any manere age,

60

That hye God defended mariage

By expres word? I pray yow, telleth me.

Or where comanded he virginitee?

I woot as wel as ye, it is no drede,

Th' apostel, whan he speketh of maydenhede,

65

He seyde that precept therof hadde he noon.

Men may conseille a womman to been oon,

But conseillyng is no comandement.

He putte it in oure owene juggement;

For hadde God comanded maydenhede,

70

Thanne hadde he dampned weddyng with the dede.

And certes, if ther were no seed ysowe,

Virginitee, thanne wherof sholde it growe?

Poul dorste nat comanden, atte leeste,

A thyng of which his maister yaf noon heeste.

75

The dart is set up for birginitee:

Cacche whoso may, who renneth best lat see.

But this word is nat taken of every wight,

But ther as God lust gyve it of his myght.

I woot wel that th' apostel was a mayde;

80

But nathelees, thogh that he wroot and sayde

He wolde that every wight were swich as he,

Al nys but conseil to virginitee.

And for to been a wyf he yaf me leve

Of indulgence; so nys it no repreve

85

To wedde me, if that my make dye,

Withouten excepcion of bigamye.

Al were it good no womman for to touche, –

He mente as in his bed or in his couche;

For peril is bothe fyr and tow t' assemble:

90

Ye knowe what this ensample may resemble.

This is al and som, he heeld virginitee

Moore parfit than weddyng in freletee.

Freletee clepe I, but if that he and she

Wolde leden al hir lyf in chastitee.

95

I graunte it wel, I have noon envie,

Thogh maydenhede preferre bigamye.

It liketh hem to be clene, body and goost;

Of myn estaat I nyl nat make no boost.

For wel ye knowe, a lord in his houshold,

100

He nath nat every vessel al of gold;

Somme been of tree, and doon hir lord servyse.

God clepeth folk to hym in sondry wyse,

And everich hath of God a propre yifte,

Som this, som that, as hym liketh shifte.

105

Virginitee is greet perfeccion,

And continence eek with devocion,

But crist, that of perfeccion is welle,

Bad nat every wight he sholde go selle

Al that he hadde, and gyve it to the poore

110

And in swich wise folwe hym and his foore.

He spak to hem that wolde lyve parfitly;

And lordynges, by youre leve, that am nat I.

I wol bistowe the flour of al myn age

In the actes and in fruyt of mariage.

115

Telle me also, to what conclusion

Were membres maad of generacion,

And of so parfit wys a wight ywroght?

Trusteth right wel, they were nat maad for noght.

Glose whoso wole, and seye bothe up and doun,

120

That they were maked for purgacioun

Of uryne, and oure bothe thynges smale

Were eek to knowe a femele from a male,

And for noon oother cause, –say ye no?

The experience woot wel it is noght so.

125

So that the clerkes be nat with me wrothe,

I sey this, that they maked ben for bothe,

This is to seye, for office, and for ese

Of engendrure, ther we nat God displese.

Why sholde men elles in hir bookes sette

130

That man shal yelde to his wyf hire dette?

Now wherwith sholde he make his paiement,

If he ne used his sely instrument?

Thanne were they maad upon a creature

To purge uryne, and eek for engendrure.

135

But I seye noght that every wight is holde,

That hath swich harneys as I to yow tolde,

To goon and usen hem in engendrure.

Thanne sholde men take of chastitee no cure.

Crist was a mayde, and shapen as a man,

140

And many a seint, sith that the world bigan;

Yet lyved they evere in parfit chastitee.

I nyl envye no virginitee.

Lat hem be breed of pured whete-seed,

And lat us wyves hoten barly-breed;

145

And yet with barly-breed, mark telle kan,

Oure lord jhesu refresshed many a man.

In swich estaat as God hath cleped us

I wol persevere; I nam nat precius.

In wyfhod I wol use myn instrument

150

As frely as my makere hath it sent.

If I be daungerous, God yeve me sorwe!

Myn housbonde shal it have bothe eve and morwe,

Whan that hym list come forth and paye his dette.

An housbonde I wol have, I wol nat lette,

155

Which shal be bothe my dettour and my thral,

And have his tribulacion withal

Upon his flessh, whil that I am his wyf.

I have the power durynge al my lyf

Upon his propre body, and noght he.

160

Right thus the apostel tolde it unto me;

And bad oure housbondes for to love us weel.

Al this sentence me liketh every deel –

Up stirte the pardoner, and that anon:

Now, dame, quod he, by God and by seint john!

165

Ye been a noble prechour in this cas.

I was aboute to wedde a wyf; allas!

What sholde I bye it on my flessh so deere?

Yet hadde I levere wedde no wyf to-yeere!

Abyde! quod she, my tale is nat bigonne.

170

Nay, thou shalt drynken of another tonne,

Er that I go, shal savoure wors than ale.

And whan that I have toold thee forth my tale

Of tribulacion in mariage,

Of which I am expert in al myn age,

175

This is to seyn, myself have been the whippe, –

Than maystow chese wheither thou wolt sippe

Of thilke tonne that I shal abroche.

Be war of it, er thou to ny approche;

For I shal telle ensamples mo than ten.

180

--Whoso that nyl be war by othere men,

By hym shul othere men corrected be. –

The same wordes writeth ptholomee;

Rede in his almageste, and take it there.

Dame, I wolde praye yow, if youre wyl it were,

185

Seyde this pardoner, as ye bigan,

Telle forth youre tale, spareth for no man,

And teche us yonge men of youre praktike.

Gladly, quod she, sith it may yow like;

But that I praye to al this compaignye,

190

If that I speke after my fantasye,

As taketh not agrief of that I seye;

For myn entente is nat but for to pleye.

Now, sire, now wol I telle forth my tale. –

As evere moote I drynken wyn or ale,

195

I shal seye sooth, tho housbondes that I hadde,

As thre of hem were goode, and two were badde.

The thre were goode men, and riche, and olde;

Unnethe myghte they the statut holde

In which that they were bounden unto me.

200

Ye woot wel what I meene of this, pardee!

As help me god, I laughe whan I thynke

How pitously a-nyght I made hem swynke!

And, by my fey, I tolde of it no stoor.

They had me yeven hir lond and hir tresoor;

205

Me neded nat do lenger diligence

To wynne hir love, or doon hem reverence.

They loved me so wel, by God above,

That I ne tolde no deyntee of hir love!

A wys womman wol bisye hire evere in oon

210

To gete hire love, ye, ther as she hath noon.

But sith I hadde hem hoolly in myn hond,

And sith they hadde me yeven al hir lond,

What sholde I taken keep hem for to plese,

But it were for my profit and myn ese?

215

I sette hem so a-werke, by my fey,

That many a nyght they songen –weilawey! –

The bacon was nat fet for hem, I trowe,

That som men han in essex at dunmowe.

I governed hem so wel, after my lawe,

220

That ech of hem ful blisful was and fawe

To brynge me gaye thynges fro the fayre.

They were ful glad whan I spak to hem faire;

For, God it woot, I chidde hem spitously.

Now herkneth hou I baar me proprely,

225

Ye wise wyves, that kan understonde.

Thus shulde ye speke and bere hem wrong on honde;

For half so boldely kan ther no man

Swere and lyen, as a womman kan.

I sey nat this by wyves that been wyse,

230

But if it be whan they hem mysavyse.

A wys wyf shal, it that she kan hir good,

Bere hym on honde that the cow is wood,

And take witnesse of hir owene mayde

Of hir assemt; but herkneth how I sayde:

235

Sire olde kaynard, is this thyn array?

Why is my neighbores wyf so gay?

She is honoured over al ther she gooth;

I sitte at hoom I have no thrifty clooth.

What dostow at my neighebores hous?

240

Is she so fair? artow so amorous?

What rowne ye with oure mayde? benedicite!

Sire olde lecchour, lat thy japes be!

And if I have a gossib or a freend,

Withouten gilt, thou chidest as a feend,

245

If that I walke or pleye unto his hous!

Thou comest hoom as dronken as a mous,

And prechest on thy bench, with yvel preef!

Thou seist to me it is a greet meschief

To wedde a povre womman, for costage;

250

And if that she be riche, of heigh parage,

Thanne seistow that it is a tormentrie

To soffre hire pride and hire malencolie.

And if that she be fair, thou verray knave,

Thou seyst that every holour wol hire have;

255

She may no while in chastitee abyde,

That is assailled upon ech a syde.

Thou seyst som folk desiren us for richesse,

Somme for oure shap, and somme for oure fairnesse,

And som for she kan outher synge or daunce,

260

And som for gentillesse and daliaunce;

Som for hir handes and hir armes smale:

Thus goth al to the devel, by thy tale.

Thou seyst men may nat kepe a castel wal,

It may so longe assailled been over al.

265

And if that she be foul, thou seist that she

Coveiteth every man that she may se,

For as a spaynel she wol on hym lepe,

Til that she fynde som man hire to chepe.

Ne noon so grey goos gooth ther in the lake

270

As, seistow, wol been withoute make.

And seyst it is an hard thyng for to welde

A thyng that no man wole, his thankes, helde.

Thus seistow, lorel, whan thow goost to bedde;

And that no wys man nedeth for to wedde,

275

Ne no man that entendeth unto hevene.

With wilde thonder-dynt and firy levene

Moote thy welked nekke be tobroke!

Thow seyst that droppyng houses, and eek smoke,

And chidyng wyves maken men to flee

280

Out of his owene hous; a! benedicitee!

What eyleth swich an old man for to chide?

Thow seyst we wyves wol oure vices hide

Til we be fast, and thanne we wol hem shewe, –

Wel may that be a proverbe of a shrewe!

285

Thou seist that oxen, asses, hors, and houndes,

They been assayed at diverse stoundes;

Bacyns, lavours, er that men hem bye,

Spoones and stooles, and al swich housbondrye,

And so been pottes, clothes, and array;

290

But folk of wyves maken noon assay,

Til they be wedded; olde dotard shrewe!

And thanne, seistow, we wol oure vices shewe.

Thou seist also that it displeseth me

But if that thou wolt preyse my beautee,

295

And but thou poure alwey upon my face,

And clepe me faire dame in every place.

And but thou make a feeste on thilke day

That I was born, and make me fressh and gay;

And but thou do to my norice honour,

300

And to my chamberere withinne my bour,

And to my fadres folk and his allyes, –

Thus seistow, olde barel-ful of lyes!

And yet of oure apprentice janekyn,

For his crispe heer, shynynge as gold so fyn,

305

And for he squiereth me bothe up and doun,

Yet hastow caught a fals suspecioun.

I wol hym noght, thogh thou were deed tomorwe!

But tel me this: why hydestow, with sorwe,

They keyes of thy cheste awey fro me?

310

It is my good as wel as thyn, pardee!

What, wenestow make an ydiot of oure dame?

Now by that lord that called is seint jame,

Thou shalt nat bothe, thogh that thou were wood,

Be maister of my body and of my good;

315

That oon thou shalt forgo, maugree thyne yen.

What helpith it of me to enquere or spyen?

I trowe thou woldest loke me in thy chiste?

Thou sholdest seye, wyf, go wher thee liste;

Taak youre disport, I wol nat leve no talys.

320

I knowe yow for a trewe wyf, dame alys.

We love no man that taketh kep or charge

Wher that we goon; we wol ben at oure large.

Of alle men yblessed moot he be,

The wise astrologien, daun ptholome,

325

That seith this proverbe in his almageste –

Of alle men his wysdom is the hyeste

That rekketh nevere who hath the world in honde.

By this proverbe thou shalt understonde,

Have thou ynogh, what thar thee recche or care

330

How myrily that othere folkes fare?

For, certeyn, olde dotard, by youre leve,

Ye shul have queynte right ynogh at eve.

He is to greet a nygard that wolde werne

A man to light a candle at his lanterne;

335

He shal have never the lasse light, pardee.

Have thou ynogh, thee thar nat pleyne thee.

Thou seyst also, that if we make us gay

With clothyng, and with precious array,

That it is peril of oure chastitee;

340

And yet, with sorwe! thou most enforce thee,

And seye thise wordes in the apostles name:

in habit maad with chastitee and shame

Ye wommen shul apparaille yow, quod he,

And noght in tressed heer and gay perree,

345

As perles, ne with gold, ne clothes riche.

After thy text, ne after thy rubriche,

I wol nat wirche as muchel as a gnat.

Thou seydest this, that I was lyk a cat;

For whoso wolde senge a cattes skyn,

350

Thanne wolde the cat wel dwellen in his in;

And if the cattes skyn be slyk and gay,

She wol nat dwelle in house half a day,

But forth she wole, er any day be dawed,

To shewe hir skyn, and goon a-caterwawed.

355

This is to seye, if I be gay, sire shrewe,

I wol renne out, my borel for to shewe.

Sire olde fool, what helpeth thee to spyen?

Thogh thou preye argus with his hundred yen

To be my warde-cors, as he kan best,

360

In feith, he shal nat kepe me but me lest;

Yet koude I make his berd, so moot I thee!

Thou seydest eek that ther been thynges thre,

The whiche thynges troublen al this erthe,

And that no wight may endure the ferthe.

365

O leeve sire shrewe, jhesu shorte thy lyf!

Yet prechestow and seyst and hateful wyf

Yrekened is for oon of thise meschances.

Been ther none othere maner resemblances

That ye may likne youre parables to,

370

But if a sely wyf be oon of tho?

Thou liknest eek wommenes love to helle,

To bareyne lond, ther water may nat dwelle.

Thou liknest it also to wilde fyr;

The moore it brenneth, the moore it hath desir

375

To consume every thyng that brent wole be.

Thou seyest, right as wormes shende a tree,

Right so a wyf destroyeth hire housbonde;

This knowe they that been to wyves bonde. –

Lordynges, right thus, as ye have understonde,

380

Baar I stifly myne olde housbondes on honde

That thus they seyden in hir dronkenesse;

And al was fals, but that I took witnesse

On janekyn, and on my nece also.

O lord! the peyne I dide hem and the wo,

385

Ful giltelees, by goddes sweete pyne!

For as an hors I koude byte and whyne.

I koude pleyne, and yit was in the gilt,

Or elles often tyme hadde I been spilt.

Whose that first to mille comth, first grynt;

390

I pleyned first, so was oure werre ystynt.

They were ful glade to excuse hem blyve

Of thyng of which they nevere agilte hir lyve.

Of wenches wolde I beren hem on honde,

Whan that for syk unnethes myghte they stonde.

395

Yet tikled I his herte, for that he

Wende that I hadde of hym so greet chiertee!

I swoor that al my walkynge out by nyghte

Was for t' espye wenches that he dighte;

Under that colour hadde I many a myrthe.

400

For al swich wit is yeven us in oure byrthe;

Deceite, wepyng, spynnyng God hath yive

To wommen kyndely, whil that they may lyve.

And thus of o thyng I avaunte me,

Atte ende I hadde the bettre in ech degree,

405

By sleighte, or force, or by som maner thyng,

As by continueel murmur or grucchyng.

Namely abedde hadden they meschaunce:

Ther wolde I chide, and do hem no plesaunce;

I wolde no lenger in the bed abyde,

410

If that I felte his arm over my syde,

Til he had maad his raunson unto me;

Thanne wolde I suffre hym do his necetee.

And therfore every man this tale I telle,

Wynne whose may, for al is for to selle;

415

With empty hand men may none haukes lure.

For wynnyng wolde I al his lust endure,

And make me feyned appetit;

And yet in bacon hadde I nevere delit;

That made me that evere I wolde hem chide.

420

For thogh the pope hadde seten hem biside,

I wolde nat spare hem at hir owene bord;

For, by my trouthe, I quitte hem word for word.

As helpe me verray God omnipotent,

Though I right now sholde make my testament,

425

I ne owe hem nat a word that it nys quit.

I broghte it so aboute by my wit

That they moste yeve it up, as for the beste,

Or elles hadde we nevere been in reste.

For thogh he looked as a wood leon,

430

Yet sholde he faille of his conclusion.

Thanne wolde I seye, –goode lief, taak keep

How mekely looketh wilkyn, oure sheep!

Com neer, my spouse, lat me ba thy cheke!

Ye sholde been al pacient and meke,

435

And han a sweete spiced conscience,

Sith ye so preche of jobes pacience.

Suffreth alwey, syn ye so wel kan preche;

And but ye do, certein we shal yow teche

That it is fair to have a wyf in pees.

440

Oon of us two moste bowen, doutelees;

And sith a man is moore resonable

Than womman is, ye moste been suffrable.

What eyleth yow to grucche thus and grone?

Is it for ye wolde have my queynte allone?

445

Wy, taak it al! lo, have it every deel!

Peter! I shrewe yow, but ye love it weel;

For if I wolde selle my bele chose,

I koude walke as fressh as is a rose;

But I wol kepe it for youre owene tooth.

450

Ye be to blame, by god! I sey yow sooth. –

Swiche manere wordes hadde we on honde.

Now wol I speken of my fourthe housbonde.

My fourthe housbonde was a revelour;

This is to seyn, he hadde a paramour;

455

And I was yong and ful of ragerye,

Stibourn and strong, and joly as a pye.

How koude I daunce to an harpe smale,

And synge, ywis, as any nyghtyngale,

Whan I had dronke a draughte of sweete wyn!

460

Metellius, the foule cherl, the swyn,

That with a staf birafte his wyf hir lyf,

For she drank wyn, thogh I hadde been his wyf,

He sholde nat han daunted me from drynke!

And after wyn on venus moste I thynke,

465

For al so siker as cold engendreth hayl,

A likerous mouth moste han a likerous tayl.

In wommen vinolent is no defence, –

This knowen lecchours by experience.

But, lord crist! whan that it remembreth me

470

Upon my yowthe, and on my jolitee,

It tikleth me aboute myn herte roote.

Unto this day it dooth myn herte boote

That I have had my world as in my tyme.

But age, allas! that al wole envenyme,

475

Hath me biraft my beautee and my pith.

Lat go, farewel! the devel go therwith!

The flour is goon, ther is namoore to telle;

The bren, as I best kan, now moste I selle;

But yet to be right myrie wol I fonde.

480

Now wol I tellen of my fourthe housbonde.

I seye, I hadde in herte greet despit

That he of any oother had delit.

But he was quit, by God and by seint joce!

I made hym of the same wode a croce;

485

Nat of my body, in no foul manere,

But certeinly, I made folk swich cheere

That in his owene grece I made hym frye

For angre, and for verray jalousye.

By god! in erthe I was his purgatorie,

490

For which I hope his soule be in glorie.

For, God it woot, he sat ful ofte and song,

Whan that his shoo ful bitterly hym wrong.

Ther was no wight, save God and he, that wiste,

In many wise, how soore I hym twiste.

495

He deyde whan I cam fro jerusalem,

And lith ygrave under the roode beem,

Al is his tombe noght so curyus

As was the sepulcre of hym daryus,

Which that appeles wroghte subtilly;

500

It nys but wast to burye hym preciously.

Lat hym fare wel, God yeve his soul reste!

He is now in his grave and in his cheste.

Now of my fifthe housbonde wol I telle.

God lete his soule nevere come in helle!

505

And yet was he to me the mooste shrewe;

That feele I on my ribbes al by rewe,

And evere shal unto myn endyng day.

But in oure bed he was so fressh and gay,

And therwithal so wel koude he me glose,

510

Whan that he wolde han my bele chose,

That thogh he hadde me bete on every bon,

He koude wynne agayn my love anon.

I trowe I loved hym best, for that he

Was of his love daungerous to me.

515

We wommen han if that I shal nat lye,

In this matere a queynte fantasye;

Wayte what thyng we may nat lightly have,

Therafter wol we crie al day and crave.

Forbede us thyng, and that desiren we;

520

Preesse on us faste, and thanne wol we fle.

With daunger oute we al oure chaffare;

Greet prees at market maketh deere ware,

And to greet cheep is holde at litel prys:

This knoweth every womman that is wys.

525

My fifthe housbonde, God his soule blesse!

Which that I took for love, and no richesse,

He som tyme was a clerk of oxenford,

And hadde left scole, and wente at hom to bord

With my gossib, dwellynge in oure toun;

530

God have hir soule! hir name was alisoun.

She knew myn herte, and eek my privetee,

Bet than oure parisshe preest, so moot I thee!

To hire biwreyed I my conseil al.

For hadde myn housbonde pissed on a wal,

535

Or doon a thyng that sholde han cost his lyf,

To hire, and to another worthy wyf,

And to my nece, which that I loved weel,

I wolde han toold his conseil every deel.

And so I dide ful often, God it woot,

540

That made his face often reed and hoot

For verray shame, and blamed hymself for he

Had toold to me so greet a pryvetee.

And so bifel that ones in a lente –

So often tymes I to my gossyb wente,

545

For evere yet I loved to be gay,

And for to walke in march, averill, and may,

Fro hous to hous, to heere sondry talys –

That jankyn clerk, and my gossyb dame alys,

And I myself, into the feeldes wente.

550

Myn housbonde was at londoun al that lente;

I hadde the bettre leyser for to pleye,

And for to se, and eek for to be seye

Of lusty folk. What wiste I wher my grace

Was shapen for to be, or in what place?

555

Therfore I made my visitaciouns

To vigilies and to processiouns,

To prechyng eek, and to thise pilgrimages,

To pleyes of myracles, and to mariages,

And wered upon my gaye scarlet gytes.

560

Thise wormes, ne thise motthes, ne thise mytes,

Upon my peril, frete hem never a deel;

And wostow why? for they were used weel.

Now wol I tellen forth what happed me.

I seye that in the feeldes walked we,

565

Til trewely we hadde swich daliance,

This clerk and I, that of my purveiance

I spak to hym and seyde hym how that he,

If I were wydwe, sholde wedde me.

For certeinly, I sey for no bobance,

570

Yet was I nevere withouten purveiance

Of mariage, n' of othere thynges eek.

I holde a mouses herte nat worth a leek

That hath but oon hole for to sterte to,

And if that faille, thanne is al ydo.

575

I bar hym on honde he hadde enchanted me, –

My dame taughte me that soutiltee.

And eek I seyde I mette of hym al nyght,

He wolde han slayn me as I lay upright,

And al my bed was ful of verray blood;

580

But yet I hope that he shal do me good,

For blood bitokeneth gold, as me was taught.

And al was fals; I dremed of it right naught,

But as I folwed ay my dames loore,

As wel of this as of othere thynges moore.

585

But now, sire, lat me se, what I shal seyn?

A ha! by god, I have my tale ageyn.

Whan that my fourthe housbonde was on beere,

I weep algate, and made sory cheere,

As wyves mooten, for it is usage,

590

And with my coverchief covered my visage,

But for that I was purveyed of a make,

I wepte but smal, and that I undertake.

To chirche was myn housbonde born a-morwe

With neighebores, that for hym maden sorwe;

595

And jankyn, oure clerk, was oon of tho.

As help me god! whan that I saugh hym go

After the beere, me thoughte he hadde a paire

Of legges and of feet so clene and faire

That al myn herte I yaf unto his hoold.

600

He was, I trowe, a twenty wynter oold,

And I was fourty, if I shal seye sooth;

But yet I hadde alwey a coltes tooth.

Gat-tothed I was, and that bicam me weel;

I hadde the prente of seinte venus seel.

605

As help me god! I was a lusty oon,

And faire, and riche, and yong, and wel bigon;

And trewely, as myne housbondes tolde me,

I hadde the beste quoniam myghte be.

For certes, I am al venerien

610

In feelynge, and myn herte is marcien.

Venus me yaf my lust, my likerousnesse,

And mars yaf me my sturdy hardynesse;

Myn ascendent was taur, and mars therinne.

Allas! allas! that evere love was synne!

615

I folwed ay myn inclinacioun

By vertu of my constellacioun;

That made me I koude noght withdrawe

My chambre of venus from a good felawe.

Yet have I martes mark upon my face,

620

And also in another privee place.

For God so wys be my savacioun,

I ne loved nevere by no discrecioun,

But evere folwede myn appetit,

Al were he short, or long, or blak, or whit;

625

I took no kep, so that he liked me,

How poore he was, ne eek of what degree.

What sholde I seye? but, at the monthes ende,

This joly clerk, jankyn, that was so hende,

Hath wedded me with greet solempnytee;

630

And to hym yaf I al the lond and fee

That evere was me yeven therbifoore.

But afterward repented me ful soore;

He nolde suffre nothyng of my list.

By god! he smoot me ones on the lyst,

635

For that I rente out of his book a leef,

That of the strook myn ere wax al deef.

Stibourn I was as is a leonesse,

And of my tonge verray jangleresse,

And walke I wolde, as I had doon biforn,

640

From hous to hous, although he had it sworn;

For which he often tymes wolde preche,

And me of olde romayn geestes teche;

How he symplicius gallus lefte his wyf,

And hire forsook for terme of al his lyf,

645

Noght but for open-heveded he hir say

Lookynge out at his dore upon a day.

Another romayn tolde he me by name,

That, for his wyf was at a someres game

Withouten his wityng, he forsook hire eke.

650

And thanne wolde he upon his bible seke

That ilke proverbe of ecclesiaste

Where he comandeth, and forbedeth faste,

Man shal nat suffre his wyf go roule aboute.

Thanne wolde he seye right thus, withouten doute:

655

-whoso that buyldeth his hous al of salwes,

And priketh his blynde hors over the falwes,

And suffreth his wyf to go seken halwes,

Is worthy to been hanged on the galwes! –

But al for noght, I sette noght an hawe

660

Of his proverbes n' of his olde sawe,

Ne I wolde nat of hym corrected be.

I hate hym that my vices telleth me,

And so doo mo, God woot, of us than I.

This made hym with me wood al outrely;

665

I nolde noght forbere hym in no cas.

Now wol I seye yow sooth, by seint thomas,

Why that I rente out of his book a leef,

For which he smoot me so that I was deef.

He hadde a book that gladly, nyght and day,

670

For his desport he wolde rede alway;

He cleped it valerie and theofraste,

At which book he lough alwey ful faste.

And eek ther was somtyme a clerk at rome,

A cardinal, that highte seint jerome,

675

That made a book agayn jovinian;

In which book eek ther was tertulan,

Crisippus, trotula, and helowys,

That was abbesse nat fer fro parys;

And eek the parables of salomon,

680

Ovides art, and bookes many on,

And alle thise were bounden in o volume.

And every nyght and day was his custume,

Whan he hadde leyser and vacacioun

From oother worldly occupacioun,

685

To reden on this book of wikked wyves.

He knew of hem mo legendes and lyves

Than been of goode wyves in the bible.

For trusteth wel, it is an impossible

That any clerk wol speke good of wyves,

690

But if it be of hooly seintes lyves,

Ne of noon oother womman never the mo.

Who peyntede the leon, tel me who?

By god! if wommen hadde writen stories,

As clerkes han withinne hire oratories,

695

They wolde han writen of men moore wikkednesse

Than al the mark of adam may redresse.

The children of mercurie and of venus

Been in hir wirkyng ful contrarius;

Mercurie loveth wysdam and science,

700

And venus loveth ryot and dispence.

And, for hire diverse disposicioun,

Ech falleth in otheres exaltacioun.

And thus, God woot, mercurie is desolat

In pisces, wher venus is exaltat;

705

And venus falleth ther mercurie is reysed.

Therfore no womman of no clerk is preysed.

The clerk, whan he is oold, and may noght do

Of venus werkes worth his olde sho,

Thanne sit he doun, and writ in his dotage

710

That wommen kan nat kepe hir mariage!

But now to purpos, why I tolde thee

That I was beten for a book, pardee!

Upon a nyght jankyn, that was oure sire,

Redde on his book, as he sat by the fire,

715

Of eva first, that for hir wikkednesse

Was al mankynde broght to wrecchednesse,

For which that jhesu crist hymself was slayn,

That boghte us with his herte blood agayn.

Lo, heere expres of womman may ye fynde,

720

That womman was the los of al mankynde.

The redde he me how sampson loste his heres:

Slepynge, his lemman kitte it with hir sheres;

Thurgh which treson loste he bothe his yen.

Tho redde he me, if that I shal nat lyen,

725

Of hercules and of his dianyre,

That caused hym to sette hymself afyre.

No thyng forgat he the care and the wo

That socrates hadde with his wyves two;

How xantippa caste pisse upon his heed.

730

This sely man sat stille as he were deed;

He wiped his heed, namoore dorste he seyn,

But –er that thonder stynte, comth a reyn! –

Of phasipha, that was the queen of crete,

For shrewednesse, hym thoughte the tale swete;

735

Fy! spek namoore –it is a grisly thyng –

Of hire horrible lust and hir likyng.

Of clitermystra, for hire lecherye,

That falsly made hire housbonde for to dye,

He redde it with ful good devocioun.

740

He tolde me eek for what occasioun

Amphiorax at thebes loste his lyf.

Myn housbonde hadde a legende of his wyf,

Eriphilem, that for an ouche of gold

Hath prively unto the grekes told

745

Wher that hir housbonde hidde hym in a place,

For which he hadde at thebes sory grace.

Of lyvia tolde he me, and of lucye:

They bothe made hir housbondes for to dye;

That oon for love, that oother was for hate.

750

Lyvia hir housbonde, on an even late,

Empoysoned hath, for that she was his fo;

Lucia, likerous, loved hire housbonde so

That, for he sholde alwey upon hire thynke,

She yaf hym swich a manere love-drynke

755

That he was deed er it were by the morwe;

And thus algates housbondes han sorwe.

Thanne tolde he me how oon latumyus

Compleyned unto his felawe arrius

That in his gardyn growed swich a tree

760

On which he seyde how that his wyves thre

Hanged hemself for herte despitus.

– O leeve brother, –quod this arrius,

– Yif me a plante of thilke blissed tree,

And in my gardyn planted shal it bee. –

765

Of latter date, of wyves hath he red

That somme han slayn hir housbondes in hir bed,

And lete hir lecchour dighte hire al the nyght,

Whan that the corps lay in the floor upright.

And somme han dryve nayles in hir brayn,

770

Whil that they slepte, and thus they had hem slayn.

Somme han hem yeve poysoun in hire drynke.

He spak moore harm than herte may bithynke;

And therwithal he knew of mo proverbes

Than in this world ther growen gras or herbes.

775

– Bet is, –quod he, –thyn habitacioun

Be with a leon or foul dragoun,

Than with a womman usynge for to chyde –

– Bet is, –quod he, –hye in the roof abyde,

Than with an angry wyf doun in the hous;

780

They been so wikked and contrarious,

They haten that hir housbondes loven ay. –

He seyde, –a womman cast hir shame away,

Whan she cast of hir smok; –and forthermo,

– A fair womman, but she be chaast also,

785

Is lyk a gold ryng in a sowes nose. –

Who wolde wene, or who wolde suppose,

The wo that in myn herte was, and pyne?

And whan I saugh he wolde nevere fyne

To reden on this cursed book al nyght,

790

Al sodeynly thre leves have I plyght

Out of his book, right as he radde, and eke

I with my fest so took hym on the cheke

That in oure fyr he fil bakward adoun.

And he up stirte as dooth a wood leoun,

795

And with his fest he smoot me on the heed,

That in the floor I lay as I were deed.

And whan he saugh how stille that I lay,

He was agast, and wolde han fled his way,

Til atte laste out of my swogh I breyde.

800

– O! hastow slayn me, false theef? –I seyde,

– And for my land thus hastow mordred me?

Er I be deed, yet wol I kisse thee. –

And neer he cam and kneled faire adoun,

And seyde, –deere suster alisoun,

805

As help me god! I shal thee nevere smyte.

That I have doon, it is thyself to wyte.

Foryeve it me, and that I thee biseke! –

And yet eftsoones I hitte hym on the cheke,

And seyde, –theef, thus muchel am I wreke;

810

Now wol I dye, I may no lenger speke. –

But atte laste, with muchel care and wo,

We fille acorded by us selven two.

He yaf me al the bridel in myn hond,

To han the governance of hous and lond,

815

And of his tonge, and of his hond also;

And made hym brenne his book anon right tho.

And whan that I hadde geten unto me,

By maistrie, al the soveraynette,

And that he seyde, –myn owene trewe wyf,

820

Do as thee lust the terme of al thy lyf;

Keep thyn honour, and keep eek myn estaat –

After that day we hadden never debaat.

God helpe me so, I was to hym as kynde

As any wyf from denmark unto ynde,

825

And also trewe, and so was he to me.

I prey to god, that sit in magestee,

So blesse his soule for his mercy deere.

Now wol I seye my tale, if ye wol heere.

The frere lough, whan he hadde herd al this;

830

Now dame, quod he, so have I joye or blis,

This is a long preable of a tale!

And whan the somonour herde the frere gale,

Lo, quod the somonour, goddes armes two!

A frere wol entremette hym everemo.

835

Lo, goode men, a flye and eek a frere

Wol falle in every dyssh and eek mateere.

What spwkestow of preambulacioun?

What! amble, or trotte, or pees, or go sit doun!

Thou lettest oure disport in this manere.

840

Ye, woltow so, sire somonour? quod the frere;

Now, by my feith, I shal, er that I go,

Telle of a somonour swich a tale or two,

That alle the folk shal laughen in this place.

Now elles, frere, I bishrewe thy face,

845

Quod this somonour, and I bishrewe me,

But if I telle tales two or thre

Of freres, er I come to sidyngborne,

That I shal make thyn herte for to morne,

For wel I woot thy pacience is gon.

850

Oure hooste cride pees! and that anon!

And seyde, lat the womman telle hire tale.

Ye fare as folk that dronken ben of ale.

Do, dame, telle forth youre tale, and that is best.

Al redy, sire, quod she, right as yow lest,

855

If I have licence of this worthy frere.

Yis, dame, quod he, tel forth, and I wol heere.

Heere endeth the Wyf of

Bathe hir Prologe.