The Canterbury Tales

Fragment VII

The Monk's Tale

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Heere bigynneth the Monkes Tale

De Casibus Virorum Illustrium.

I wol biwaille, in manere of tragedie,

The harm of hem that stoode in heigh degree,

And fillen so that ther nas no remedie

To brynge hem out of hir adversitee.

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For certein, whan that fortune list to flee,

Ther may no man the cours of hire withholde.

Lat no man truste on blynd prosperitee;

Be war by thise ensamples trewe and olde.

Lucifer.

At lucifer, though he an angel were,

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And nat a man, at hym wol I bigynne.

For though fortune may noon angel dere,

From heigh degree yet fel he for his synne

Doun into helle, where he yet is inne.

O lucifer, brightest of angels alle,

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Now artow sathanas, that mayst nat twynne

Out of miserie, in which that thou art falle.

Adam.

Loo adam, in the feeld of damyssene,

With goddes owene fynger wroght was he,

And nat bigeten of mannes sperme unclene,

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And welte al paradys savynge o tree.

Hadde nevere worldly man so heigh degree

As adam, til he for mysgovernaunce

Was dryven out of hys hye prosperitee

To labour, and to helle, and to meschaunce.

Sampson.

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Loo sampsoun, which that was annunciat

By th' angel, longe er his nativitee,

And was to God almyghty consecrat,

And stood in noblesse whil he myghte see.

Was nevere swich another as was hee,

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To speke of strengthe, and threwith hardynesse;

But to his wyves toolde he his secree,

Thurgh which he slow hymself for wrecchednesse.

Sampsoun, this noble almyghty champioun,

Withouten wepen, save his handes tweye,

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He slow and al torente the leoun,

Toward his weddyng walkynge by the weye.

His false wyf koude hym so plese and preye

Til she his conseil knew; and she, untrewe,

Unto his foos his conseil gan biwreye,

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And hym forsook, and took another newe.

Thre hundred foxes took sampson for ire,

And alle hir tayles he togydre bond,

And sette the foxes tayles alle on fire,

For he on every tayl had knyt a brond;

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And they brende alle the cornes in that lond,

And alle hire olyveres, and vynes eke.

A thousand men he slow eek with his hond,

And hadde no wepen but an asses cheke.

Whan they were slayn, so thursted hym that he

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Was wel ny lorn, for which he gan to preye

That God wolde on his peyne han some pitee,

And sende hym drynke, or elles moste he deye;

And of this asses cheke, that was dreye,

Out of a wang-tooth sprang anon a welle,

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Of which he drank ynogh, shortly to seye;

Thus heelp hym god, as judicum telle.

By verray force at gazan, on a nyght,

Maugree philistiens of that citee,

The gates of the toun he hath up plyght,

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And on his bak ycaryed hem hath hee

Hye on an hill whereas men myghte hem see.

O noble, almyghty sampsoun, lief and deere,

Had thou nat toold to wommen thy secree,

In al this world ne hadde been thy peere!

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This sampson nevere ciser drank ne wyn,

Ne on his heed cam rasour noon ne sheere,

By precept of the messager divyn,

For alle his strengthes in his heeres weere.

And fully twenty wynter, yeer by yeere,

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He hadde of israel the governaunce.

But soone shal he wepe many a teere,

For wommen shal hym bryngen to meschaunce!

Unto his lemman dalida he tolde

That in his heeris al his strengthe lay,

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And falsly to his foomen she hym solde.

And slepynge in hir barm, upon a day,

She made to clippe or shere his heres away,

And made his foomen al his craft espyen;

And whan that they hym foond in this array,

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They bounde hym faste and putten out his yen.

But er his heere were clipped or yshave,

Ther was no boond with which men myghte him bynde;

But now is he in prison in a cave,

Were-as they made hym at the queerne grynde.

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O noble sampsoun, strongest of mankynde,

O whilom juge, in glorie and in richesse!

Now maystow wepen with thyne eyen blynde,

Sith thou fro wele art falle in wrecchednesse.

The ende of this caytyf was as I shal seye.

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His foomen made a feeste upon a day,

And made hym as hire fool biforn hem pleye;

And this was in a temple of greet array.

But atte laste he made a foul affray;

For he two pilers shook and made hem falle,

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And doun fil temple and al, and ther it lay, –

And slow hymself, and eek his foomen alle.

This is to seyn, the prynces everichoon,

And eek thre thousand bodyes, were ther slayn

With fallynge of the grete temple of stoon.

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Of sampson now wol I namoore sayn.

Beth war by this ensample oold and playn

That nomen telle hir conseil til hir wyves

Of swich thyng as they wolde han secree fayn,

If that it touche hir lymes or hir lyves.

Hercules.

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Of hercules, the sovereyn conquerour,

Syngen his werkes laude and heigh renoun;

For in his tyme of strengthe he was the flour.

He slow, and frate the skyn of the leoun;

He of centauros leyde the boost adoun;

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He arpies slow, the crueel bryddes felle;

He golden apples rafte of the dragoun;

He drow out cerberus, the hound of helle;

He slow the crueel tyrant busirus,

And made his hors to frete hem, flessh and boon;

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He slow the firy serpent venymus;

Of acheloys two hornes he brak oon;

And he slow cacus in a cave of stoon;

He slow the geant antheus the stronge;

He slow the grisly boor, and that anon;

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And bar the hevene on his nekke longe.

Was nevere wight, sith that this world bigan,

That slow so manye monstres as dide he.

Thurghout this wyde world his name ran,

What for his strengthe and for his heigh bountee,

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And every reawme wente he for to see.

He was so stoong that no man myghte hym lette.

At bothe the worldes endes, seith trophee,

In stide of boundes he a pileer sette.

A lemman hadde this noble champioun,

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That highte dianira, fressh as may;

And as thise clerkes maken mencioun,

She hath hym sent a sherte, fressh and gay.

Allas! this sherte, allas and weylaway!

Envenymed was so subtilly withalle,

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That er that he had wered it half a day,

It made his flessh al from his bones falle.

But nathelees somme clerkes hire excusen

By oon that highte nessus, that it maked.

Be as be may, I wol hire noght accusen;

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But on his bak this sherte he wered naked,

Til that his flessh was for the venym blaked.

And whan he saugh noon oother remedye,

In hoote coles he hath hymselven raked,

For with no venym deigned hym to dye.

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Thus starf this worthy, myghty hercules.

Lo, who may truste on fortune and throwe?

For hym that folweth al this world of prees,

Er he be war, is ofte yleyd ful lowe.

Ful wys is he that kan hymselven knowe!

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Beth war, for whan that fortune list to glose,

Thanne wayteth she her man to overthrowe

By swich a wey as he wolde leest suppose.

Nebchadnezzar.

The myghty trone, the precious tresor,

The glorious ceptre, and roial magestee

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That hadde the kyng nabugodonosor

With tonge unnethe may discryved bee.

He twyes wan jerusalem the citee;

The vessel of the temple he with hym ladde.

At babiloigne was his sovereyn see,

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In which his glorie and his delit he hadde.

The faireste children of the blood roial

Of israel he leet do gelde anoon,

And maked ech of hem to been his thral.

Amonges othere daniel was oon,

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That was the wiseste child of everychon;

For he the dremes of the kyng expowned,

Whereas in chaldeye clerk ne was ther noon

That wiste to what fyn his dremes sowned.

This proude kyng leet maken a statue of gold,

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Sixty cubites long and sevene in brede;

To which ymage bothe yong and oold

Comanded he to loute, and have in drede,

Or in a fourneys, ful of flambes rede,

He shal be brent that wolde noght obeye.

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But nevere wolde assente to that dede

Daniel, ne his yonge felawes tweye.

This kyng of kynges proud was and elaat;

He wente that god, that sit in magestee,

Ne myghte hym nat bireve of his estaat.

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But sodeynly he loste his dignytee,

And lyk a beest hym semed for to bee,

And eet hey as an oxe, and lay theroute

In reyn; with wilde beestes walked hee,

Til certein tyme was ycome aboute.

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And lik an egles fetheres wax his heres;

His nayles lyk a briddes clawes weere;

Til God relessed hym a certeyn yeres,

And yaf hym wit, and thanne with many a teere

He thanked god, and evere his lyf in feere

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Was he to doon amys or moore trespace;

And til that tyme he leyd was on his beere,

He knew that God was ful of myght and grace.

Belshazzar.

His sone, which that highte balthasar,

That heeld the regne after his fader day,

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He by his fader koude noght be war,

For proud he was of herte and of array;

And eek an ydolastre was he ay.

His hye estaat assured hym in pryde;

But fortune caste hym doun, and ther he lay,

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And sodeynly his regne gan divide.

A feeste he made unto his lordes alle,

Upon a tyme, and bad hem blithe bee;

And thanne his officeres gan he calle:

Gooth, bryngeth forth the vesseles, quod he,

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Whiche that my fader in his prosperitee

Out of the temple of jerusalem birafte;

And to oure hye goddes thanke we

Of honour that oure eldres with us lafte.

Hys wyf, his lordes, and his concubynes

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Ay dronken, whil hire appetites laste,

Out of thise noble vessels sondry wynes.

And on a wal this kyng his eyen caste,

And saugh an hand, armlees, that wroot ful faste,

For feere if which he quook and siked soore.

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This hand, that balthasar so soore agaste,

Wroot mane, techel phares, and namoore.

In all that land magicien was noon

That koude expoune what this lettre mente;

But daniel expowned it anoon,

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And seyde, kyng, God to thy fader lente

Glorie and honour, regne, tresour, rente;

And he was proud, and nothyng God ne dradde,

And therfore God greet wreche upon hym sente,

And hym birafte the regne that he hadde.

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He was out cast of mannes compaignye;

With asses was his habitacioun,

And eet hey as a beest in weet and drye,

Til that he knew, by grace and by resoun,

That God of hevene hath domynacioun

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Over every regne and every creature;

And thanne hadde God of hym compassioun,

And hym restored his regne and his figure.

Eek thou, that art his sone, art proud also,

And knowest alle thise thynges verraily,

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And art rebel to god, and art his foo.

Thou drank eek of his vessels boldely;

Thy wyf eek, and thy wenches, synfully

Dronke of the same vessels sondry wynys;

And heryest false goddes cursedly;

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Therfore to thee yshapen ful greet pyne ys.

This hand was sent from God that on the wal

Wroot mane, techel, phares, truste me;

Thy regne is doon, thou weyest noght at al.

Dyvyded is thy regne, and it shal be

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To medes and to perses yeven, quod he.

And thilke same nyght this kyng was slawe,

And darius occupieth his degree,

Thogh he therto hadde neither right ne lawe.

Lordynges, ensample heerby may ye take

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How that in lordshipe is no sikernesse;

For whan fortune wole a man forsake,

She bereth awey his regne and his richesse,

And eek his freendes, bothe moore and lesse.

For what man that hath freendes thurgh fortune,

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Mishap wol maken hem enemys, I gesse;

This proverbe is ful sooth and ful commune.

Zenobia.

Cenobia, of palymerie queene,

As writen persiens of hir noblesse,

So worthy was in armes and so keene,

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That no wight passed hire in hardynesse,

Ne in lynage, ne in oother gentillesse.

Of kynges blood of perce is she descended.

I seye nat that she hadde moost fairnesse,

But of his shap she myghte nat been amended.

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From hire childhede I fynde that she fledde

Office of wommen, and to wode she wente,

And many a wolde hertes blood she shedde

With arwes brode that she to hem sente.

She was so swift that she anon hem hente;

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And whan that she was elder, she wolde

Leouns, leopardes, and beres al torente,

And in hire armes weelde hem at hir wille.

She dorste wilde beestes dennes seke,

And rennen in the montaignes al the nyght,

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And slepen under a bussh, and she koude eke

Wrastlen, by verray force and varray myght,

With any yong man, were he never so wight.

Ther myghte no thyng in hir armes stonde.

She kepte hir maydenhod from every wight;

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To no man deigned hire for to be bonde.

But atte laste hir freendes han hire maried

To odenake, a prynce of that contree,

Al were it so that she hem longe taried.

And ye shul understonde how that he

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Hadde swiche fantasies as hadde she.

But natheless, whan they were knyt in-feere,

They lyved in joye and in felicitee;

For ech of hem hadde oother lief and deere.

Save o thyng, that she wolde nevere assente,

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By no wey, that he sholde by hire lye

But ones, for it was hire pleyn entente

To have a child, the world to multiplye;

And also soone as that she myghte espye

That she was nat with childe with that dede

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Thanne wolde she suffre hym doon his fantasye

Eft-soone, and nat but oones, out of drede.

And if she were with childe at thilke cast,

Namoore sholde he pleyen thilke game

Til fully fourty wikes weren past;

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Thanne wolde she ones suffre hym do the same.

Al were this odenake wolde or tame,

He gat namoore of hire, for thus she seyde,

It was to wyves lecherie and shame,

In oother caas, if that men with hem pleyde.

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Two sones by this odenake hadde she,

The whiche she kepte in verty and lettrure;

But now unto oure tale turne we.

I seye, so worshipful a creature,

And wys therwith, and large with mesure,

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So penyble in the werre, and curteis eke,

Ne moore laboure myghte in werre endure,

Was noon, though al this world men sholde seke.

Hir riche array ne myghte nat be told,

As wel in vessel as in hire clothyng.

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She was al clad in perree and in gold,

And eek she lafte noght, for noon huntyng,

To have of sondry tonges ful knowyng,

Whan that she leyser hadde; and for to entende

To lerne bookes was al hire likyng,

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How she in vertu myghte hir lyf dispende.

And shortly of this storie for to trete,

So doghty was hir housbonde and eek she,

That they conquered manye regnes grete

In the orient, with many a fair citee

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Apertanaunt unto the magestee

Of rome, and with strong hond held hem ful faste,

Ne nevere myghte hir foomen doon hem flee,

Ay whil that odenakes dayes laste.

Hir batailles, whoso list hem for to rede,

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Agayn spor the kyng and othere mo,

And how that al this proces fil in dede,

Why she conquered, and what title had therto,

And after, of hir meschief and hire wo,

How that she was biseged and ytake, –

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Lat hym unto my maister petrak go,

That writ ynough of this, I undertake.

Whan odenake was deed, she myghtily

The regnes heeld, and with hire propre hond

Agayn hir foos she faught so cruelly

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That ther nas kyng ne prynce in al that lond

That he nas glad, if he that grace fond,

That she ne wolde upon his lond werreye.

With hire they maden alliance by bond

To been in pees, and lete hire ride and pleye.

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The emperour of rome, claudius

Ne hym bifore, the romayn galien,

Ne dorste nevere been so corageus,

Ne noon ermyn, ne noon egipcien,

Ne surrien, ne noon arabyen,

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Withinne the feeld that dorste with hire fighte,

Lest that she wolde hem with hir handes slen,

Or with hir meignee putten hem to flighte.

In kynges habit wente hir sones two,

As heires of hir fadres regnes alle,

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And hermanno and thymalao

Hir names were, as persiens hem calle.

But ay fortune hath in hire hony galle;

This myghty queene may no while endure.

Fortune out of hir regne made hire falle

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To wrecchednesse and to mysaventure.

Aurelian, whan that the governaunce

Of rome cam into his handes tweye,

He shoop upon this queene to doon vengeaunce.

And with his legions he took his weye

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Toward cenobie, and shortly for to seye,

He made hire flee, and atte laste hire hente,

And fettred hire, and eek hire children tweye,

And wan the land, and hoom to rome he wente.

Amonges othere thynges that he wan,

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Hir chaar, that was with gold wroght and perree,

This grete romayn, this aurelian,

Hath with hym lad, for that men sholde it see.

Biforen his triumphe walketh shee,

With gilte cheynes on hire nekke hangynge.

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Coroned was she, as after hir degree,

And ful of perree charged hire clothynge.

Allas, fortune! she that whilom was

Dredeful to kynges and to emperoures,

Now gaureth al the peple on hire, allas!

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And she that helmed was in starke stoures,

And wan by force townes stronge and toures,

Shal on hir heed now were a vitremyte;

And she that bar the ceptre ful of floures

Shal bere a distaf, hire cost for to quyte

Pedro of Castille.

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O noble, o worthy petro, glorie of spayne,

Whom fortune heeld so hye in magestee,

Wel oghten men thy pitous deeth complayne!

Out of thy land thy brother made thee flee,

And after, at a seege, by subtiltee,

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Thou were bitraysed and lad unto his tente,

Where as he with his owene hand slow thee,

Succedynge in thy regne and in thy rente.

The feeld of snow, with th' egle of blak therinne,

Caught with the lymrod coloured as the gleede,

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He brew this cursednesse and al this synne.

The wikked nest was werker of this nede.

Noght charles olyver, that took ay heede

Of trouthe and honoure, but of armorike

Genylon-olyver, corrupt for meede,

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Broghte this worthy kyng in swich a brike.

De Petro Rege de Cipro.

O worthy petro, kyng of cipre, also,

That alisandre wan by heigh maistrie,

Ful many an hethen wroghtestow ful wo,

Of which thyne owene liges hadde envie,

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And for no thyng but for thy chivalrie

They in thy bed han slayn thee by the morwe.

Thus kan fortune hir wheel governe and gye,

And out of joye brynge men to sorwe.

De Barnabo de Lumbardia.

Off melan grete barnabo viscounte,

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God of delit, and scourge of lumbardye,

Why sholde I nat thyn infortune acounte,

Sith in estaat thow cloumbe were so hye?

Thy brother sone, that was thy double allye,

For he thy nevew was, and sone-in-lawe,

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Withinne his prisoun made thee to dye, –

But why, ne how, noot I that thou were slawe.

De Hugelino Comite de Pize.

Off the erl hugelyn of pyze the langour

Ther may no tonge telle for pitee.

But litel out of pize stant a tour,

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In which tour in prisoun put was he,

And with hym been his litel children thre;

The eldest scarsly fyf yeer was of age.

Allas, fortune! it was greet crueltee

Swiche briddes for to putte in swich a cage!

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Dampned was he to dyen in that prisoun,

For roger, which that bisshop was of pize,

Hadde on hym maad a fals suggestioun,

Thurgh which the peple gan upon hym rise,

And putten hym to prisoun, in swich wise

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As ye han herd, and mete and drynke he hadde

So smal, that wel unnethe it may suffise,

And therwithal it was ful povre and badde.

And on a day bifil that in that hour

Whan that his mete wont was to be broght,

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The gayler shette the dores of the tour.

He herde it wel, but he spak right noght,

And in his herte anon ther fil a thoght

That they for hunger wolde doon hym dyen.

Allas! quod he, allas, that I was wroght!

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Therwith the teeris fillen from his yen.

His yonge sone, that thre yeer was of age,

Unto hym seyde, fader, why do ye wepe?

Whanne wol the gayler bryngen oure potage?

Is ther no morsel breed that ye do kepe?

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I am so hungry that I may nat slepe.

Now wolde God that I myghte slepen evere!

Thanne sholde nat hunger in my wombe crepe;

Ther is no thyng, save breed, that me were levere.

Thus day by day this child bigan to crye,

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Til in his fadres barm adoun it lay,

And seyde, farewel, fader, I moot dye!

And kiste his fader, and dyde the same day.

And whan the woful fader deed it say,

For wo his armes two he gan to byte,

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And seyde, allas, fortune, and weylaway!

Thy false wheel my wo al may I wyte.

His children wende that it for hunger was

That he his armes gnow, and nat for wo,

And seyde, fader, do nat so, allas!

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But rather ete the flessh upon us two.

Oure flessh thou yaf us, take oure flessh us fro,

And ete ynogh, – right thus they to hym seyde,

And after that, withinne a day or two,

They leyde hem in his lappe adoun and deyde.

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Hymself, despeired, eek for hunger starf;

Thus ended is this myghty erl of pize.

From heigh estaat fortune awey hym carf.

Of this tragedie it oghte ynough suffise;

Whoso wol here it in a lenger wise,

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Redeth the grete poete of ytaille

That highte dant, for he kan al devyse

Fro point to point, nat o word wol he faille.

Nero.

Although that nero were as vicius

As any feend that lith ful lowe adoun,

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Yet he, as telleth us swetonius,

This wyde world hadde in subjeccioun,

Bothe est and west, (south), and septemtrioun.

Of rubies, saphires, and of peerles white

Were alle his clothes brouded up and doun;

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For he in gemmes greetly gan delite.

Moore delicaat, moore pompous of array,

Moore proud was nevere emperour than he;

That like clooth that he hadde wered o day,

After that tyme he nolde it nevere see.

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Nettes of gold threed hadde he greet plentee

To fisshe in tybre, whan hym liste pleye.

His lustes were al lawe in his decree,

For fortune as his freend hym wolde obeye.

He rome brende for his delicasie;

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The senatours he slow upon a day

To heere how that men wolde wepe and crie;

And slow his brother, and by his suster lay.

His mooder made he in pitous array,

For he hire wombe slitte to biholde

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Where he conceyved was; so weilaway!

That he so litel of his mooder tolde.

No teere out of his eyen for that sighte

Ne cam, but seyde, a fair womman was she!

Greet wonder is how that he koude or myghte

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Be domesman of hire dede beautee.

The wyn to bryngen hym comanded he,

And drank anon, – noon oother wo he made.

Whan myght is joyned unto crueltee,

Allas, to depe wol the venym wade!

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In yowthe a maister hadde this emperour

To teche hym letterure and curteisye,

For of moralitee he was the flour,

As in his tyme, but if bookes lye;

And whil this maister hadde of hym maistrye,

2500

He maked hym so konnyng and so sowple

That longe tyme it was er tirannye

Or any vice dorste on hym uncowple.

This seneca, of which that I devyse,

By cause nero hadde of hym swich drede,

2505

For he fro vices wolde hym ay chastise

Discreetly, as by word and nat by dede, –

Sire, wolde he seyn, an emperour moot nede

Be vertuous and hate tirannye –

For which he in a bath made hym to blede

2510

On bothe his armes, til he moste dye.

This nero hadde eek of acustumaunce

In youthe agayns his maister for to ryse,

Which afterward hym thoughte a greet grevaunce;

Therefore he made hym dyen in this wise.

2515

But natheless this seneca the wise

Chees in a bath to dye in this manere

Rather than han another tormentise;

And thus hath nero slayn his maister deere.

Now fil it so that fortune liste no lenger

2520

The ye pryde of nero to cherice,

For though that he were strong, yet was she strenger.

She thoughte thus, by god! I am to nyce

To sette a man that is fulfild of vice

In heigh degree, and emperour hym calle.

2525

By god! out of his sete I wol hym trice;

Whan he leest weneth, sonnest shal he falle.

The peple roos upon hym on a nyght

For his defaute, and whan he it espied,

Out of his dores anon he hath hym dight

2530

Allone, and ther he wende han been allied,

He knokked faste, and ay the moore he cried,

The fastere shette they the dores alle.

Tho wiste he wel, he hadde himself mysgyed,

And wente his wey; no lenger dorste he calle.

2535

The peple cried and rombled up and doun,

That with his erys herde he how they seyde,

Shere is this false tiraunt, this neroun?

For fere almoost out of his wit he breyde,

And to his goddes pitously he preyde

2540

For socour, but it myghte nat bityde.

For drede of this, hym thoughte that he deyde,

And ran into a gardyn hym to hyde.

And in this gardyn foond he cherles tweye

That seten by a fyr full greet and reed.

2545

And to thise cherles two he gan to preye

To sleen hym, and to girden of his heed,

That to his body, whan that he were deed,

Were no despit ydoon for his defame.

Hymself he slow, he koude no bettre reed,

2550

Of which fortune lough, and hadde a game.

De Oloferno.

Was nevere capitayn under a kyng

That regnes mo putte in subjeccioun,

Ne strenger was in feeld of alle thyng,

As in his tyme, ne gretter of renoun,

2555

Ne moore pompous in heigh presumpcioun

Than oloferne, which fortune ay kiste

So likerously, and ladde hym up and doun,

Til that his heed was of, er that he wiste.

Nat oonly that this world hadde hym in awe

2560

For lesynge of richesse or libertee,

But he made every man reneyen his lawe.

Nabugodonosor was god, seyde hee;

Noon oother God sholde adoured bee.

Agayns his heeste no wight dar trespace,

2565

Save in bethulia, a strong citee,

Where eliachim a preest was of that place.

But taak kep of the deth of oloferne:

Amydde his hoost he dronke lay a-nyght,

Withinne his tente, large as is a berne,

2570

And yet, for al his pompe and al his myght,

Judith, a womman, as he lay upright

Slepynge, his heed of smoot, and from his tente

Ful pryvely she stal from every wight,

And with his heed unto hir toun she wente.

De Rege Antiocho illustri.

2575

What nedeth it of kyng anthiochus

To telle his hye roial magestee,

His hye pride, his werkes venymus?

For swich another was ther noon as he.

Rede which that he was in machabee,

2580

And rede the proude wordes that he seyde,

And why he fil fro heigh prosperitee,

And in an hill how wrecchedly he deyde.

Fortune hym hadde enhaunced so in pride

That verraily he wende he myghte attayne

2585

Unto the sterres upon every syde,

And in balance weyen ech montayne,

And alle the floodes of the see restrayne.

And goddes peple hadde he moost in hate;

Hem wolde he sleen in torment and in payne,

2590

Wenynge that God ne myghte his pride abate.

And for that nichanore and thymothee

Of jewes weren venquysshed myghtily,

Unto the jewes swich an hate hadde he

That he bad greithen his chaar ful hastily,

2595

And swoor, and seyde ful despitously

Unto jerusalem he wolde eftsoone,

To wreken his ire on it ful cruelly;

But of his purpos he was let ful soone.

God for his manace hym so soore smoot

2600

With invisible wounde, ay incurable,

That in his guttes carf it so and boot

That his peynes weren importable.

And certeinly the wreche was resonable,

For many a mannes guttes dide he peyne.

2605

But from his purpos cursed and dampnable,

For al his smert, he wolde hym nat restreyne,

But bad anon apparaillen his hoost;

And sodeynly, er he was of it war,

God daunted al his pride and al his boost.

2610

For he so soore fil out of his char

That it his limes and his skyn totar,

So that he neyther myghte go ne ryde,

But in a chayer men aboute hym bar,

Al forbrused, bothe bak and syde.

2615

The wreche of God hym smoot so cruelly

That thurgh his body wikked wormes crepte,

And therwithal he stank so horribly

That noon of al his meynee that hym kepte,

Theither so he wook, or ellis slepte,

2620

Ne myghte noght the stynk of hym endure.

In this meschief he wayled and eek wepte,

And knew God lord of every creature.

To al his hoost and to hymself also

Ful wlatsom was the stynk of his careyne;

2625

No man ne myghte hym bere to ne fro.

And in this stynk and this horrible peyne,

He starf ful wrecchedly in a monteyne.

Thus hath this robbour and this homycide,

That many a man made to wepe and pleyne,

2630

Swich gerdoun as bilongeth unto pryde.

De Alexandro

The storie of alisaundre is so commune

That every wight that hath discrecioun

Hath herd somwhat or al of his fortune.

This wyde world, as in conclusioun,

2635

He wan by strengthe, or for his hye renoun

They weren glad for pees unto hym sende.

The pride of man and beest he leyde adoun,

Wherso he cam, unto the worldes ende.

Comparisoun myghte nevere yet maked

2640

Bitwixe hym and another conquerour;

For al this world for drede of hym hath quaked.

He was of knyghthod and of fredom flour;

Fortune hym made the heir of hire honour.

Save wyn and wommen, no thing myghte aswage

2645

His hye entente in armes and labour,

So was he ful of leonyn corage.

What pris were it to hym, though I yow tolde

Of darius, and an hundred thousand mo

Of kynges, prices, dukes, erles bolde

2650

Whiche he conquered, and broghte hem into wo?

I seye, as fer as man may ryde or go,

The world was his, – what sholde I moore devyse?

For though I write or tolde yow everemo

Of his knyghthod, it myghte nat suffise.

2655

Twelf yeer he regned, as seith machabee.

Philippes sone of macidoyne he was,

That first was kyng in grece the contree.

O worthy, gentil alisandre, allas,

That evere sholde fallen swich a cas!

2660

Empoysoned of thyn owene folk thou weere;

Thy sys fortune hath turned into aas,

And yet for thee ne weep she never a teere.

Who shal me yeven teeris to compleyne

The deeth of gentillesse and of franchise,

2665

That al the world weelded in his demeyne,

And yet hym thoughte it myghte nat suffise?

So ful was his corage of heigh emprise.

Allas! who shal me helpe to endite

False fortune, and poyson to despise,

2670

The whiche two of al this wo I wyte?

De Julio Cesare.

By wisedom, manhede, and by greet labour,

From humble bed to roial magestee

Up roos he julius, the conquerour,

That wan al th' occident by land and see,

2675

By strengthe of hand, or elles by tretee,

And unto rome made hem tributarie;

And sitthe of rome the emperour was he,

Til that fortune weex his adversarie.

O myghty cesar, that in thessalie

2680

Agayn pompeus, fader thyn in lawe,

That of the orient hadde al the chivalrie

As fer as that the day bigynneth dawe,

Thou thurgh thy knyghthod hast hem take and slawe,

Save fewe folk that with pompeus fledde,

2685

Thurgh which thou puttest al th' orient in awe.

Thanke fortune, that so wel thee spedde!

But now a litel while I wol biwaille

This pompeus, this noble governour

Of rome, which that fleigh at this bataille.

2690

I seye, oon of his men, a fals traitour,

His heed of smoot, to wynnen hym favour

Of julius, and hym the heed he broghte.

Allas, pompeye, of th' orient conquerour,

That fortune unto swich a fyn thee broghte!

2695

To rome agayn repaireth julius

With his triumphe, lauriat ful hey;

But on a tyme brutus cassius,

That evere hadde of his hye estaat envye,

Ful prively hath maad conspiracye

2700

Agayns this julius in subtil wise,

And caste the place in which he sholde dye

With boydekyns, as I shal yow devyse.

This julius to the capitolie wente

Upon a day, as he was wont to goon,

2705

And in the capitolie anon hym hente

This false brutus and his othere foon,

And stiked hym with boydekyns anoon

With many a wounde, and thus they lete hym lye;

But nevere gronte he at no strook but oon,

2710

Or elles at two, but if his storie lye.

So manly was this julius of herte,

And so wel lovede estaatly honestee,

That though his deedly woundes soore smerte,

His mantel over his hypes caste he,

2715

For no man sholde seen his privetee;

And he lay of diyng in a traunce,

And wiste verraily that deed was hee,

Of honestee yet hadde he remembraunce.

Lucan, to thee this storie I recomende,

2720

And to swetoun, and to valerie also,

That of this storie writen word and ende,

How that to thise grete conqueroures two

Fortune was first freend, and sitthe foo.

No man ne truste upon hire favour longe,

2725

But have hire in awayt for everemoo;

Witnesse on alle thise conqueroures stronge.

Croesus.

This riche cresus, whilom kyng of lyde,

Of which cresus cirus soore hym dradde,

Yet was he caught amyddes al his pryde,

2730

And to be brent men to the fyr hym ladde.

But swich a reyn doun fro the welkne shadde

That slow the fyr, and made hym to escape;

But to be war no grace yet he hadde,

Til fortune on the galwes made hym gape.

2735

Whanne he escaped was, he kan nat stente

For to bigynne a newe werre agayn.

He wende wel, for that fortune hym sente

Swich hap that he escaped thurgh the rayn,

That of his foos he myghte nat be slayn;

2740

And eek a sweven upon a nyght he mette,

Of which he was so proud and eek so fayn

That in vengeance he al his herte sette.

Upon a tree he was, as that hym thoughte,

Ther juppiter hym wessh, bothe bak and syde,

2745

And phebus eek a fair towaille hym broughte

To dryen hym with; and therfore was his pryde,

And to his doghter, that stood hym bisyde,

Which that he knew in heigh sentence habounde,

He bad hire telle hym what it signyfyde,

2750

And she his dreem bigan right thus expounde:

The tree, quod she, the galwes is to meene,

And juppiter bitokneth snow and reyn,

And phebus, with his towaille so clene,

Tho been the sonne stremes for to seyn.

2755

Thou shalt anhanged be, fader, certeyn;

Reyn shal thee wasshe, and sonne shal thee drye.

Thus warned hym ful plat and eek ful pleyn

His doghter, which that called was phanye.

Anhanged was cresus, the proude kyng;

2760

His roial trone myghte hym nat availle.

Tragedies noon oother maner thyng

Ne kan in syngyng crie ne biwaille

But that fortune alwey wole assaille

With unwar strook the regnes that been proude;

2765

For whan men trusteth hire, thanne wol she faille,

And covere hire brighte face with a clowde.

Explicit Tragedia.