The Canterbury Tales

Fragment VIII

The Canon's Yeoman's Tale

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Heere bigynneth the

Chanouns Yeman his Tale.

Pars prima

720

With this chanoun I dwelt have seven yeer,

And of his science am I never the neer.

Al that I hadde I have lost therby,

And, God woot, so hath many mo than I.

Ther I was wont to be right fressh and gay

725

Of clothyng and of oother good array,

Now may I were an hose upon myn heed;

And wher my colour was bothe fressh and reed

Now is it wan and of a leden hewe –

Whoso it useth, soore shal he rewe! –

730

And of my swynk yet blered is myn ye.

Lo! which avantage is to multiplie!

That slidynge science hath me maad so bare

That I have no good, wher that evere I fare;

And yet I am endetted so therby,

735

Of gold that I have borwed, trewely,

That whil I lyve I shal it quite nevere.

Lat every man be war by me for evere!

What maner man that casteth hym therto,

If he continue, I holde his thrift ydo.

740

For so helpe me god, therby shal he nat wynne,

But empte his purs, and make his wittes thynne.

And whan he, thurgh his madnesse and folye,

Hath lost his owene good thurgh jupartye,

Thanne he exciteth oother folk therto,

745

To lesen hir good, as he hymself hath do.

For unto shrewes joye it is and ese

To have hir felawes in peyne and disese.

Thus was I ones lerned of a clerk.

Of that no charge, I wol speke of oure werk.

750

Whan we been there as we shul exercise

Oure elvysshe craft, we semen wonder wise,

Oure termes been so clerigal and so queynte.

I blowe the fir til that myn herte feynte.

What sholde I tellen ech proporcion

755

Of thynges whiche that we werche upon

As on fyve or sixe ounces, may wel be,

Of silver, or som oother quantitee –

And bisye me to telle yow the names

Of orpyment, brent bones, iren squames,

760

That into poudre grounden been ful smal;

And in an erthen pot how put is al,

And salt yput in, and also papeer,

Biforn thise poudres that I speke of heer;

And wel ycovered with a lampe of glas;

765

And of muche oother thyng which that ther was;

And of the pot and glasses enlutyng,

That of the eyr myghte passe out nothyng;

And of the esy fir, and smart also,

Which that was maad, and of the care and wo

770

That we hadde in oure matires sublymyng,

And in amalgamyng and calcenyng

Of quyksilver, yclept mercurie crude?

For alle oure sleightes we kan nat conclude.

Oure orpyment and sublymed mercurie,

775

Oure grounden litarge eek on the porfurie,

Of ech of thise of ounces a certeyn –

Noght helpeth us, oure labour is in veyn.

Ne eek oure spirites ascencioun,

Ne oure materes that lyen al fix adoun,

780

Mowe in oure werkyng no thyng us availle,

For lost is al oure labour and travaille;

And al the cost, a twenty devel waye,

Is lost also, which we upon it laye.

Ther is also ful many another thyng

785

That is unto oure craft apertenyng.

Though I by ordre hem nat reherce kan,

By cause that I am a lewed man,

Yet wol I telle hem as they come to mynde,

Thogh I ne kan nat sette hem in hir kynde:

790

As boole armonyak, verdegrees, boras,

And sondry vessels maad of erthe and glas,

Oure urynales and oure descensories,

Violes, crosletz, and sublymatories,

Cucurbites and alambikes eek,

795

And othere swiche, deere ynough a leek.

Nat nedeth it for to reherce hem alle, –

Watres rubifyng, and boles galle,

Arsenyk, sal armonyak and brymstoon;

And herbes koude I telle eek many oon,

800

As egremoyne, valerian, and lunarie,

And othere swiche, if that me liste tarie;

Oure lampes brennyng bothe nyght and day,

To brynge aboute oure purpos, if we may;

Oure fourneys eek of calcinacioun,

805

And of watres albificacioun;

Unslekked lym,chalk, and gleyre of an ey,

Poudres diverse, asshes, donge, pisse, and cley,

Cered pokkets, sal peter, vitriole,

And diverse fires maad of wode and cole;

810

Sal tartre, alkaly, and sal preparat,

And combust materes and coagulat;

Cley maad with hors of mannes heer, and oille

Of tartre, alum glas, berme, wort, and argoille,

Resalgar, and oure materes enbibyng,

815

And eek of oure materes encorporyng,

And of oure silver citrinacioun,

Oure cementyng and fermentacioun,

Oure yngottes, testes, and many mo.

I wol yow telle, as was me taught also,

820

The foure spirites and the bodies sevene,

By ordre, as ofte I herde my lord hem nevene.

The firste spirit quyksilver called is,

The seconde orpyment, the thridde, ywis,

Sal armonyak, and the ferthe brymstoon.

825

The bodyes sevene eek, lo! hem heere anoon:

Sol gold is, and luna silver we threpe,

Mars ire, mercurie quyksilver we clepe,

Saturnus leed, and juppiter is tyn,

And venus coper, by my fader kyn!

830

This cursed craft whoso wole excercise,

He shal no good han that hym may suffise;

For al the good he spendeth theraboute

He lese shal; therof have I no doute.

Whoso that listeth outen his folie,

835

Lat hym come forth and lerne multiplie;

And every man that oght hath in his cofre,

Lat hym appiere, and wexe a philosophre.

Ascaunce that craft is so light to leere?

Nay, nay, God woot, al be he monk or frere,

840

Preest or chanoun, or any oother wyght,

Though he sitte at his book bothe day and nyght

In lernyng of this elvysshe nyce loore,

Al is in veyn, and parde! muchel moore.

To lerne a lewed man this subtiltee –

845

Fy! spek nat therof, for it wol nat bee;

And konne he letterure, or konne he noon,

As in effect, he shal fynde it al oon.

For bothe two, by my savacioun,

Concluden in multiplicacioun

850

Ylike wel, whan they han al ydo;

This is to seyn, they faillen bothe two.

Yet forgat I to maken rehersaille

Of watres corosif, and of lymaille,

And of bodies mollificacioun,

855

And also of hire induracioun;

Oilles, ablucions, and metal fusible, –

To tellen al wolde passen any bible

That owher is; wherfore, as for beste,

Of alle thise names now wol I me reste.

860

For, as I trowe, I have yow toold ynowe

To reyse a feend, al looke he never so rowe.

A!nay! lat be; the philosophres stoon,

Elixer clept, we sechen faste echoon;

For hadde we hym, thanne were we siker ynow.

865

But unto God of hevene I make avow,

For al oure craft, whan we han al ydo,

And al oure sleighte, he wol nat come us to.

He hath ymaad us spenden muchel good,

For sorwe of which almoost we wexen wood,

870

But that good hope crepeth in oure herte,

Supposynge evere, though we sore smerte,

To be releeved by hym afterward.

Swich supposyng and hope is sharp and hard;

I warne yow wel, it is to seken evere.

875

That futur temps hath maad men to dissevere,

In trust therof, from al that evere they hadde.

Yet of that art they kan nat wexen sadde,

For unto hem it is a bitter sweete, –

So semeth it, – for nadde they but a sheete,

880

Which that they myghte wrappe hem inne a-nyght,

And a brat to walken inne by daylyght,

They wolde hem selle and spenden on this craft.

They kan nat stynte til no thyng be laft.

And everemoore, where that evere they goon

885

Men may hem knowe by smel of brymstoon.

For al the world they stynken as a goot;

Hir savour is so rammyssh and so hoot

That though a man from hem a mile be,

The savour wole infecte hym, trusteth me.

890

And thus by smel, and by threedbare array,

If that men liste, this folk they knowe may.

And if a man wole aske hem pryvely

Why they been clothed so unthriftily,

They right anon wol rownen is his ere,

895

And seyn that if that they espied were,

Men wolde hem slee by cause of hir science.

Lo, thus this folk bitrayen innocence!

Passe over this; if go my tale unto.

Er that the pot be on the fir ydo,

900

Of metals with a certeyn quantitee,

My lord hem tempreth, and no man be he –

Now he is goon, I dar seyn boldely –

For, as men seyn, he kan doon craftily.

Algate I woot wel he hath swich a name,

905

And yet ful ofte he renneth in a blame.

And wite ye how? ful ofte it happeth so,

The pot tobreketh, and farewel, al is go!

Thise metals been of so greet violence,

Oure walles mowe nat make hem resistence,

910

But if they weren wroght of lym and stoon;

They percen so, and thurgh the wal they goon.

And somme of hem synken into the ground –

Thus han we lost by tymes many a pound –

And somme are scatered al the floor aboute;

915

Somme lepe into the roof. Withouten doute,

Though that the feend noght in oure sighte hym shewe,

I trowe he with us be, that ilke shrewe!

In helle, where that he lord is and sire,

Nis ther moore wo, ne moore rancour ne ire.

920

Whan that oure pot is broke, as I have sayd,

Every man chit, and halt hym yvele apayd.

Somme seyde it was long on the fir makyng;

Somme seyde nay, it was on the blowyng, –

Thanne was I fered, for that was myn office.

925

Straw! quod the thridde, ye been lewed and nyce.

It was nat tempred as it oghte be.

Nay, quod the fourthe, stynt and herkne me.

By cause oure fir ne was nat maad of beech,

That is the cause, and oother noon, so theech!

930

I kan nat telle wheron it was long,

But wel I woot greet strif is us among.

What, quod my lord, ther is namoore to doone;

Of thise perils I wol be war eftsoone.

I am right siker that the pot was crased.

935

Be as be may, be ye no thyng amased;

As usage is, lat swepe the floor as swithe,

Plukke up youre hertes, and beeth glad and blithe.

The mullok on an heep ysweped was,

And on the floor ycast a canevas,

940

And al this mullok in a syve ythrowe,

And sifted, and ypiked mayn a throwe.

Pardee, quod oon, somwhat of oure metal

Yet is ther heere, though that we han nat al.

Although this thyng myshapped have as now,

945

Another tyme it may be well ynow.

Us moste putte oure good in aventure.

A marchant, pardee, may nat ay endure,

Trusteth me wel, in his prosperitee.

Somtyme his good is drowned in the see,

950

And somtyme comth it sauf unto the londe.

Pees! quod my lord, the nexte tyme I wol fonde

To bryngen oure craft al in another plite,

And but I do, sires, lat me han the wite.

Ther was defaute in somwhat, wel I woot,

955

Another seyde the fir was over-hoot, –

But, be it hoot or coold, I dar seye this,

That we concluden everemoore amys.

We faille of that which that we wolden have,

And in oure madnesse everemoore we rave.

960

And whan we been togidres everichoon,

Every man semeth a salomon.

But al thyng which that shineth as the gold

Nis nat gold, as that I have herd it told;

Ne every appul that is fair at eye

965

Ne is nat good, what so men clappe or crye.

Right so, lo, fareth it amonges us:

He that semeth the wiseste, by jhesus!

Is moost fool, whan it cometh to the preef;

And he that semeth trewest is the theef.

970

That shul ye knowe, er that I fro yow wende,

By that I of my tale have maad an ende.

Explicit prima pars.

Et sequitur pars secunda.

Ther is a chanoun of religioun

Amounges us, wolde infecte al a toun,

Thogh it as greet were as was nynyvee,

975

Rome, alisaundre, troye, and othere three.

His sleightes and his infinite falsnesse

Ther koude no man writen, as I gesse,

Though that he myghte lyve a thousand yeer.

In al this world of falshede nis his peer;

980

For in his termes he wol hym so wynde,

And speke his wordes in so sly a kynde,

Whanne he commune shal with any wight,

That he wol make hym doten anonright,

But it a feend be, as hymselven is.

985

Ful many a man hath he bigiled er this,

And wole, if that he lyve may a while;

And yet men ride and goon ful many a mile

Hym for to seke and have his aqueyntaunce,

Noght knowynge of his false governaunce.

990

And if yow list to yeve me audience,

I wol it tellen heere in youre presence.

But worshipful chanons religious,

Ne demeth nat that I sclaundre youre hous,

Although that my tale of a chanoun bee.

995

Of every ordre som shrewe is, pardee,

And God forbede that al a compaignye

Sholde rewe o singuleer mannes folye.

To sclaundre yow is no thyng myn entente,

But to correcten that is mys I mente.

1000

This tale was nat oonly toold for yow

But eek for othere mo; ye woot wel how

That among cristes apostelles twelve

Ther nas no traytour but judas hymselve.

Thanne why sholde al the remenant have a blame

1005

That giltlees were? by yow I seye the same,

Save oonly this, if ye wol herke me:

If any judas in youre covent be,

Remoeveth hym bitymes, I yow rede,

If shame or los may causen any drede.

1010

And beeth no thyng displesed, I yow preye,

But in this cas herkneth what I shal seye.

In londoun was a preest, an annueleer,

That therinne dwelled hadde mayn a yeer,

Which was so plesaunt and se servysable

1015

Unto the wyf, where as he was at table,

That she wolde suffre hym no thyng for to paye

For bord ne clothyng, wente he never so gaye;

And spendyng silver hadde he right ynow.

Therof no fors; I wol procede as now,

1020

And telle forth my tale of the chanoun

That broghte this preest to confusioun.

This false chanon cam upon a day

Unto this preestes chambre, wher he lay,

Bisechynge hym to lene hym a certeyn

1025

Of gold, and he wolde quite it hym ageyn.

Leene me a marc, quod he, but dayes three,

And at my day I wol it quiten thee.

And if so be that thow me fynde fals,

Another day do hange me by the hals!

1030

This preest hym took a marc, and that as swithe,

And this chanoun hym thanked ofte sithe,

And took his leve, and wente forth his weye,

And at the thridee day broghte his moneye,

And to the preest he took his gold agayn,

1035

Wherof this preest was wonder glad and fayn.

Certes, quod he, no thyng anoyeth me

To lene a man a noble, or two, or thre,

Or what thyng were in my possessioun,

Whan he so trewe is of condicioun

1040

That in no wise he breke wole his day;

To swich a man I kan never seye nay.

What! quod this chanoun, sholde I be untrewe?

Nay, that were thyng yfallen al of newe.

Trouthe is a thyng that I wol evere kepe

1045

Unto that day in which that I shal crepe

Into my grave, and ellis God forbede.

Bileveth this as siker as your crede.

God thanke I, and in good tyme be it sayd,

That ther was nevere man yet yvele apayd

1050

For gold ne silver that he to me lente,

Ne nevere falshede in myn herte I mente.

And sire, quod he, now of my pryvetee,

Syn ye so goodlich han been unto me,

And kithed to me so greet gentillesse,

1055

Somwhat to quyte with youre kyndenesse

I wol yow shewe, and if yow list to leere,

I wol yow teche pleynly the manere

Yow I kan werken in philosophie.

Taketh good heede, ye shul wel seen at ye

1060

That I wol doon a maistrie er I go.

Ye, quod the preest, ye, sire, and wol ye so?

Marie! therof I pray yow hertely.

At youre comandement, sire, trewely,

Quod the chanoun, and ellis God forbeede!

1065

Loo, how this theef koude his service beede!

Ful sooth it is that swich profred servyse

Stynketh, as witnessen thise olde wyse,

And that, ful soone I wol it verifie

In this chanoun, roote of al trecherie,

1070

That everemoore delit hath and gladnesse –

Swiche feendly thoghtes in his herte impresse –

How cristes peple he may to meschief brynge.

God kepe us from his false dissymulynge!

Noght wiste this preest with whom that he delte,

1075

Ne of his harm comynge he no thyng felte.

O sely preest! o sely innocent!

With coveitise anon thou shalt be blent!

O gracelees, ful blynd is thy conceite,

No thyng ne artow war of the deceite

1080

Which that this fox yshapen hath to thee!

His wily wrenches thou ne mayst nat flee.

Wherfore, to go to the conclusion,

That refereth to thy confusion,

Unhappy man, anon I wol me hye

1085

To tellen thyn unwit and thy folye,

And eek the falsnesse of that oother wrecche,

As ferforth as that my konnyng wol strecche.

This chanon was my lord, ye wolden weene?

Sire hoost, in feith, and by the hevenes queene,

1090

It was another chanoun, and nat hee,

That kan an hundred foold moore subtiltee.

He hath bitrayed folkes many tyme;

Of his falsnesse it dulleth me to ryme.

Evere whan that I speke of his falshede,

1095

For shame of hym my chekes wexen rede.

Algates they bigynnen for to glowe,

For reednesse have I noon, right wel I knowe,

In my visage; for fumes diverse

Of metals, whiche ye han herd me reherce,

1100

Consumed and wasted han my reednesse.

Now taak heede of this chanons cursednesse!

Sire, quod he to the preest, lat youre man gon

For quyksilver, that we it hadde anon;

And lat hym bryngen ounces two or three;

1105

And whan he comth, as faste shal ye see

A wonder thyng, which ye saugh nevere er this.

Sire, quod the preest, it shal be doon, ywis.

He bad his servant fecchen hym this thyng,

And he al redy was at his biddyng,

1110

And wente hym forth, and cam anon agayn

With this quyksilver, shortly for to sayn,

And took thise ounces thre to the chanoun;

And he hem leyde faire and wel adoun,

And bad the servant coles for to brynge,

1115

That he anon myghte go to his werkynge.

The coles right anon weren yfet,

And this chanoun took out a crosselet

Of his bosom, and shewed it to the preest.

This instrument, quod he, which that thou seest,

1120

Taak in thy hand, and put thyself therinne

Of this quyksilver an ounce, and heer bigynne,

In name of crist, to wexe a philosofre.

Ther been ful fewe to whiche I wolde profre

To shewen hem thus muche of my science.

1125

For ye shul seen heer, by experience,

That this quyksilver I wol mortifye

Right in youre sighte anon, withouten lye,

And make it as good silver and as fyn

As ther is any in youre purs or myn,

1130

Or elleswhere, and make it malliable;

And elles holdeth me fals and unable

Amonges folk for evere to appeere.

I have poudre heer, that coste me deere,

Shal make al good, for it is cause of al

1135

My konnyng, which that I yow shewen shal.

Voyde youre man, and lat hym be theroute,

And shette the dore, whils we been aboute

Oure pryvetee, that no man us espie,

Whils that we werke in this philosophie.

1140

Al as he bad fulfilled was in dede.

This ilke servant anonright out yede

And his maister shette the dore anon,

And to hire labour spedily the gon.

This preest, at this cursed chanons biddyng,

1145

Upon the fir anon sette this thyng,

And blew the fir, and bisyed hym ful faste.

And this chanoun into the crosselet caste

A poudre, noot I wherof that it was

Ymaad, outher of chalk, outher of glas,

1150

Or somwhat elles, was nat worth a flye,

To blynde with this preest; and bad hym hye

The coles for to couchen al above

The crosselet. For in tokenyng I thee love,

Quod this chanoun, thyne owene handes two

1155

Shul werche al thyng which that shal heer be do.

Graunt mercy, quod the preest, and was ful glad,

And couched coles as that the chanoun bad.

And while he bisy was, this feendly wrecche,

This false chanoun – the foule feend hym fecche! –

1160

Out of his bosom took a bechen cole,

In which ful subtilly was maad an hole,

And therinne put was of silver lemaille

An ounce, and stopped was, withouten faille,

This hole with wex, to kepe the lemaille in.

1165

And understondeth that this false gyn

Was nat maad ther, but it was maad bifore;

And othere thynges I shal tellen moore

Herafterward, whiche that he with hym broghte.

Er he cam there, hym to bigile he thoghte,

1170

And so he dide, er that they wente at wynne;

Til he had terved hym, koude he nat blynne.

It dulleth me whan that I of hym speke.

On his falshede fayn wolde I me wreke,

If I wiste how, but he is heere and there;

1175

He is so variaunt, be abit nowhere.

But taketh heed now, sires, for goddes love!

He took his cole of which I spak above,

And in his hand he baar it pryvely.

And whiles the preest couched bisily

1180

The coles, as I tolde yow er this,

This chanoun seyde, freend, ye doon amys.

This is nat couched as it oghte be;

But soone I shal amenden it, quod he.

Now lat me medle therwith but a while,

1185

For of yow have I pitee, by seint gile!

Ye been right hoot; I se wel how ye swete.

Have heere a clooth, and wipe awey the wete.

And whiles that the preest wiped his face,

This chanoun took his cole – with sory grace! –

1190

And leyde it above upon the myddeward

Of the crosselet, and blew wel afterward,

Til that the coles gonne faste brenne.

Now yeve us drynke, quod the chanoun thenne;

As swithe al shal be wel, I undertake.

1195

Sitte we doun, and lat us myrie make.

And whan that this chanounes bechen cole

Was brent, al the lemaille out of the hole

Into the crosselet fil anon adoun;

And as it moste nedes, by resoun,

1200

Syn it so even aboven it couched was.

But therof wiste the preest nothyng, alas!

He demed alle the coles yliche good;

For of that sleighte he nothyng understood.

And whan this alkamystre saugh his tyme,

1205

Ris up, quod he, sire preest, and stondeth by me;

And for I woot wel ingot have ye noon,

Gooth, walketh forth, and brynge us a chalk stoon;

For I wol make it of the same shap

That is an ingot, if I may han hap.

1210

And bryngeth eek with yow a bolle or a panne

Ful of water, and ye shul se wel thanne

How that oure bisynesse shal thryve and preeve.

And yet, for ye shul han no mysbileeve

New wrong conceite of me in youre absence,

1215

I ne wol nat been out of youre presence,

But go with yow, and come with yow ageyn.

The chambre dore, shortly for to seyn,

They opened and shette, and wente hir weye.

And forth with hem they carieden the keye,

1220

And coome agayn withouten any delay.

What sholde I tarien al the longe day?

He took the chalk, and shoop it in the wise

Of an ingot, as I shal yow devyse.

I seye, he took out of his owene sleeve

1225

A teyne of silver – yvele moot he cheeve! –

Which that ne was nat but an ounce of weighte.

And taaketh heede now of his cursed sleighte!

He shoop his ingot, in lengthe and in breede

Of this teyne, withouten any drede,

1230

So slyly that the preest it nat espide,

And in his sleve agayn he gan it hide,

And fro the fir he took up his mateere,

And in th' yngot putte it with myrie cheere,

And in the water-vessel he it caste,

1235

Whan that hym luste, and bad the preest as faste,

Loke what ther is, put in thyn hand and grope.

Thow fynde shalt ther silver, as I hope.

What, devel of helle! sholde it elles be?

Shaving of silver silver is, pardee!

1240

He putte his hand in and took up a teyne

Of silver fyn, and glad in every veyne

Was this preest, whan he saugh that it was so.

Goddes blessyng, and his moodres also,

And alle halwes, have ye, sire chanoun,

1245

Seyde the preest, and I hir malisoun,

But, and ye vouche-sauf to techen me

This noble craft and this subtilitee,

I wol be youre in al that evere I may.

Quod the chanoun, yet wol I make assay

1250

The seconde tyme, that ye may taken heede

And been expert of this, and in youre neede

Another day assaye in myn absence

This disciplyne and this crafty science.

Lat take another ounce, quod he tho,

1255

Of quyksilver, withouten wordes mo,

And do therwith as ye han doon er this

With that oother, which that now silver is.

This preest hym bisieth in al that he kan

To doon as this chanoun, this cursed man,

1260

Comanded hym, and faste he blew the fir,

For to come to th' effect of his desir.

And this chanon, right in the meene while,

Al redy was this preest eft to bigile,

And for a contenaunce in his hand he bar

1265

An holwe stikke – taak kep and be war! –

In the ende of which an ounce, and namoore,

Of silver lemaille put was, as bifore

Was in his cole, and stopped with wex weel

For to kepe in his lemaille every deel.

1270

And whil this preest was in his bisynesse,

This chanoun with his stikke gan hym dresse

To hym anon, and his poudre caste in

As he dide er – the devel out of his skyn

Hym terve, I pray to god, for his falshede!

1275

For he was evere fals in thoght and dede –

And with this stikke, above the crosselet,

That was ordeyned with that false jet

He stired the coles til relente gan

The wex agayn the fir, as every man,

1280

But it a fool be, woot wel it moot nede,

And al that in the stikke was out yede,

And in the crosselet hastily it fel.

Now, good sires, what wol ye bet than wel?

Whan that this preest thus was bigiled ageyn,

1285

Supposynge noght but treuthe, sooth to seyn,

He was so glad that I kan nat expresse

In no manere his myrthe and his gladnesse;

And to the chanoun he profred eftsoone

Body and good. Ye, quod the chanoun soone,

1290

Though poure I be, crafty thou shalt me fynde.

I warne thee, yet is ther moore bihynde.

Is ther any coper herinne? seyde he.

Ye, quod the preest, sire, I trowe wel ther be.

Elles go bye us som, and that as swithe;

1295

Now, goode sire, go forth thy wey and hy the.

He wente his wey, and with the coper cam,

And this chanon it in his handes nam,

And of that coper weyed out but an ounce.

Al to symple is my tonge to pronounce,

1300

As ministre of my wit, the doublenesse

Of this chanoun, roote of alle cursednesse!

He semed freendly to hem that knewe hym noght,

But he was feendly bothe in werk and thoght.

It weerieth me to telle of his falsnesse,

1305

And nathelees yet wol I it expresse,

To th' entente that men may be war therby,

And for noon oother cause, trewely.

He putte this ounce of coper in the crosselet,

And on the fir as swithe he hath it set,

1310

And caste in poudre, and made the preest to blowe,

And in his werkyng for to stoupe lowe,

As he dide er, – and al nas but a jape;

Right as hym liste, the preest he made his ape!

And afterward in the ingot he it caste,

1315

And in the panne putte it at the laste

Of water, and in he putte his owene hand,

And in his sleve (as ye biforen-hand

Herde me telle) he hadde a silver teyne.

He slyly took it out, this cursed heyne,

1320

Unwityng this preest of his false craft,

And in the pannes botme he hath it laft;

And in the water rombled to and fro,

And wonder pryvely took up also

The coper teyne, noght knowynge this preest,

1325

And hidde it, and hym hente by the breest,

And to hym spak, and thus seyde in his game:

Stoupeth adoun, by god, ye be to balme!

Helpeth me now, as I dide yow whileer;

Putte in youre hand, and looketh what is theer.

1330

This preest took up this silver teyne anon,

And thanne seyde the chanoun, lat us gon

With thise thre teynes, whiche that we han wroght,

To som goldsmyth, and wite if they been oght.

For, by my feith, I nolde, for myn hood,

1335

But if that they were silver fyn and good,

And that as swithe preeved it shal bee.

Unto the goldsmyth with thise teynes three

They wente, and putte thise teynes in assay

Fo fir and hamer; myghte no man seye nay,

1340

But that they weren as hem oghte be.

This sotted preest, who was gladder than he?

Was nevere brid gladder agayn the day,

Ne nyghtyngale, in the sesoun of may,

Was nevere noon that luste bet to synge;

1345

Ne lady lustier in carolynge,

Or for to speke of love and wommanhede,

Ne knyght in armes to doon an hardy dede,

To stonden in grace of his lady deere,

Than hadde this preest this soory craft to leere.

1350

And to the chanoun thus he spak and seyde:

For love of god, that for us alle deyde,

And as I may deserve it unto yow,

What shal this receite coste? telleth now!

By oure lady, quod this chanon, it is deere,

1355

I warne yow wel; for save I and a frere,

In engelond ther kan no man it make.

No fors, quod he, now, sire, for goddes sake,

What shal I paye? telleth me, I preye.

Ywis, quod he, it is ful deere, I seye.

1360

Sire, at o word, if that thee list it have,

Ye shul paye fourty pound, so God me save!

And nere the freendshipe that ye dide er this

To me, ye sholde paye moore, ywis.

This preest the somme of fourty pound anon

1365

Of nobles fette, and took hem everichon

To this chanoun, for this ilke receite.

Al his werkyng nas but fraude and deceite.

Sire preest, he seyde, I kepe han no loos

Of my craft, for I wolde it kept were cloos;

1370

And, as ye love me, kepeth it secree.

For, and men knewen al my soutiltee,

By god, they wolden han so greet envye

To me, by cause of my philosophye,

I sholde be deed; ther were noon oother weye.

1375

God it forbeede, quod the preest, what sey ye?

Yet hadde I levere spenden al the good

Which that I have, and elles wexe I wood,

Than that ye sholden falle in swich mescheef.

For youre good wyl, sire, have ye right good preef,

1380

Quod the chanoun, and farwel, grant mercy!

He wente his wey, and never the preest hym sy

After that day; and whan that this preest shoolde

Maken assay, at swich tyme as he wolde,

Of this receit, farwel! it wolde nat be.

1385

Lo, thus byjaped and bigiled was he!

Thus maketh he his introduccioun,

To brynge folk to hir destruccioun.

Considereth, sires, how that, in ech estaat,

Bitwixe men and gold ther is debaat

1390

So ferforth that unnethes is ther noon.

This multiplying blent so many oon

That in good feith I trowe that it bee

The cause grettest of swich scarsetee.

Philosophres speken so mystily

1395

In this craft that men kan nat come therby,

For any wit that men han now-a-dayes.

They mowe wel chiteren as doon thise jayes,

And in hir termes sette hir lust and peyne,

But to hir purpos shul they nevere atteyne.

1400

A man may lightly lerne, if he have aught,

To multiplie, and brynge his good to naught!

Lo! swich a lucre is in this lusty game,

A mannes myrthe it wol turne unto grame,

And empten also grete and hevye purses,

1405

And maken folk for to purchacen curses

Of hem that han hir good therto ylent.

O! fy, for shame! they that han been brent,

Allas! kan they nat flee the fires heete?

Ye that it use, I rede ye it leete,

1410

Lest ye lese al; for bet than nevere is late.

Nevere to thryve were to long a date.

Though ye prolle ay, ye shul it nevere fynde.

Ye been as boold as is bayard the blynde,

That blondreth forth, and peril casteth noon.

1415

He is as boold to renne agayn a stoon

As for to goon bisides in the weye.

So faren ye that multiplie, I seye.

If that youre eyen kan nat seen aright,

Looke that youre mynde lakke noght his sight.

1420

For though ye looken never so brode and stare,

Ye shul nothyng wynne on that chaffare,

But wasten al that ye may rape and renne.

Withdraweth the fir, lest it to faste brenne;

Medleth namoore with that art, I mene,

1425

For if ye doon, youre thrift is goon ful clene.

And right as swithe I wol yow tellen heere

What philosophres seyn in this mateere.

Lo, thus seith arnold of the newe toun,

As his rosarie maketh mencioun;

1430

He seith right thus, withouten any lye:

Ther may no man mercurie mortifie

But it be with his brother knowlechyng.

How be that he which that first seyde this thyng

Of philosophres fader was, hermes –

1435

He seith how that the dragon, doutelees,

Ne dyeth nat, but if that he be slayn

With his brother; and that is for to sayn,

By the dragon, mercurie, and noon oother

He understood, and brymstoon by his brother,

1440

That out of sol and luna were ydrawe.

And therfore, seyde he, – taak heede to my sawe –

Lat no man bisye hym this art for to seche,

But if that he th' entencioun and speche

Of philosophres understonde kan;

1445

And if he do, he is a lewed man.

For this science and this konnyng, quod he,

Is of the secree of secrees, pardee.

Also ther was a disciple of plato,

That on a tyme seyde his maister to,

1450

As his book senior wol bere witnesse,

And this was his demande in soothfastnesse:

Telle me the name of the privee stoon?

And plato answerde unto hym anoon,

Take the stoon that titanos men name.

1455

Which is that? quod he. Magnasia is the same,

Seyde plato. Ye, sire, and is it thus?

This is ignotum per ignocius.

What is magnasia, good sire, I yow preye?

It is a water that is maad, I seye,

1460

Of elementes foure, quod plato.

Telle me the roote, good sire, quod he tho,

Of that water, if it be youre wil.

Nay, nay, quod plato, certein, that I nyl.

The philosophres sworn were everychoon

1465

That they sholden discovere it unto noon,

Ne in no book it write in no manere.

For unto crist it is so lief and deere

That he wol nat that it discovered bee,

But where it liketh to his deitee

1470

Men for t' enspire, and eek for to deffende

Whom that hym liketh; lo, this is the ende.

Thanne conclude I thus, sith that God of hevene

Ne wil nat that the philosophres nevene

How that a man shal come unto this stoon,

1475

I rede, as for the beste, lete it goon.

For whoso maketh God his adversarie,

As for to werken any thyng in contrarie

Of his wil, certes, never shal he thryve,

Thogh that he multiplie terme of his lyve.

1480

And there a poynt; for ended is my tale.

God sende every trewe man boote of his bale!

Heere is ended the

Chanouns Yemannes Tale.