Delphi Poetry Anthology: The World's Greatest Poems (Delphi Poets Series Book 50) (37 page)

From day to day this jolly Absolon
So wooeth her, that him is woebegone.
He waketh all the night, and all the day,
To comb his lockes broad, and make him gay.
He wooeth her
¹
by means and by brocage
¹
,
¹
by presents and by agents
¹
And swore he woulde be her owen page.
He singeth brokking
¹
as a nightingale.
¹
quavering
He sent her piment , mead, and spiced ale,
And wafers
¹
piping hot out of the glede
²
:
¹
cakes
²
coals
And, for she was of town, he proffer’d meed.
For some folk will be wonnen for richess,
And some for strokes, and some with gentiless.
Sometimes, to show his lightness and mast’ry,
He playeth Herod
 
on a scaffold high.
But what availeth him as in this case?
So loveth she the Hendy Nicholas,
That Absolon may
¹
blow the bucke’s horn
¹
:
¹
”go whistle”
¹
He had for all his labour but a scorn.
And thus she maketh Absolon her ape,
And all his earnest turneth to a jape
¹
.
¹
jest
Full sooth is this proverb, it is no lie;
Men say right thus alway; the nighe sly
Maketh oft time the far lief to be loth.
For though that Absolon be wood
¹
or wroth
¹
mad
Because that he far was from her sight,
This nigh Nicholas stood still in his light.
Now bear thee well, thou Hendy Nicholas,
For Absolon may wail and sing “Alas!”

And so befell, that on a Saturday
This carpenter was gone to Oseney,
And Hendy Nicholas and Alison
Accorded were to this conclusion,
That Nicholas shall
¹
shape him a wile
^1
1
devise a stratagem
¹
The silly jealous husband to beguile;
And if so were the game went aright,
She shoulde sleepen in his arms all night;
For this was her desire and his also.
And right anon, withoute wordes mo’,
This Nicholas no longer would he tarry,
But doth full soft unto his chamber carry
Both meat and drinke for a day or tway.
And to her husband bade her for to say,
If that he asked after Nicholas,
She shoulde say, “She wist
¹
not where he was;
¹
knew
Of all the day she saw him not with eye;
She trowed
¹
he was in some malady,
¹
believed
For no cry that her maiden could him call
He would answer, for nought that might befall.”
Thus passed forth all thilke
¹
Saturday,
¹
that
That Nicholas still in his chamber lay,
And ate, and slept, and didde what him list
Till Sunday, that
¹
the sunne went to rest.
¹
when
This silly carpenter
¹
had great marvaill
^1
1
wondered greatly
¹
Of Nicholas, or what thing might him ail,
And said; “I am adrad
¹
, by Saint Thomas!
¹
afraid, in dread
It standeth not aright with Nicholas:
¹
God shielde
¹
that he died suddenly.
¹
heaven forbid!
¹
This world is now full fickle sickerly
¹
.
¹
certainly
I saw to-day a corpse y-borne to chirch,
That now on Monday last I saw him wirch
¹
.
¹
work
“Go up,” quod he unto his knave
¹
, “anon;
¹
servant.
Clepe
¹
at his door, or knocke with a stone:
¹
call
Look how it is, and tell me boldely.”
This knave went him up full sturdily,
And, at the chamber door while that he stood,
He cried and knocked as that he were wood:
^1
1
mad
“What how? what do ye, Master Nicholay?
How may ye sleepen all the longe day?”
But all for nought, he hearde not a word.
An hole he found full low upon the board,
Where as the cat was wont in for to creep,
And at that hole he looked in full deep,
And at the last he had of him a sight.
This Nicholas sat ever gaping upright,
As he had kyked
¹
on the newe moon.
¹
looked
Adown he went, and told his master soon,
In what array he saw this ilke
¹
man.
¹
same

This carpenter to
¹
blissen him
¹
began,
¹
bless, cross himself
¹
And said: “Now help us, Sainte Frideswide.
A man wot
¹
little what shall him betide.
¹
knows
This man is fall’n with his astronomy
Into some woodness
¹
or some agony.
¹
madness
I thought aye well how that it shoulde be.
Men should know nought of Godde’s privity
¹
.
¹
secrets
Yea, blessed be alway a lewed
¹
man,
¹
unlearned
That
¹
nought but only his believe can
¹
.
¹
knows no more
So far’d another clerk with astronomy: than his “credo.”
¹
He walked in the fieldes for to
¹
pry
Upon
¹
the starres, what there should befall,
¹
keep watch on
¹
Till he was in a marle pit y-fall.
He saw not that. But yet, by Saint Thomas!
¹
Me rueth sore of
¹
Hendy Nicholas:
¹
I am very sorry for
¹
He shall be
¹
rated of
¹
his studying,
¹
chidden for
¹
If that I may, by Jesus, heaven’s king!
Get me a staff, that I may underspore
^1
1
lever up
While that thou, Robin, heavest off the door:
He shall out of his studying, as I guess.”
And to the chamber door he gan him dress
^1
1
apply himself.
His knave was a strong carl for the nonce,
And by the hasp he heav’d it off at once;
Into the floor the door fell down anon.
This Nicholas sat aye as still as stone,
And ever he gap’d upward into the air.
The carpenter ween’d
¹
he were in despair,
¹
thought
And hent
¹
him by the shoulders mightily,
¹
caught
And shook him hard, and cried spitously;
^1
1
angrily
“What, Nicholas? what how, man? look adown:
Awake, and think on Christe’s passioun.
I crouche thee from elves, and from wights
¹
.
¹
witches
Therewith the night-spell said he anon rights
¹
,
¹
properly
On the four halves
¹
of the house about,
¹
corners
And on the threshold of the door without.
“Lord Jesus Christ, and Sainte Benedight,
Blesse this house from every wicked wight,
From the night mare, the white Pater-noster;
Where wonnest
¹
thou now, Sainte Peter’s sister?”
¹
dwellest
And at the last this Hendy Nicholas
Gan for to sigh full sore, and said; “Alas!
Shall all time world be lost eftsoones
¹
now?”
¹
forthwith
This carpenter answer’d; “What sayest thou?
What? think on God, as we do, men that swink.
¹
”
¹
labour
This Nicholas answer’d; “Fetch me a drink;
And after will I speak in privity
Of certain thing that toucheth thee and me:
I will tell it no other man certain.”

This carpenter went down, and came again,
And brought of mighty ale a large quart;
And when that each of them had drunk his part,
This Nicholas his chamber door fast shet
¹
,
¹
shut
And down the carpenter by him he set,
And saide; “John, mine host full lief
¹
and dear,
¹
loved
Thou shalt upon thy truthe swear me here,
That to no wight thou shalt my counsel wray
¹
:
¹
betray
For it is Christes counsel that I say,
And if thou tell it man, thou art forlore:
^1
1
lost
For this vengeance thou shalt have therefor,
That if thou wraye
¹
me, thou shalt be wood
²
.”
¹
betray
²
mad
“Nay, Christ forbid it for his holy blood!”
Quoth then this silly man; “I am no blab,
^1
1
talker
Nor, though I say it, am I
¹
lief to gab
¹
.
¹
fond of speech
¹
Say what thou wilt, I shall it never tell
To child or wife, by him that harried Hell.”

“Now, John,” quoth Nicholas, “I will not lie,
I have y-found in my astrology,
As I have looked in the moone bright,
That now on Monday next, at quarter night,
Shall fall a rain, and that so wild and wood
¹
,
¹
mad
That never half so great was Noe’s flood.
This world,” he said, “in less than half an hour
Shall all be dreint
¹
, so hideous is the shower:
¹
drowned
Thus shall mankinde drench
¹
, and lose their life.”
¹
drown
This carpenter answer’d; “Alas, my wife!
And shall she drench? alas, mine Alisoun!”
For sorrow of this he fell almost adown,
And said; “Is there no remedy in this case?”
“Why, yes, for God,” quoth Hendy Nicholas;
“If thou wilt worken after
¹
lore and rede
¹
;
¹
learning and advice
¹
Thou may’st not worken after thine own head.
For thus saith Solomon, that was full true:
Work all by counsel, and thou shalt not rue
¹
.
¹
repent
And if thou worke wilt by good counseil,
I undertake, withoute mast or sail,
Yet shall I save her, and thee, and me.
Hast thou not heard how saved was Noe,
When that our Lord had warned him beforn,
That all the world with water
¹
should be lorn
¹
?”
¹
should perish
¹
“Yes,” quoth this carpenter,”
¹
full yore ago
¹
.”
¹
long since
¹
“Hast thou not heard,” quoth Nicholas, “also
The sorrow of Noe, with his fellowship,
That he had ere he got his wife to ship?
¹
Him had been lever, I dare well undertake,
At thilke time, than all his wethers black,
That she had had a ship herself alone.
^1
1
see note
And therefore know’st thou what is best to be done?
This asketh haste, and of an hasty thing
Men may not preach or make tarrying.
Anon go get us fast into this inn
^1
1
house
A kneading trough, or else a kemelin
¹
,
¹
brewing-tub
For each of us; but look that they be large,
In whiche we may swim
¹
as in a barge:
¹
float
And have therein vitaille suffisant
But for one day; fie on the remenant;
The water shall aslake
¹
and go away
¹
slacken, abate
Aboute prime
¹
upon the nexte day.
¹
early morning
But Robin may not know of this, thy knave
¹
,
¹
servant
Nor eke thy maiden Gill I may not save:
Ask me not why: for though thou aske me
I will not telle Godde’s privity.
Sufficeth thee,
¹
but if thy wit be mad
¹
,
¹
unless thou be
To have as great a grace as Noe had; out of thy wits
¹
Thy wife shall I well saven out of doubt.
Go now thy way, and speed thee hereabout.
But when thou hast for her, and thee, and me,
Y-gotten us these kneading tubbes three,
Then shalt thou hang them in the roof full high,
So that no man our purveyance
¹
espy:
¹
foresight, providence
And when thou hast done thus as I have said,
And hast our vitaille fair in them y-laid,
And eke an axe to smite the cord in two
When that the water comes, that we may go,
And break an hole on high upon the gable
Into the garden-ward, over the stable,
That we may freely passe forth our way,
When that the greate shower is gone away.
Then shalt thou swim as merry, I undertake,
As doth the white duck after her drake:
Then will I clepe,
¹
‘How, Alison? How, John?
¹
call
Be merry: for the flood will pass anon.’
And thou wilt say, ‘Hail, Master Nicholay,
Good-morrow, I see thee well, for it is day.’
And then shall we be lordes all our life
Of all the world, as Noe and his wife.
But of one thing I warne thee full right,
Be well advised, on that ilke
¹
night,
¹
same
When we be enter’d into shippe’s board,
That none of us not speak a single word,
Nor clepe nor cry, but be in his prayere,
For that is Godde’s owen heste
¹
dear.
¹
command
Thy wife and thou must hangen far atween
¹
,
¹
asunder
For that betwixte you shall be no sin,
No more in looking than there shall in deed.
This ordinance is said: go, God thee speed
To-morrow night, when men be all asleep,
Into our kneading tubbes will we creep,
And sitte there, abiding Godde’s grace.
Go now thy way, I have no longer space
To make of this no longer sermoning:
Men say thus: Send the wise, and say nothing:
Thou art so wise, it needeth thee nought teach.
Go, save our lives, and that I thee beseech.”

This silly carpenter went forth his way,
Full oft he said, “Alas! and Well-a-day!,’
And to his wife he told his privity,
And she was ware, and better knew than he
What all this
¹
quainte cast was for to say
¹
.
¹
strange contrivance
But natheless she fear’d as she would dey, meant
¹
And said: “Alas! go forth thy way anon.
Help us to scape, or we be dead each one.
I am thy true and very wedded wife;
Go, deare spouse, and help to save our life.”
Lo, what a great thing is affection!
Men may die of imagination,
So deeply may impression be take.
This silly carpenter begins to quake:
He thinketh verily that he may see
This newe flood come weltering as the sea
To drenchen
¹
Alison, his honey dear.
¹
drown
He weepeth, waileth, maketh
¹
sorry cheer
¹
;
¹
dismal countenance
¹
He sigheth, with full many a sorry sough.
^1
1
groan
He go’th, and getteth him a kneading trough,
And after that a tub, and a kemelin,
And privily he sent them to his inn:
And hung them in the roof full privily.
With his own hand then made he ladders three,
To climbe by
¹
the ranges and the stalks
^1
1
the rungs and the uprights
¹
Unto the tubbes hanging in the balks
¹
;
¹
beams
And victualed them, kemelin, trough, and tub,
With bread and cheese, and good ale in a jub
¹
,
¹
jug
Sufficing right enough as for a day.
But ere that he had made all this array,
He sent his knave
¹
, and eke his wench
²
also,
¹
servant
²
maid
Upon his need
¹
to London for to go.
¹
business
And on the Monday, when it drew to night,
He shut his door withoute candle light,
And dressed
¹
every thing as it should be.
¹
prepared
And shortly up they climbed all the three.
They satte stille well
¹
a furlong way
¹
.
¹
the time it would take
“Now, Pater noster, clum,” said Nicholay, to walk a furlong
¹
And “clum,” quoth John; and “clum,” said Alison:
This carpenter said his devotion,
And still he sat and bidded his prayere,
Awaking on the rain, if he it hear.
The deade sleep, for weary business,
Fell on this carpenter, right as I guess,
About the curfew-time, or little more,
For
¹
travail of his ghost
¹
he groaned sore,
¹
anguish of spirit
^1
1
And eft he routed, for his head mislay.
^1
1
and then he snored,
Adown the ladder stalked Nicholay; for his head lay awry
¹
And Alison full soft adown she sped.
Withoute wordes more they went to bed,
¹
There as
¹
the carpenter was wont to lie:
¹
where
¹
There was the revel, and the melody.
And thus lay Alison and Nicholas,
In business of mirth and in solace,
Until the bell of laudes
¹
gan to ring,
¹
morning service, at 3.a.m.
And friars in the chancel went to sing.