Delphi Poetry Anthology: The World's Greatest Poems (Delphi Poets Series Book 50) (40 page)

Upon a night Jenkin, that was our sire,
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goodman
Read on his book, as he sat by the fire,
Of Eva first, that for her wickedness
Was all mankind brought into wretchedness,
For which that Jesus Christ himself was slain,
That bought us with his hearte-blood again.
Lo here express of women may ye find
That woman was the loss of all mankind.
Then read he me how Samson lost his hairs
Sleeping, his leman cut them with her shears,
Through whiche treason lost he both his eyen.
Then read he me, if that I shall not lien,
Of Hercules, and of his Dejanire,
That caused him to set himself on fire.
Nothing forgot he of the care and woe
That Socrates had with his wives two;
How Xantippe cast piss upon his head.
This silly man sat still, as he were dead,
He wip’d his head, and no more durst he sayn,
But, “Ere the thunder stint
¹
there cometh rain.”
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ceases
Of Phasiphae, that was queen of Crete,
For shrewedness
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he thought the tale sweet.
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wickedness
Fy, speak no more, it is a grisly thing,
Of her horrible lust and her liking.
Of Clytemnestra, for her lechery
That falsely made her husband for to die,
He read it with full good devotion.
He told me eke, for what occasion
Amphiorax at Thebes lost his life:
My husband had a legend of his wife
Eryphile, that for an ouche
¹
of gold
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clasp, collar
Had privily unto the Greekes told,
Where that her husband hid him in a place,
For which he had at Thebes sorry grace.
Of Luna told he me, and of Lucie;
They bothe made their husbands for to die,
That one for love, that other was for hate.
Luna her husband on an ev’ning late
Empoison’d had, for that she was his foe:
Lucia liquorish lov’d her husband so,
That, for he should always upon her think,
She gave him such a manner
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love-drink,
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sort of
That he was dead before it were the morrow:
And thus algates
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husbands hadde sorrow.
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always
Then told he me how one Latumeus
Complained to his fellow Arius
That in his garden growed such a tree,
On which he said how that his wives three
Hanged themselves for heart dispiteous.
“O leve
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brother,” quoth this Arius,
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dear
“Give me a plant of thilke
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blessed tree,
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that
And in my garden planted shall it be.”
Of later date of wives hath he read,
That some have slain their husbands in their bed,
And let their
¹
lechour dight them
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all the night,
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lover ride them
¹
While that the corpse lay on the floor upright:
And some have driven nails into their brain,
While that they slept, and thus they have them slain:
Some have them given poison in their drink:
He spake more harm than hearte may bethink.
And therewithal he knew of more proverbs,
Than in this world there groweth grass or herbs.
“Better (quoth he) thine habitation
Be with a lion, or a foul dragon,
Than with a woman using for to chide.
Better (quoth he) high in the roof abide,
Than with an angry woman in the house,
They be so wicked and contrarious:
They hate that their husbands loven aye.”
He said, “A woman cast her shame away
When she cast off her smock;” and farthermo’,
“A fair woman, but
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she be chaste also,
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except
Is like a gold ring in a sowe’s nose.
Who coulde ween,
¹
or who coulde suppose
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think
The woe that in mine heart was, and the pine?
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pain
And when I saw that he would never fine
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finish
To readen on this cursed book all night,
All suddenly three leaves have I plight
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plucked
Out of his book, right as he read, and eke
I with my fist so took him on the cheek,
That in our fire he backward fell adown.
And he up start, as doth a wood
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lion,
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furious
And with his fist he smote me on the head,
That on the floor I lay as I were dead.
And when he saw how still that there I lay,
He was aghast, and would have fled away,
Till at the last out of my swoon I braid,
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woke
“Oh, hast thou slain me, thou false thief?” I said
“And for my land thus hast thou murder’d me?
Ere I be dead, yet will I kisse thee.”
And near he came, and kneeled fair adown,
And saide”, “Deare sister Alisoun,
As help me God, I shall thee never smite:
That I have done it is thyself to wite,
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blame
Forgive it me, and that I thee beseek.”
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beseech
And yet eftsoons
¹
I hit him on the cheek,
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immediately; again
And saidde, “Thief, thus much am I awreak.
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avenged
Now will I die, I may no longer speak.”

But at the last, with muche care and woe
We fell accorded
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by ourselves two:
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agreed
He gave me all the bridle in mine hand
To have the governance of house and land,
And of his tongue, and of his hand also.
I made him burn his book anon right tho.
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then
And when that I had gotten unto me
By mast’ry all the sovereignety,
And that he said, “Mine owen true wife,
Do
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as thee list,
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the term of all thy life,
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as pleases thee
¹
Keep thine honour, and eke keep mine estate;
After that day we never had debate.
God help me so, I was to him as kind
As any wife from Denmark unto Ind,
And also true, and so was he to me:
I pray to God that sits in majesty
So bless his soule, for his mercy dear.
Now will I say my tale, if ye will hear. —

The Friar laugh’d when he had heard all this:
“Now, Dame,” quoth he, “so have I joy and bliss,
This is a long preamble of a tale.”
And when the Sompnour heard the Friar gale,
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speak
“Lo,” quoth this Sompnour, “Godde’s armes two,
A friar will intermete
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him evermo’:
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interpose
Lo, goode men, a fly and eke a frere
Will fall in ev’ry dish and eke mattere.
What speak’st thou of perambulation?
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preamble
What? amble or trot; or peace, or go sit down:
Thou lettest
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our disport in this mattere.”
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hinderesst
“Yea, wilt thou so, Sir Sompnour?” quoth the Frere;
“Now by my faith I shall, ere that I go,
Tell of a Sompnour such a tale or two,
That all the folk shall laughen in this place.”
“Now do, else, Friar, I beshrew
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thy face,”
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curse
Quoth this Sompnour; “and I beshrewe me,
But if
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I telle tales two or three
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unless
Of friars, ere I come to Sittingbourne,
That I shall make thine hearte for to mourn:
For well I wot thy patience is gone.”
Our Hoste cried, “Peace, and that anon;”
And saide, “Let the woman tell her tale.
Ye fare
¹
as folk that drunken be of ale.
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behave
Do, Dame, tell forth your tale, and that is best.”
“All ready, sir,” quoth she, “right as you lest,
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please
If I have licence of this worthy Frere.”
“Yes, Dame,” quoth he, “tell forth, and I will hear.”

THE TALE
.

In olde dayes of the king Arthour,
Of which that Britons speake great honour,
All was this land full fill’d of faerie;
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fairies
The Elf-queen, with her jolly company,
Danced full oft in many a green mead
This was the old opinion, as I read;
I speak of many hundred years ago;
But now can no man see none elves mo’,
For now the great charity and prayeres
Of limitours,
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and other holy freres,
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begging friars
That search every land and ev’ry stream
As thick as motes in the sunne-beam,
Blessing halls, chambers, kitchenes, and bowers,
Cities and burghes, castles high and towers,
Thorpes
¹
and barnes, shepens
²
and dairies,
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villages
 
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stables
This makes that there be now no faeries:
For
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there as
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wont to walke was an elf,
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where
¹
There walketh now the limitour himself,
In undermeles
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and in morrowings
²
,
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evenings
 
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mornings
And saith his matins and his holy things,
As he goes in his limitatioun.
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begging district
Women may now go safely up and down,
In every bush, and under every tree;
There is none other incubus
 
but he;
And he will do to them no dishonour.

And so befell it, that this king Arthour
Had in his house a lusty bacheler,
That on a day came riding from river:
And happen’d, that, alone as she was born,
He saw a maiden walking him beforn,
Of which maiden anon, maugre
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her head,
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in spite of
By very force he reft her maidenhead:
For which oppression was such clamour,
And such pursuit unto the king Arthour,
That damned
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was this knight for to be dead
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condemned
By course of law, and should have lost his head;
(Paraventure such was the statute tho),
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then
But that the queen and other ladies mo’
So long they prayed the king of his grace,
Till he his life him granted in the place,
And gave him to the queen, all at her will
To choose whether she would him save or spill
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destroy
The queen thanked the king with all her might;
And, after this, thus spake she to the knight,
When that she saw her time upon a day.
“Thou standest yet,” quoth she, “in such array,
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a position
That of thy life yet hast thou no surety;
I grant thee life, if thou canst tell to me
What thing is it that women most desiren:
Beware, and keep thy neck-bone from the iron
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executioner’s axe
And if thou canst not tell it me anon,
Yet will I give thee leave for to gon
A twelvemonth and a day, to seek and lear
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learn
An answer suffisant
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in this mattere.
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satisfactory
And surety will I have, ere that thou pace,
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go
Thy body for to yielden in this place.”
Woe was the knight, and sorrowfully siked;
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sighed
But what? he might not do all as him liked.
And at the last he chose him for to wend,
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depart
And come again, right at the yeare’s end,
With such answer as God would him purvey:
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provide
And took his leave, and wended forth his way.

He sought in ev’ry house and ev’ry place,
Where as he hoped for to finde grace,
To learne what thing women love the most:
But he could not arrive in any coast,
Where as he mighte find in this mattere
Two creatures
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according in fere.
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agreeing together
¹
Some said that women loved best richess,
Some said honour, and some said jolliness,
Some rich array, and some said lust
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a-bed,
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pleasure
And oft time to be widow and be wed.
Some said, that we are in our heart most eased
When that we are y-flatter’d and y-praised.
He
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went full nigh the sooth,
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I will not lie;
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came very near
A man shall win us best with flattery; the truth
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And with attendance, and with business
Be we y-limed,
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bothe more and less.
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caught with bird-lime
And some men said that we do love the best
For to be free, and do
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right as us lest,
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whatever we please
¹
And that no man reprove us of our vice,
But say that we are wise, and nothing nice,
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foolish
For truly there is none among us all,
If any wight will
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claw us on the gall,
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see note
¹
That will not kick, for that he saith us sooth:
Assay,
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and he shall find it, that so do’th.
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try
For be we never so vicious within,
We will be held both wise and clean of sin.
And some men said, that great delight have we
For to be held stable and eke secre,
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discreet
And in one purpose steadfastly to dwell,
And not bewray
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a thing that men us tell.
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give away
But that tale is not worth a rake-stele.
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rake-handle
Pardie, we women canne nothing hele,
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hide
Witness on Midas; will ye hear the tale?
Ovid, amonges other thinges smale
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small
Saith, Midas had, under his longe hairs,
Growing upon his head two ass’s ears;
The whiche vice he hid, as best he might,
Full subtlely from every man’s sight,
That, save his wife, there knew of it no mo’;
He lov’d her most, and trusted her also;
He prayed her, that to no creature
She woulde tellen of his disfigure.
She swore him, nay, for all the world to win,
She would not do that villainy or sin,
To make her husband have so foul a name:
She would not tell it for her owen shame.
But natheless her thoughte that she died,
That she so longe should a counsel hide;
Her thought it swell’d so sore about her heart
That needes must some word from her astart
And, since she durst not tell it unto man
Down to a marish fast thereby she ran,
Till she came there, her heart was all afire:
And, as a bittern bumbles
¹
in the mire,
¹
makes a humming noise
She laid her mouth unto the water down
“Bewray me not, thou water, with thy soun’”
Quoth she, “to thee I tell it, and no mo’,
Mine husband hath long ass’s eares two!
Now is mine heart all whole; now is it out;
I might no longer keep it, out of doubt.”
Here may ye see, though we a time abide,
Yet out it must, we can no counsel hide.
The remnant of the tale, if ye will hear,
Read in Ovid, and there ye may it lear.
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learn