Delphi Poetry Anthology: The World's Greatest Poems (Delphi Poets Series Book 50) (45 page)

To his fellows again repaired he.
What needeth it thereof to sermon
¹
more?
¹
talk, discourse
For, right as they had cast
¹
his death before,
¹
plotted
Right so they have him slain, and that anon.
And when that this was done, thus spake the one;
“Now let us sit and drink, and make us merry,
And afterward we will his body bury.”
And with that word it happen’d him
¹
par cas
^1
1
by chance
To take the bottle where the poison was,
And drank, and gave his fellow drink also,
For which anon they sterved
¹
both the two.
¹
died
But certes I suppose that Avicen
Wrote never in no canon, nor no fen,
More wondrous signes of empoisoning,
Than had these wretches two ere their ending.
Thus ended be these homicides two,
And eke the false empoisoner also.

O cursed sin, full of all cursedness!
O trait’rous homicide! O wickedness!
O glutt’ny, luxury, and hazardry!
Thou blasphemer of Christ with villany,
^1
1
outrage, impiety
And oathes great, of usage and of pride!
Alas! mankinde, how may it betide,
That to thy Creator, which that thee wrought,
And with his precious hearte-blood thee bought,
Thou art so false and so unkind,
¹
alas!
¹
unnatural
Now, good men, God forgive you your trespass,
And ware
¹
you from the sin of avarice.
¹
keep
Mine holy pardon may you all warice,
^1
1
heal
So that ye offer
¹
nobles or sterlings,
^1
1
gold or silver coins
¹
Or elles silver brooches, spoons, or rings.
Bowe your head under this holy bull.
Come up, ye wives, and offer of your will;
Your names I enter in my roll anon;
Into the bliss of heaven shall ye gon;
I you assoil
¹
by mine high powere,
¹
absolve
You that will offer, as clean and eke as clear
As ye were born. Lo, Sires, thus I preach;
And Jesus Christ, that is our soules’ leech,
^1
1
healer
So grante you his pardon to receive;
For that is best, I will not deceive.

But, Sirs, one word forgot I in my tale;
I have relics and pardon in my mail,
As fair as any man in Engleland,
Which were me given by the Pope’s hand.
If any of you will of devotion
Offer, and have mine absolution,
Come forth anon, and kneele here adown
And meekely receive my pardoun.
Or elles take pardon, as ye wend,
^1
1
go
All new and fresh at every towne’s end,
So that ye offer, always new and new,
Nobles or pence which that be good and true.
’Tis an honour to evereach
¹
that is here,
¹
each one
That ye have a suffisant
¹
pardonere
¹
suitable
T’assoile
¹
you in country as ye ride,
¹
absolve
For aventures which that may betide.
Paraventure there may fall one or two
Down of his horse, and break his neck in two.
Look, what a surety is it to you all,
That I am in your fellowship y-fall,
That may assoil
¹
you bothe
¹
more and lass,
^1
1
absolve
When that the soul shall from the body pass.
¹
great and small
¹
I rede
¹
that our Hoste shall begin,
¹
advise
For he is most enveloped in sin.
Come forth, Sir Host, and offer first anon,
And thou shalt kiss; the relics every one,
Yea, for a groat; unbuckle anon thy purse.

“Nay, nay,” quoth he, “then have I Christe’s curse!
Let be,” quoth he, “it shall not be,
¹
so the’ch.
^1
1
so may I thrive
¹
Thou wouldest make me kiss thine olde breech,
And swear it were a relic of a saint,
Though it were with thy
¹
fundament depaint’.
^1
1
stained by your bottom
¹
But, by the cross which that Saint Helen fand,
^1
1
found
I would I had thy coilons
¹
in mine hand,
¹
testicles
Instead of relics, or of sanctuary.
Let cut them off, I will thee help them carry;
They shall be shrined in a hogge’s turd.”
The Pardoner answered not one word;
So wroth he was, no worde would he say.

“Now,” quoth our Host, “I will no longer play
With thee, nor with none other angry man.”
But right anon the worthy Knight began
(When that he saw that all the people lough
¹
),
¹
laughed
“No more of this, for it is right enough.
Sir Pardoner, be merry and glad of cheer;
And ye, Sir Host, that be to me so dear,
I pray you that ye kiss the Pardoner;
And, Pardoner, I pray thee draw thee ner,
^1
1
nearer
And as we didde, let us laugh and play.”
Anon they kiss’d, and rode forth their way.

List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

List of Poets in Alphabetical Order

The Nun’s Priest’s Tale

Geoffrey Chaucer (1340–1400)

A poor widow,
¹
somedeal y-stept
¹
in age,
¹
somewhat advanced
¹
Was whilom dwelling in a poor cottage,
Beside a grove, standing in a dale.
This widow, of which I telle you my tale,
Since thilke day that she was last a wife,
In patience led a full simple life,
For little was
¹
her chattel and her rent.
^1
1
her goods and her income
¹
By husbandry
¹
of such as God her sent,
¹
thrifty management
She found
¹
herself, and eke her daughters two.
¹
maintained
Three large sowes had she, and no mo’;
Three kine, and eke a sheep that highte Mall.
Full sooty was her bow’r,
¹
and eke her hall,
¹
chamber
In which she ate full many a slender meal.
Of poignant sauce knew she never a deal.
^1
1
whit
No dainty morsel passed through her throat;
Her diet was
¹
accordant to her cote.
^1
1
in keeping with her cottage
¹
Repletion her made never sick;
Attemper
¹
diet was all her physic,
¹
moderate
And exercise, and
¹
hearte’s suffisance.
^1
1
contentment of heart
¹
The goute
¹
let her nothing for to dance,
^1
1
did not prevent her
Nor apoplexy shente
¹
not her head. from dancing
^1
1
hurt
No wine drank she, neither white nor red:
Her board was served most with white and black,
Milk and brown bread, in which she found no lack,
Seind
¹
bacon, and sometimes an egg or tway;
¹
singed
For she was as it were
¹
a manner dey.
^1
1
kind of day labourer
¹
A yard she had, enclosed all about
With stickes, and a drye ditch without,
In which she had a cock, hight Chanticleer;
In all the land of crowing
¹
n’as his peer.
^1
1
was not his equal
¹
His voice was merrier than the merry orgon,
^1
1
organ
On masse days that in the churches gon.
Well sickerer
¹
was his crowing in his lodge,
¹
more punctual
¹
Than is a clock, or an abbay horloge.
^1
1
clock
By nature he knew each ascension
Of th’ equinoctial in thilke town;
For when degrees fiftene were ascended,
Then crew he, that it might not be amended.
His comb was redder than the fine coral,
Embattell’d
 
as it were a castle wall.
His bill was black, and as the jet it shone;
Like azure were his legges and his tone;
^1
1
toes
His nailes whiter than the lily flow’r,
And like the burnish’d gold was his colour,
This gentle cock had in his governance
Sev’n hennes, for to do all his pleasance,
Which were his sisters and his paramours,
And wondrous like to him as of colours.
Of which the fairest-hued in the throat
Was called Damoselle Partelote,
Courteous she was, discreet, and debonair,
And companiable,
¹
and bare herself so fair,
¹
sociable
Since the day that she sev’n night was old,
That truely she had the heart in hold
Of Chanticleer, locked in every lith;
^1
1
limb
He lov’d her so, that well was him therewith,
But such a joy it was to hear them sing,
When that the brighte sunne gan to spring,
In sweet accord,
¹
”My lefe is fare in land.”
^1
 
1
my love is
For, at that time, as I have understand, gone abroad
¹
Beastes and birdes coulde speak and sing.

And so befell, that in a dawening,
As Chanticleer among his wives all
Sat on his perche, that was in the hall,
And next him sat this faire Partelote,
This Chanticleer gan groanen in his throat,
As man that in his dream is dretched
¹
sore,
¹
oppressed
And when that Partelote thus heard him roar,
She was aghast,
¹
and saide, “Hearte dear,
¹
afraid
What aileth you to groan in this mannere?
Ye be a very sleeper, fy for shame!”
And he answer’d and saide thus; “Madame,
I pray you that ye take it not agrief;
^1
1
amiss, in umbrage
By God,
¹
me mette
¹
I was in such mischief,
^2
1
I dreamed
^1
2
trouble
Right now, that yet mine heart is sore affright’.
Now God,” quoth he, “my sweven
¹
read aright
¹
dream, vision.
And keep my body out of foul prisoun.
¹
Me mette,
¹
how that I roamed up and down
¹
I dreamed
¹
Within our yard, where as I saw a beast
Was like an hound, and would have
¹
made arrest
^1
1
siezed
¹
Upon my body, and would have had me dead.
His colour was betwixt yellow and red;
And tipped was his tail, and both his ears,
With black, unlike the remnant of his hairs.
His snout was small, with glowing eyen tway;
Yet of his look almost for fear I dey;
^1
1
died
This caused me my groaning, doubteless.”

“Away,”
 
quoth she, “fy on you, hearteless!
^1
1
coward
Alas!” quoth she, “for, by that God above!
Now have ye lost my heart and all my love;
I cannot love a coward, by my faith.
For certes, what so any woman saith,
We all desiren, if it mighte be,
To have husbandes hardy, wise, and free,
And secret,
¹
and no niggard nor no fool,
¹
discreet
Nor him that is aghast
¹
of every tool,
^2
1
afraid
²
rag, trifle
Nor no avantour,
¹
by that God above!
¹
braggart
How durste ye for shame say to your love
That anything might make you afear’d?
Have ye no manne’s heart, and have a beard?
Alas! and can ye be aghast of swevenes?
^1
1
dreams
Nothing but vanity, God wot, in sweven is,
Swevens
¹
engender of repletions,
^1
1
are caused by over-eating
¹
And oft of fume,
¹
and of complexions,
¹
drunkenness
When humours be too abundant in a wight.
Certes this dream, which ye have mette tonight,
Cometh of the great supefluity
Of youre rede cholera,
¹
pardie,
¹
bile
Which causeth folk to dreaden in their dreams
Of arrows, and of fire with redde beams,
Of redde beastes, that they will them bite,
Of conteke,
¹
and of whelpes great and lite;
^2
1
contention
²
little
Right as the humour of melancholy
Causeth full many a man in sleep to cry,
For fear of bulles, or of beares blake,
Or elles that black devils will them take,
Of other humours could I tell also,
That worke many a man in sleep much woe;
That I will pass as lightly as I can.
Lo, Cato, which that was so wise a man,
Said he not thus,
¹
’Ne do no force of
¹
dreams,’
¹
attach no weight to
¹
Now, Sir,” quoth she, “when we fly from these beams,
For Godde’s love, as take some laxatife;
On peril of my soul, and of my life,
I counsel you the best, I will not lie,
That both of choler, and melancholy,
Ye purge you; and, for ye shall not tarry,
Though in this town is no apothecary,
I shall myself two herbes teache you,
That shall be for your health, and for your prow;
^1
1
profit
And in our yard the herbes shall I find,
The which have of their property by kind
^1
1
nature
To purge you beneath, and eke above.
Sire, forget not this for Godde’s love;
Ye be full choleric of complexion;
Ware that the sun, in his ascension,
You finde not replete of humours hot;
And if it do, I dare well lay a groat,
That ye shall have a fever tertiane,
Or else an ague, that may be your bane,
A day or two ye shall have digestives
Of wormes, ere ye take your laxatives,
Of laurel, centaury,
 
and fumeterere,
Or else of elder-berry, that groweth there,
Of catapuce,
 
or of the gaitre-berries,
Or herb ivy growing in our yard, that merry is:
Pick them right as they grow, and eat them in,
Be merry, husband, for your father’s kin;
Dreade no dream; I can say you no more.”

“Madame,” quoth he, “grand mercy of your lore,
But natheless, as touching
¹
Dan Catoun,
^1
1
Cato
That hath of wisdom such a great renown,
Though that he bade no dreames for to dread,
By God, men may in olde bookes read
Of many a man more of authority
Than ever Cato was, so may I the,
^1
1
thrive
That all the reverse say of his sentence,
^1
1
opinion
And have well founden by experience
That dreames be significations
As well of joy, as tribulations
That folk enduren in this life present.
There needeth make of this no argument;
The very preve
¹
sheweth it indeed.
¹
trial, experience
One of the greatest authors that men read
Saith thus, that whilom two fellowes went
On pilgrimage in a full good intent;
And happen’d so, they came into a town
Where there was such a congregatioun
Of people, and eke so
¹
strait of herbergage,
^1
1
without lodging
¹
That they found not as much as one cottage
In which they bothe might y-lodged be:
Wherefore they musten of necessity,
As for that night, departe company;
And each of them went to his hostelry,
^1
1
inn
And took his lodging as it woulde fall.
The one of them was lodged in a stall,
Far in a yard, with oxen of the plough;
That other man was lodged well enow,
As was his aventure, or his fortune,
That us governeth all, as in commune.
And so befell, that, long ere it were day,
This man mette
¹
in his bed, there: as he lay,
¹
dreamed
How that his fellow gan upon him call,
And said, ‘Alas! for in an ox’s stall
This night shall I be murder’d, where I lie
Now help me, deare brother, or I die;
In alle haste come to me,’ he said.
This man out of his sleep for fear abraid;
^1
1
started
But when that he was wak’d out of his sleep,
He turned him, and
¹
took of this no keep;
^1
1
paid this no attention
¹
He thought his dream was but a vanity.
Thus twies
¹
in his sleeping dreamed he,
¹
twice
And at the thirde time yet his fellaw again
Came, as he thought, and said, ‘I am now slaw;
^1
1
slain
Behold my bloody woundes, deep and wide.
Arise up early, in the morning, tide,
And at the west gate of the town,’ quoth he,
‘A carte full of dung there shalt: thou see,
In which my body is hid privily.
Do thilke cart arroste
¹
boldely.
¹
stop
My gold caused my murder, sooth to sayn.’
And told him every point how he was slain,
With a full piteous face, and pale of hue.

“And, truste well, his dream he found full true;
For on the morrow, as soon as it was day,
To his fellowes inn he took his way;
And when that he came to this ox’s stall,
After his fellow he began to call.
The hostelere answered him anon,
And saide, ‘Sir, your fellow is y-gone,
As soon as day he went out of the town.’
This man gan fallen in suspicioun,
Rememb’ring on his dreames that he mette,
^1
1
dreamed
And forth he went, no longer would he let,
^1
1
delay
Unto the west gate of the town, and fand
^1
1
found
A dung cart, as it went for to dung land,
That was arrayed in the same wise
As ye have heard the deade man devise;
^1
1
describe
And with an hardy heart he gan to cry,
‘Vengeance and justice of this felony:
My fellow murder’d in this same night
And in this cart he lies, gaping upright.
I cry out on the ministers,’ quoth he.
‘That shoulde keep and rule this city;
Harow! alas! here lies my fellow slain.’
What should I more unto this tale sayn?
The people out start, and cast the cart to ground
And in the middle of the dung they found
The deade man, that murder’d was all new.
O blissful God! that art so good and true,
Lo, how that thou bewray’st murder alway.
Murder will out, that see we day by day.
Murder is so wlatsom
¹
and abominable
¹
loathsome
To God, that is so just and reasonable,
That he will not suffer it heled
¹
be;
¹
concealed
Though it abide a year, or two, or three,
Murder will out, this is my conclusioun,
And right anon, the ministers of the town
Have hent
¹
the carter, and so sore him pined,
^2
1
seized
²
tortured
And eke the hostelere so sore engined,
^1
1
racked
That they beknew
¹
their wickedness anon,
¹
confessed
And were hanged by the necke bone.