This Sowdanesse, whom I thus blame and warye,
Leet prively hir conseil goon hir way.
What sholde I in this tale lenger tarie?
375 She rydeth to the Sowdan on a day,
And seyde hym, that she wolde reneye hir lay,
And cristendom of preestes handes fonge,
Repentynge hir she hethen was so longe;


       Now this sultana whom I blame and harry,
Let, secretly, her council go their way.
Why should I longer in my story tarry?
375 She rode unto the sultan, on a day,
And told him she'd renounce her old faith, yea,
Be christened at priests' hands, with all the throng,
Repentant she'd been heathen for so long.


Bisechynge hym to doon hir that honour
380 That she moste han the Cristen folk to feeste.
"To plesen hem I wol do my labour."
The Sowdan seith, "I wol doon at youre heeste,"
And knelynge thanketh hir of that requeste.
So gald he was, he nyste what to seye;
385 She kiste hir sone, and hoome she gooth hir weye.


Beseeching him to do her the honour
380 To let her have the Christian men to feast:
"To entertain them will be my labour."
The sultan said: "I'll be at your behest."
And, kneeling, thanked her for that fair request,
So glad he was he knew not what to say;
385 She kissed her son, and homeward went her way.

O Sowdanesse, roote of iniquitee!
Virage, thou Semyrame the secounde!
360 O serpent under femynyntee,
Lik to the serpent depe in helle ybounde!
O feyned womman, al that may confounde
Vertu and innocence thurgh thy malice
Is bred in thee, as nest of every vice!


O sultana, root of iniquity!
Virago, you Semiramis second!
360 O snake hid in femininity,
Just as the snake deep in hell is bound!
O pseudo-woman, all that may confound
Virtue and innocence, through your malice,
Is bred in you, the nest of every vice!


365 O Sathan, envious syn thilke day
That thou were chaced from oure heritage,
Wel knowestow to wommen the olde way!
Thou madest Eva brynge us in servage;
Thou wolt fordoon this Cristen mariage.
370 Thyn instrument, so weylawey the while!
Makestow of wommen, whan thou wolt bigile.


365 O Satan, envious since that same day
When thou wert banished from our heritage,
Well know'st thou unto woman thine old way!
Thou made'st Eve bring us into long bondage.
Thou wilt destroy this Christian marriage.
370 Thine instrument- ah welaway the while!-
Make'st thou of woman when thou wilt beguile!

       They sworen and assenten every man
345 To lyve with hir, and dye, and by hir stonde,
And everich in the beste wise he kan
To strengthen hir shal alle hise frendes fonde,
And she hath this emprise ytake on honde,
Which ye shal heren, that I shal devyse.
350 And to hem alle she spak right in this wyse:


       They swore and they assented, every man,
345 To live by her and die, and by her stand;
And each of them, in what best wise he can,
Shall gather friends and followers into band;
And she shall take the enterprise in hand,
The form of which I soon will you apprise,
350 And to them all she spoke, then, in this wise.


       "We shul first feyne us cristendom to take, -
Coold water shal nat greve us but a lite-
And I shal swich a feeste and revel make,
That, as I trowe, I shal the Sowdan quite;
355 For thogh his wyf be cristned never so white,
She shal have nede to wasshe awey the rede,
Thogh she a font-ful water with hir lede!"


       "We will first feign the Christian faith to take;
Cold water will not harm us from the rite;
And I will such a feast and revel make
As will, I trust, to lull be requisite.
355 For though his wife be christened ever so white,
She shall have need to wash away the red,
Though a full font of water be there sped."

       The mooder of the Sowdan, welle of vices,
Espied hath hir sones pleyne entente,
325 How he wol lete hise olde sacrifices,
And right anon she for hir conseil sente,
And they been come, to knowe what she mente,
And whan assembled was this folk in-feere,
She sette hir doun, and seyde as ye shal heere.


       The mother of the sultan, well of vices,
Has heard the news of her son's full intent,
325 How he will leave the ancient sacrifices;
And she at once for her own council sent;
And so they came to learn what thing she meant.
And when they were assembled, each compeer,
She took her seat and spoke as you shall hear.


330        "Lordes," quod she, "ye knowen everichon,
How that my sone in point is for to lete
The hooly lawes of oure Alkaron,
Yeven by Goddes message, Makomete.
But oon avow to grete God I heete,
335 The lyf shal rather out of my body sterte,
Than Makometes lawe out of myn herte!


330        "My lords," said she, "you know well, every man,
My son intends to forgo and forget
The holy precepts of our Alkoran,
Given by God's own prophet, Mahomet.
But I will make one vow to great God yet:
335 The life shall rather from my body start
Than Islam's laws out of my faithful heart!


What sholde us tyden of this newe lawe
But thraldom to our bodies, and penance,
And afterward in helle to be drawe
340 For we reneyed Mahoun oure creance?
But lordes, wol ye maken assurance
As I shal seyn, assentynge to my loore,
And I shal make us sauf for everemoore."


What should we get from taking this new creed
But thralldom for our bodies and penance?
And afterward, be drawn to Hell, indeed,
340 For thus denying our faith's inheritance?
But, lords, if you will give your sustenance,
And join me for the wisdom I've in store,
I swear to save us all for evermore."

       To ship is brought this woful faire mayde
Solempnely, with every circumstance,
"Now Jesu Crist be with yow alle," she seyde.
Ther nys namoore but, "Farewel faire Custance!"
320 She peyneth hir to make good contenance,
And forth I lete hir saille in this manere,
And turne I wole agayn to my matere.


       To ship is brought this fair and woeful maid,
Full decorously, with every circumstance.
"Now Jesus Christ be with you all," she said;
And there's no more, save "Farewell, fair Constance!"
320 She strove to keep a cheerful countenance,
And forth I let her sail in this manner,
And turn again to matters far from her.

       Allas, what wonder is it thogh she wepte,
That shal be sent to strange nacioun
Fro freendes that so tendrely hir kepte,
270 And to be bounden under subjeccioun
Of oon, she knoweth nat his condicioun?
Housbondes been alle goode, and han ben yoore,
That knowen wyves! I dar sey yow namoore.


       Alas! What wonder is it that she wept?
She shall be sent to a strange country, far
From friends that her so tenderly have kept,
270 And bound to one her joy to make or mar
Whom she knows not, nor what his people are.
Husbands are all good, and have been of yore,
That know their wives, but I dare say no more.


       "Fader," she seyde, "Thy wrecched child Custance,
275 Thy yonge doghter, fostred up so softe,
And ye my mooder, my soverayn plesance,
Over alle thyng, out-taken Crist on-lofte,
Custance, youre child, hir recomandeth ofte
Unto your grace, for I shal to Surrye
280 Ne shal I nevere seen yow moore with eye.


       "Father," she said, "your wretched child, Constance,
275 Your daughter reared in luxury so soft,
And you, my mother, and my chief pleasance,
Above all things, except Christ who rules aloft,
Constance your child would be remembered oft
Within your prayers, for I to Syria go,
280 Nor shall I ever see you more, ah no!


Allas! unto the Barbre nacioun
I moste goon, syn that it is youre wille,
But Crist, that starf for our savacioun,
So yeve me grace hise heestes to fulfille,-
285 I, wrecche womman, no fors though I spille!
Wommen are born to thraldom and penance,
And to been under mannes governance."


Unto the land of Barbary my fate
Compels me now, because it is your will;
But Christ, who died to save our sad estate,
So give me grace, his mandates I'll fulfill;
285 I, wretched woman, though I die, 'tis nil.
Women are born to slave and to repent,
And to be subject to man's government."


       I trowe at Troye, whan Pirrus brak the wal,
Or Ilion brende, ne at Thebes the Citee,
290 N'at Rome for the harm thurgh Hanybal
That Romayns hath venquysshed tymes thre,
Nas herd swich tendre wepyng for pitee
As in the chambre was, for his departynge;
But forth she moot, wher-so she wepe or synge.


       I think, at Troy, when Pyrrhus broke the wall;
When Ilium burned; when Thebes fell, that city;
290 At Rome, for all the harm from Hannibal,
Who vanquished Roman arms in campaigns three -
I think was heard no weeping for pity
As in the chamber at her leave-taking;
Yet go she must, whether she weep or sing.


295        O firste moevyng! crueel firmanent,
With thy diurnal sweigh, that crowdest ay
And hurlest al from Est til Occident
That naturelly wolde holde another way,
Thy crowdyng set the hevene in swich array
300 At the bigynnyng of this fiers viage,
That crueel Mars hath slayn this mariage.


295        O primal-moving, cruel Firmament,
With thy diurnal pressure, that doth sway
And hurl all things from East to Occident,
Which otherwise would hold another way,
Thy pressure set the heavens in such array,
300 At the beginning of this wild voyage,
That cruel Mars has murdered this marriage.


Infortunat ascendent tortuous,
Of which the lord is helplees falle, allas!
Out of his angle into the derkeste hous!
305 O Mars! O Atazir! as in this cas,
O fieble Moone, unhappy been thy paas!
Thou knyttest thee, ther thou art nat receyved;
Ther thou were weel, fro thennes artow weyved.-


Unfortunate ascendant tortuous,
Of which the lord has helpless fall'n, alas,
Out of his angle to the darkest house!
305 O Mars! O Atazir in present case!
O feeble Moon, unhappy is thy pace!
Thou'rt in conjunction where thou'rt not received,
And where thou should'st go, thou hast not achieved.


Imprudent Emperour of Rome, allas!
310 Was ther no philosophre in al thy toun?
Is no tyme bet than oother in swich cas?
Of viage is ther noon eleccioun,
Namely to folk of heigh condicioun,
Noght whan a roote is of a burthe yknowe?
315 Allas, we been to lewed or to slowe!


Imprudent emperor of Rome, alas!
310 Was no philosopher in all thy town?
Is one time like another in such case?
Indeed, can there be no election shown,
Especially to folk of high renown,
And when their dates of birth may all men know?
315 Alas! We are too ignorant or too slow.

       Now wolde som men waiten, as I gesse,
That I sholde tellen al the purveiance
That th'Emperour, of his grete noblesse,
Hath shapen for his doghter dame Custance;
250 Wel may men knowen that so greet ordinance
May no man tellen in a litel clause
As was arrayed for so heigh a cause.


       Now would some men expect, as I may guess,
That I should tell of all the purveyance
The emperor, of his great nobleness,
Has destined for his daughter, fair Constance.
250 But men must know that so great ordinance
May no one tell within a little clause
As was arrayed there for so high a cause.


Bisshopes been shapen with hir for to wende,
Lordes, ladies, knyghtes of renoun,
255 And oother folk ynogh, this is th'ende,
And notified is, thurghout the toun,
That every wight with greet devocioun
Sholde preyen Crist, that he this mariage
Receyve in gree, and spede this viage.


Bishops were named who were with her to wend,
Ladies and lords and knights of high renown,
255 And other folk- but I will make an end,
Except that it was ordered through the town
That everyone, with great devotion shown,
Should pray to Christ that he this marriage lead
To happy end, and the long voyage speed.


260        The day is comen of hir departynge,
I seye, the woful day fatal is come,
That ther may be no lenger tariynge,
But forthward they hem dressen, alle and some.
Custance, that was with sorwe al overcome,
265 Ful pale arist, and dresseth hir to wende,
For wel she seeth ther is noon oother ende.


260        The day is come, at last, for leave-taking,
I say, the woeful, fatal day is come,
When there may be no longer tarrying,
But to go forth make ready all and some;
Constance, who was with sorrow overcome,
265 Rose, sad and pale, and dressed herself to wend;
For well she saw there was no other end.

Thanne sawe they therin swich difficultee
By wey of reson, for to speke al playn
220 By cause that ther was swich diversitee
Bitwene hir bothe lawes, that they sayn
They trowe that "no Cristene prince wolde fayn
Wedden his child under oure lawes swete
That us were taught by Mahoun oure prophete."


Then saw they therein so much difficulty,
When reasoning of it, to make all plain,
220 Because such conflict and diversity
Between the laws of both lands long had lain
They held: "No Christian emperor were fain
To have his child wed under our sweet laws,
Given us by Mahomet for God's cause."


225        And he answerde: "Rather than I lese
Custance, I wol be cristned, doutelees.
I moot been hires, I may noon oother chese;
I prey yow, hoold youre argumentz in pees.
Saveth my lyf, and beth noght recchelees
230 To geten hir that hath my lyf in cure,
For in this wo I may nat longe endure."


225        But he replied: "Nay, rather then than lose
The Lady Constance, I'll be christened, yes!
I must be hers, I can no other choose.
I pray you let be no rebelliousness;
Save me my life, and do not be careless
230 In getting her who thus alone may cure
The woe whereof I cannot long endure."


       What nedeth gretter dilatacioun?
I seye, by tretys and embassadrye
And by the popes mediacioun,
235 And al the chirche and al the chivalrie,
That in destruccioun of Mawmettrie
And in encrees of Cristes lawe deere,
They been acorded, so as ye shal heere:


       What needs a copious dilation now?
I say: By treaties and by embassy,
And the pope's mediation, high and low,
235 And all the Church and all the chivalry,
That, to destruction of Mahometry
And to augmenting Christian faith so dear,
They were agreed, at last, as you shall hear.


How that the Sowdan and his baronage
240 And alle hise liges sholde ycristned be-
And he shal han Custance in mariage,
And certein gold, I noot what quantitee,
And heerto founden suffisant suretee.
This same accord was sworn on eyther syde.
245 Now, faire Custance, almyghty God thee gyde!


The sultan and his entire baronage
240 And all his vassals, they must christened be,
And he shall have Constance in true marriage,
And gold (I know not in what quantity),
For which was found enough security;
This, being agreed, was sworn by either side.
245 Now, Constance fair, may great God be your guide!

       This Sowdan for his privee conseil sente,
205 And, shortly of this matiere for to pace,
He hath to hem declared his entente
And seyde hem, certein, but he myghte have grace
To han Custance withinne a litel space,
He nas but deed; and charged hem in hye
210 To shapen for his lyf som remedye.


       This sultan for his privy-council sent,
205 And, but to tell it briefly in this place,
He did to them declare his whole intent,
And said that, surely, save he might have grace
To gain Constance within a little space,
He was but dead; and charged them, speedily
210 To find out, for his life, some remedy.


       Diverse men diverse thynges seyden;
They argumenten, casten up and doun,
Many a subtil resoun forth they leyden,
They speken of magyk and abusioun;
215 But finally, as in conclusioun,
They kan nat seen in that noon avantage,
Ne in noon oother wey, save mariage.


       By divers men, then, divers things were said;
They reasoned, and they argued up and down;
Full much with subtle logic there they sped;
They spoke of spells, of treachery in Rome town;
215 But finally, as to an end foreknown,
They were agreed that nothing should gainsay
A marriage, for there was no other way.

190 Paraventure in thilke large book,
Which that men clepe the hevene, ywriten was
With sterres, whan that he his birthe took,
That he for love sholde han his deeth, allas!
For in the sterres clerer than is glas
195 Is writen, God woot, whoso koude it rede,
The deeth of every man, withouten drede.


190 Now peradventure, in that mighty book
Which men call heaven, it had come to pass,
In stars, when first a living breath he took,
That he for love should get his death, alas!
For in the stars, far dearer than is glass,
195 Is written, God knows, read it he who can,-
And truth it is - the death of every man.


In sterres many a wynter therbiforn
Was writen the deeth of Ector, Achilles,
Of Pompei, Julius, er they were born,
200 The strif of Thebes, and of Ercules,
Of Sampson, Turnus, and of Socrates
The deeth, but mennes wittes ben so dulle
That no wight kan wel rede it atte fulle.


In stars, full many a winter over-worn,
Was written the death of Hector, Achilles,
Of Pompey, Julius, long before they were born;
200 The strife at Thebes; and of great Hercules,
Of Samson, of Turnus, of Socrates,
The death to each; but men's wits are so dull
There is no man may read this to the full.

And al this voys was sooth, as God is trewe!
170 But now to purpos, lat us turne agayn;
Thise marchantz han doon fraught hir shippes newe,
And whan they han this blisful mayden sayn,
Hoom to Surrye been they went ful fayn,
And doon hir nedes as they han doon yoore,
175 And lyven in wele, I kan sey yow namoore.


And all this voice said truth, as God is true.
170 But to our story let us turn again.
These merchants all have freighted ships anew,
And when they'd seen the lovely maid, they fain
Would seek their Syrian homes with all their train,
To do their business as they'd done yore,
175 And live in weal; I cannot tell you more.


       Now fil it, that thise marchantz stode in grace
Of hym, that was the Sowdan of Surrye.
For whan they cam from any strange place,
He wolde, of his benigne curteisye,
180 Make hem good chiere, and bisily espye
Tidynges of sondry regnes, for to leere
The wondres that they myghte seen or heere.


       Now so it was, these merchants stood in grace
Of Syria's sultan; and so wise was he
That when they came from any foreign place
He would, of his benignant courtesy,
180 Make them good cheer, inquiring earnestly
For news of sundry realms, to learn, by word,
The wonders that they might have seen and heard.


Amonges othere thynges, specially
Thise marchantz han hym toold of dame Custance
185 So greet noblesse, in ernest ceriously,
That this Sowdan hath caught so greet plesance
To han hir figure in his remembrance,
That all his lust and al his bisy cure
Was for to love hir, while his lyf may dure.


Among some other things, especially
These merchants told him tales of fair Constance;
185 From such nobility, told of earnestly,
This sultan caught a dream of great pleasance,
And she so figured in his remembrance
That all his wish and all his busy care
Were, throughout life, to love that lady fair.

       Sojourned han thise marchantz in that toun
A certein tyme, as fil to hire plesance.
150 And so bifel, that th'excellent renoun
Of the Emperoures doghter, dame Custance,
Reported was, with every circumstance
Unto thise Surryen marchantz in swich wyse
Fro day to day, as I shal yow devyse.


       Remained have now these merchants in that town
A certain time, as fell to their pleasance.
150 And so it happened that the high renown
Of th' emperor's daughter, called lady Constance.
Reported was, with every circumstance,
Unto these Syrian merchants, in such wise,
From day to day, as I will now apprise.


155        This was the commune voys of every man:
"Oure Emperour of Rome, God hym see,
A doghter hath that, syn the world bigan,
To rekene as wel hir goodnesse as beautee,
Nas nevere swich another as is shee.
160 I prey to God in honour hir sustene
And wolde she were of all Europe the queene!


155        This was the common voice of every man:
"Our emperor of Rome, God save and see,
A daughter has that since the world began.
To reckon as well her goodness as beauty,
Was never such another as is she;
160 I pray that God her fame will keep, serene,
And would she were of all Europe the queen.


In hir is heigh beautee, withoute pride,
Yowthe, withoute grenehede or folye,
To alle hir werkes vertu is hir gyde,
165 Humblesse hath slayn in hir al tirannye,
She is mirour of alle curteisye,
Hir herte is verray chambre of hoolynesse,
Hir hand ministre of fredam for almesse."


In her is beauty high, and without pride;
Youth, without crudity or levity;
In an endeavours, virtue is her guide;
165 Meekness in her has humbled tyranny;
She is the mirror of all courtesy;
Her heart's a very shrine of holiness;
Her hand is freedom's agent for largess."

       In Surrye whilom dwelte a compaignye
135 Of chapmen riche, and therto sadde and trewe,
That wyde-where senten hir spicerye,
Clothes of gold, and satyns riche of hewe.
Hir chaffare was so thrifty and so newe
That every wight hath deyntee to chaffare
140 With hem, and eek to sellen hem hir ware.


       In Syria, once, there dwelt a company
135 Of traders rich, all sober men and true,
That far abroad did send their spicery,
And cloth of gold, and satins rich in hue;
Their wares were all so excellent and new
That everyone was eager to exchange
140 With them, and sell them divers things and strange,


Now fil it, that the maistres of that sort
Han shapen hem to Rome for to wende;
Were it for chapmanhode, or for disport,
Noon oother message wolde they thider sende,
145 But comen hemself to Rome, this is the ende,
And in swich place as thoughte hem avantage
For hir entente, they take hir herbergage.


It came to pass, the masters of this sort
Decided that to Rome they all would wend,
Were it for business or for only sport;
No other message would they thither send,
145 But went themselves to Rome; this is the end.
And there they found an inn and took their rest
As seemed to their advantage suited best.

       O hateful harm, condicion of poverte!
100 With thurst, with coold, with hunger so confoundid!
To asken help thee shameth in thyn herte,
If thou noon aske, so soore artow so woundid
That verray nede unwrappeth al thy wounde hid;
Maugree thyn heed thou most for indigence
105 Or stele, or begge, or borwe thy despence!


       O hateful evil, state of poverty!
100 With thirst, with cold, with hunger so confounded!
To ask help shameth thy heart's delicacy;
If none thou ask, by need thou art so wounded
That need itself uncovereth all the wound hid!
Spite of thy will thou must, for indigence,
105 Go steal, or beg, or borrow thine expense.


Thow blamest Crist, and seist ful bitterly
He mysdeparteth richesse temporal.
Thy neighebore thou wytest synfully,
And seist thou hast to lite and he hath al.
110 "Parfay!" seistow, "somtyme he rekene shal,
Whan that his tayl shal brennen in the gleede,
For he noght helpeth needfulle in hir neede."


Thou blamest Christ, and thou say'st bitterly,
He misdistributes riches temporal;
Thy neighbour dost thou censure, sinfully,
Saying thou hast too little and he hath all.
110 "My faith," sayest thou, "sometime the reckoning shall
Come on him, when his tail shall burn for greed,
Not having helped the needy in their need."


       Herkne what is the sentence of the wise,
"Bet is to dyen than have indigence."
115 Thy selve neighebor wol thee despise,
If thou be povre, farwel thy reverence!
Yet of the wise man take this sentence,
"Alle dayes of povre men been wikke;"
Be war therfore, er thou come to that prikke.


       Hear now what is the judgment of the wise:
"Better to die than live in indigence;"
115 "Thy very pauper neighbours thee despise."
If thou be poor, farewell thy reverence!
Still of the wise man take this full sentence:
"The days of the afflicted are all sin."
Beware, therefore, that thou come not therein!


120 If thou be povre, thy brother hateth thee,
And alle thy freendes fleen from thee; allas,
O riche marchauntz, ful of wele been yee!
O noble, o prudent folk, as in this cas!
Youre bagges been nat fild with ambes as,
125 But with sys cynk, that renneth for youre chaunce,
At Cristemasse myrie may ye daunce!


120 If thou be poor, thy brother hateth thee,
And all thy friends will flee from thee, alas!"
O wealthy merchants, full of weal ye be,
O noble, prudent folk in happier case!
Your dice-box doth not tumble out ambsace,
125 But with six-cinq ye throw against your chance;
And so, at Christmas, merrily may ye dance!


Ye seken lond and see for your wynnynges,
As wise folk ye knowen all th'estaat
Of regnes; ye been fadres of tydynges
130 And tales, bothe of pees and of debaat.
I were right now of tales desolaat
Nere that a marchant, goon is many a yeere,
Me taughte a tale, which that ye shal heere.


Ye search all land and sea for your winnings,
And, as wise folk, ye know well the estate
Of all realms; ye are sires of happenings
130 And tales of peace and tales of war's debate.
But I were now of tales all desolate,
Were 't not a merchant, gone this many a year,
Taught me the story which you now shall hear.

上面一段有很多希腊故事典故在里面

        "Hooste," quod he, "Depardieux ich assente,
40 To breke forward is nat myn entente.
Biheste is dette, and I wole holde fayn
Al my biheste, I kan no bettre sayn.
For swich lawe as a man yeveth another wight,
He sholde hymselven usen it by right;
45 Thus wole oure text, but nathelees certeyn
I kan right now no thrifty tale seyn;
That Chaucer, thogh he kan but lewedly
On metres and on rymyng craftily,
Hath seyd hem in swich Englissh as he kan,
50 Of olde tyme, as knoweth many a man.
And if he have noght seyd hem, leve brother,
In o book, he hath seyd hem in another.
For he hath toold of loveris up and doun
Mo than Ovide made of mencioun,
55 In hise Episteles that been ful olde;
What sholde I tellen hem, syn they ben tolde?
       In youthe he made of Ceys and Alcione,
And sitthen hath he spoken of everichone
Thise noble wyves and thise loveris eke.
60 Whoso that wole his large volume seke
Cleped the Seintes Legende of Cupide,
Ther may he seen the large woundes wyde
Of Lucresse, and of Babilan Tesbee,
The swerd of Dido for the false Enee,
65 The tree of Phillis for hir Demophon,
The pleinte of Dianire and Hermyon,
Of Adriane and of Isiphilee,
The bareyne yle stondynge in the see,
The dreynte Leandre for his Erro,
70 The teeris of Eleyne, and eek the wo
Of Brixseyde, and of the, Ladomea,
The crueltee of the, queene Medea,
Thy litel children hangyng by the hals
For thy Jason, that was in love so fals.
75 O Ypermystra, Penolopee, Alceste,
Youre wyfhede he comendeth with the beste!


       "Mine host," said he, "by the gods, I consent;
40 To break a promise is not my intent.
A promise is a debt, and by my fay
I keep all mine; I can no better say.
For such law as man gives to other wight,
He should himself submit to it, by right;
45 Thus says our text; nevertheless, 'tis true
I can relate no useful tale to you,
But Chaucer, though he speaks but vulgarly
In metre and in rhyming dextrously,
Has told them in such English as he can,
50 In former years, as knows full many a man.
For if he has not told them, my dear brother,
In one book, why he's done so in another.
For he has told of lovers, up and down,
More than old Ovid mentions, of renown,
55 In his Epistles, that are now so old.
Why should I then re-tell what has been told?
       In youth he told of Ceyx and Alcyon,
And has since then spoken of everyone-
Of noble wives and lovers did he speak.
60 And whoso will that weighty volume seek
Called Legend of Good Women, need not chide;
There may be ever seen the large wounds wide
Of Lucrece, Babylonian Thisbe;
Dido's for false Aeneas when fled he;
65 Demophoon and Phyllis and her tree;
The plaint of Deianira and Hermione;
Of Ariadne and Hypsipyle;
The barren island standing in the sea;
The drowned Leander and his fair Hero;
70 The tears of Helen and the bitter woe
Of Briseis and that of Laodomea;
The cruelty of that fair Queen Medea,
Her little children hanging by the neck
When all her love for Jason came to wreck!
75 O Hypermnestra, Penelope, Alcestis,
Your wifehood does he honour, since it best is!


       But certeinly no word ne writeth he
Of thilke wikke ensample of Canacee,
That loved hir owene brother synfully; -
80 Of swiche cursed stories I sey fy!-
Or ellis of Tyro Appollonius,
How that the cursed kyng Antiochus
Birafte his doghter of hir maydenhede,
That is so horrible a tale for to rede,
85 Whan he hir threw upon the pavement.
And therfore he, of ful avysement,
Nolde nevere write, in none of his sermouns,
Of swiche unkynde abhomynaciouns;
Ne I wol noon reherce, if that I may.


       But certainly no word has written he
Of that so wicked woman, Canace,
Who loved her own blood brother sinfully.
80 Of suchlike cursed tales, I say 'Let be!'
Nor yet of Tyrian Apollonius;
Nor how the wicked King Antiochus
Bereft his daughter of her maidenhead
Which is so horrible a tale to read,
85 When down he flung her on the paving stones
And therefore he, advisedly, truth owns,
Would never write, in one of his creations,
Of such unnatural abominations.
And I'll refuse to tell them, if I may.


90        But of my tale how shall I doon this day?
Me were looth be likned, doutelees,
To Muses that men clepe Pierides -
Methamorphosios woot what I mene -
But nathelees, I recche noght a bene
95 Though I come after hym with hawebake,
I speke in prose, and lat him rymes make."
And with that word he, with a sobre cheere,
Bigan his tale, as ye shal after heere.


90        But for my tale, what shall I do this day?
Any comparison would me displease
To Muses whom men call Pierides
The Metamorphoses show what I mean
Nevertheless, I do not care a bean
95 Though I come after him with my plain fare.
I'll stick to prose. Let him his rhymes prepare."
And thereupon, with sober face and cheer,
He told his tale, as you shall read it here.

       Oure Hooste saugh wel that the brighte sonne
The ark of his artificial day hath ronne
The ferthe part, and half an houre and moore;
And though he were nat depe expert in loore,
5 He wiste it was the eightetethe day
Of Aprill, that is messager to May;
And saugh wel, that the shadwe of every tree
Was as in lengthe the same quantitee
That was the body erect that caused it,
10 And therfore by the shadwe he took his wit
That Phebus, which that shoon so clere and brighte,
Degrees was fyve and fourty clombe on highte;
And for that day, as in that latitude,
It was ten at the clokke, he gan conclude,
15 And sodeynly he plighte his hors aboute.-


       Our good host saw well that the shining sun
The are of artificial day had run
A quarter part, plus half an hour or more;
And though not deeply expert in such lore,
5 He reckoned that it was the eighteenth day
Of April, which is the prelude to May;
And saw well that the shadow of each tree
Was, as to length, of even quantity
As was the body upright causing it.
10 And therefore by the shade he had the wit
To know that Phoebus, shining there so bright,
Had climbed degrees full forty-five in height;
And that, that day, and in that latitude,
It was ten of the clock, he did conclude,
15 And suddenly he put his horse about.


       "Lordynges," quod he, "I warne yow, al this route,
The fourthe party of this day is gon.
Now for the love of God and of Seint John,
Leseth no tyme, as ferforth as ye may.
20 Lordynges, the tyme wasteth nyght and day,
And steleth from us, what pryvely slepynge,
And what thurgh necligence in oure wakynge,
As dooth the streem, that turneth nevere agayn,
Descendynge fro the montaigne into playn.
25 Wel kan Senec and many a philosophre
Biwaillen tyme, moore than gold in cofre.
For 'Los of catel may recovered be,
But los of tyme shendeth us,' quod he.
It wol nat come agayn, withouten drede,
30 Namoore than wole Malkynes maydenhede,
Whan she hath lost it in hir wantownesse.
Lat us nat mowlen thus in ydelnesse.


       "Masters," said he, "I warn all of this rout,
A quarter of this present day is gone;
Now for the love of God and of Saint John,
Lose no more time, or little as you may;
20 Masters, the time is wasting night and day,
And steals away from us, what with our sleeping
And with our sloth, when we awake are keeping,
As does the stream, that never turns again,
Descending from the mountain to the plain.
25 And well may Seneca, and many more,
Bewail lost time far more than gold in store.
'For chattels lost may yet recovered be,
But time lost ruins us for aye,' says he.
It will not come again, it is a pity,
30 Not any more than will Mag's virginity
When she has lost it in her wantonness;
Let's not grow mouldy thus in idleness.


       Sir Man of Lawe," quod he, "so have ye blis,
Telle us a tale anon, as forward is.
35 Ye been submytted thurgh youre free assent
To stonden in this cas at my juggement.
Acquiteth yow as now of youre biheeste,
Thanne have ye do youre devoir atte leeste."


       Sir Lawyer," said he, "as you have hope of bliss,
Tell us a tale, as our agreement is;
35 You have submitted, by your free assent,
To stand, in this case, to my sole judgment;
Acquit yourself, keep promise with the rest,
And you'll have done your duty, at the least."

残念，厨师的故事居然没有写完

       A prentys whilom dwelled in oure citee,
And of a craft of vitailliers was hee.
Gaillard he was as goldfynch in the shawe,
Broun as a berye, a propre short felawe,
45 With lokkes blake, ykembd ful fetisly.
Dauncen he koude so wel and jolily
That he was cleped Perkyn Revelour.
He was as ful of love and paramour
As is the hyve ful of hony sweete:
50 Wel was the wenche with hym myghte meete.
At every bridale wolde he synge and hoppe;
He loved bet the taverne than the shoppe.
For whan ther any ridyng was in Chepe,
Out of the shoppe thider wolde he lepe -
55 Til that he hadde al the sighte yseyn,
And daunced wel, he wolde nat come ayeyn -
And gadered hym a meynee of his sort
To hoppe and synge and maken swich disport;
And ther they setten stevene for to meete
60 To pleyen at the dys in swich a streete.
For in the toune nas ther no prentys
That fairer koude caste a paire of dys
Than Perkyn koude, and therto he was free
Of his dispense, in place of pryvetee.
65 That fond his maister wel in his chaffare;
For often tyme he foond his box ful bare.
For sikerly a prentys revelour
That haunteth dys, riot, or paramour,
His maister shal it in his shoppe abye,
70 Al have he no part of the mynstralcye.
For thefte and riot, they been convertible
Al konne he pleye on gyterne or ribible.
Revel and trouthe, as in a lowe degree,
They been ful wrothe al day, as men may see.


       There lived a 'prentice, once, in our city,
And of the craft of victuallers was he;
Happy he was as goldfinch in the glade,
Brown as a berry, short, and thickly made,
45 With black hair that he combed right prettily.
He could dance well, and that so jollily,
That he was nicknamed Perkin Reveller.
He was as full of love, I may aver,
As is a beehive full of honey sweet;
50 Well for the wench that with him chanced to meet.
At every bridal would he sing and hop,
Loving the tavern better than the shop.
When there was any festival in Cheap,
Out of the shop and thither would he leap,
55 And, till the whole procession he had seen,
And danced his fill, he'd not return again.
He gathered many fellows of his sort
To dance and sing and make all kinds of sport.
And they would have appointments for to meet
60 And play at dice in such, or such, a street.
For in the whole town was no apprentice
Who better knew the way to throw the dice
Than Perkin; and therefore he was right free
With money, when in chosen company.
65 His master found this out in business there;
For often-times he found the till was bare.
For certainly a revelling bond-boy
Who loves dice, wine, dancing, and girls of joy -
His master, in his shop, shall feel the effect,
70 Though no part have he in this said respect;
For theft and riot always comrades are,
And each alike he played on gay guitar.
Revels and truth, in one of low degree,
Do battle always, as all men may see.


75        This joly prentys with his maister bood,
Til he were ny out of his prentishood,
Al were he snybbed bothe erly and late,
And somtyme lad with revel to Newegate.
But atte laste his maister hym bithoghte,
80 Upon a day, whan he his papir soughte,
Of a proverbe that seith this same word,
'Wel bet is roten appul out of hoord
Than that it rotie al the remenaunt.'
So fareth it by a riotous servaunt;
85 It is ful lasse harm to lete hym pace,
Than he shende alle the servantz in the place
Therfore his maister yaf hym acquitance,
And bad hym go, with sorwe and with meschance!
And thus this joly prentys hadde his leve.
90 Now lat hym riote al the nyghte or leve.
And for ther is no theef withoute a lowke,
That helpeth hym to wasten and to sowke
Of that he brybe kan or borwe may,
Anon he sente his bed and his array
95 Unto a compeer of his owene sort,
That lovede dys, and revel, and disport,
And hadde a wyf that heeld for contenance
A shoppe, and swyved for hir sustenance.


75        This 'prentice shared his master's fair abode
Till he was nigh out of his 'prenticehood,
Though he was checked and scolded early and late,
And sometimes led, for drinking, to Newgate;
But at the last his master did take thought,
80 Upon a day, when he his ledger sought,
On an old proverb wherein is found this word:
"Better take rotten apple from the hoard
Than let it lie to spoil the good ones there."
So with a drunken servant should it fare;
85 It is less ill to let him go, apace,
Than ruin all the others in the place.
Therefore he freed and cast him loose to go
His own road unto future care and woe;
And thus this jolly 'prentice had his leave.
90 Now let him riot all night long, or thieve.
But since there's never thief without a buck
To help him waste his money and to suck
All he can steal or borrow by the way,
At once he sent his bed and his array
95 To one he knew, a fellow of his sort,
Who loved the dice and revels and all sport,
And had a wife that kept, for countenance,
A shop, and whored to gain her sustenance.




(Chaucer did not finish this tale.)

20        Oure Hoost answerde and seide, "I graunte it thee,
Now telle on, Roger, looke that it be good,
For many a pastee hastow laten blood,
And many a Jakke of Dovere hastow soold
That hath been twies hoot and twies coold.
25 Of many a pilgrim hastow Cristes curs,
For of thy percely yet they fare the wors,
That they han eten with thy stubbel goos,
For in thy shoppe is many a flye loos.
Now telle on, gentil Roger, by thy name,
30 But yet I pray thee, be nat wroth for game;
A man may seye ful sooth in game and pley."


20        Our host replied: "I grant it readily.
Now tell on, Roger; see that it be good;
For many a pasty have you robbed of blood,
And many a Jack of Dover have you sold
That has been heated twice and twice grown cold.
25 From many a pilgrim have you had Christ's curse,
For of your parsley they yet fare the worse,
Which they have eaten with your stubble goose;
For in your shop full many a fly is loose.
Now tell on, gentle Roger, by your name.
30 But yet, I pray, don't mind if I make game,
A man may tell the truth when it's in play."


       "Thou seist ful sooth," quod Roger, "by my fey;
But `sooth pley quaad pley,' as the Flemyng seith.
And therfore, Herry Bailly, by thy feith,
35 Be thou nat wrooth, er we departen heer,
Though that my tale be of an hostileer.
But nathelees I wol nat telle it yit,
But er we parte, ywis, thou shalt be quit."
And ther-with-al he lough and made cheere,
40 And seyde his tale, as ye shul after heere.


       "You say the truth," said Roger, "by my fay!
But 'true jest, bad jest' as the Fleming saith.
And therefore, Harry Bailey, on your faith,
35 Be you not angry before we finish here,
If my tale should concern an inn-keeper.
Nevertheless, I'll tell not that one yet,
But before we part your jokes will I upset."
And thereon did he laugh, in great good cheer,
40 And told his tale, as you shall hereafter hear.