He shewed hym, er he wente to sopeer,
Forestes, parkes ful of wilde deer;
Ther saugh he hertes with hir hornes hye,
The gretteste that evere were seyn with ye.
485 He saugh of hem an hondred slayn with houndes,
And somme with arwes blede of bittre woundes.
He saugh, whan voyded were thise wilde deer,
Thise fauconers upon a fair ryver,
That with hir haukes han the heron slayn.


       He showed him, before he went to supper here,
Forests and parks full of the dim wild deer;
There saw he harts of ten with their horns high,
The greatest ever seen by human eye.
485 He saw of them a hundred slain by hounds,
And some with arrows bled, with bitter wounds.
He saw, when vanished all were these wild deer,
Some falconers by river flowing clear,
Who with their hawks had many herons slain.


490        Tho saugh he knyghtes justyng in a playn;
And after this he dide hym swich plesaunce
That he hym shewed his lady on a daunce,
On which hymself he daunced, as hym thoughte.
And whan this maister that his magyk wroughte
495 Saugh it was tyme, he clapte his handes two,
And farewel! al oure revel was ago.
And yet remoeved they nevere out of the hous,
Whil they saugh al this sighte marveillous,
But in his studie, ther as his bookes be,
500 They seten stille, and no wight but they thre.


490        And then he saw knights jousting on a plain;
And after this he did him such pleasance
That he showed him his lady in a dance
Wherein he also joined, or so he thought.
And when this master who this magic wrought
495 Saw it was time, he clapped his two hands, lo!
Farewell to all! the revels out did go.
And yet they'd never moved out of the house
While they saw all these sights so marvelous,
But in his study, where his books would be,
500 They had sat still, and no one but they three.

       To hym this maister called his squier,
And seyde hym thus: "Is redy oure soper?
Almoost an houre it is, I undertake,
Sith I yow bad oure soper for to make,
505 Whan that thise worthy men wenten with me
Into my studie, ther as my bookes be."
       "Sire," quod this squier, "whan it liketh yow,
It is al redy, though ye wol right now."
"Go we thanne soupe," quod he, "as for the beste.
510 Thise amorous folk somtyme moote han hir reste."


       Then unto him this master called his squire,
And asked him thus: "Is supper ready, sir?
Almost an hour it is, I'll undertake,
Since I bade you our evening meal to make,
505 When these two gentlemen came in with me
Into my study, wherein my books be."
       "Sir," said this squire then, "when it pleases you
It is all ready, though you will right now."
"Then let us eat," said he, "for that is best;
510 These amorous folk must sometime have some rest."

       At after-soper fille they in tretee
What somme sholde this maistres gerdon be,
To remoeven alle the rokkes of Britayne,
And eek from Gerounde to the mouth of Sayne


       After the supper they discussed, they three,
What sum should this said master's reward be
For moving all rocks Breton coasts contain
From the Gironde unto the mouth of Seine.


515        He made it straunge, and swoor, so God hym save,
Lasse than a thousand pound he wolde nat have,
Ne gladly for that somme he wolde nat goon.
       Aurelius, with blisful herte anoon,
Answerde thus: "Fy on a thousand pound!
520 This wyde world, which that men seye is round,
I wolde it yeve, if I were lord of it.
This bargayn is ful dryve, for we been knyt.
Ye shal be payed trewely, by my throuthe!
But looketh now for no necligence or slouthe
525 Ye tarie us heere, no lenger than to-morwe."
       "Nay," quod this clerk, "have heer my feith to borwe.'
       To bedde is goon Aurelius whan hym leste,
And wel ny al that nyght he hadde his reste;
What for his labour and his hope of blisse,
530 His woful herte of penaunce hadde a lisse.


515        He played for time, and swore, so God him save,
Less than a thousand he would not have,
Nor eagerly for that would take it on.
       Aurelius, with blissful heart, anon
Answered him thus: "Fig for a thousand pound!
520 This great wide world, the which, men say, is round,
I'd give it all, if I were lord of it.
The bargain is concluded and we're knit.
You shall be truly paid, sir, by my troth!
But look you, for no negligence or sloth,
525 Delay no longer than tomorrow morn."
       "Nay," said this clerk! "upon my faith I'm sworn."
       To bed went this Aurelius and undressed,
And well-nigh all that night he had his rest;
What of his labour and his hope of bliss
530 The pain had left that woeful heart of his.

       Upon the morwe, whan that it was day,
To Britaigne tooke they the righte way,
Aurelius and this magicien bisyde,
And been descended ther they wolde abyde.
535 And this was, as thise bookes me remembre,
The colde, frosty sesoun of Decembre.
       Phebus wax old, and hewed lyk latoun,
That in this hoote declynacioun
Shoon as the burned gold, and stremes brighte;
540 But now in Capricorn adoun he lighte,
Where as he shoon ful pale, I dar wel seyn.
The bittre frostes, with the sleet and reyn,
Destroyed hath the grene in every yerd;
Janus sit by the fyr, with double berd,
545 And drynketh of his bugle horn the wyn.
Biforn hym stant brawen of the tusked swyn,
And "Nowel" crieth every lusty man.


       Upon the morrow, when it was full day,
To Brittany took they the nearest way,
Aurelius, with this wizard at his side,
And thus they came to where they would abide;
535 And that was, as the books say, I remember,
The cold and frosty season of December.
       Phoebus was old and coloured like pale brass,
That in hot declination coloured was
And shone like burnished gold with streamers bright;
540 But now in Capricorn did he alight,
Wherein he palely shone, I dare explain.
The bitter frosts, with all the sleet and rain,
Had killed the green of every garden-yard.
Janus sat by the fire, with double beard,
545 And drained from out his bugle horn the wine.
Before him stood the brawn of tusked swine,
And "Noel!" cried then every lusty man.


       Aurelius, in al that evere he kan,
Dooth to his master chiere and reverence,
550 And preyeth hym to doon his diligence
To bryngen hym out of his peynes smerte,
Or with a swerd that he wolde slitte his herte.


       Aurelius, in all that he could plan,
Did to this master cheerful reverence,
550 And prayed of him he'd use all diligence
To bring him from his pains that so did smart,
Or else with sword that he would slit his heart.

       This subtil clerk swich routhe had of this man,
That nyght and day he spedde hym that he kan
555 To wayten a tyme of his conclusioun,
This is to seye, to maken illusioun
By swich an apparence or jogelrye -
I ne kan no termes of astrologye -
That she and every wight sholde wene and seye
560 That of Britaigne the rokkes were aweye,
Or ellis they were sonken under grounde.
So atte laste he hath his tyme yfounde
To maken hise japes and his wrecchednesse
Of swich a supersticious cursednesse.
565 Hise tables Tolletanes forth he brought,
Ful wel corrected, ne ther lakked nought,
Neither his collect ne hise expans yeeris,
Ne his rootes, ne hise othere geeris,
As been his centris and hise argumentz,
570 And hise proporcioneles convenientz
For hise equacions in every thyng.
And by his eighte speere in his wirkyng
He knew ful wel how fer Alnath was shove
Fro the heed of thilke fixe Aries above
575 That in the ninthe speere considered is.
Ful subtilly he kalkuled al this.


       This subtle clerk such ruth had for this man,
That night and day he sped about his plan,
555 To wait the proper time for his conclusion;
That is to say, the time to make illusion,
By such devices of his jugglery -
I understand not this astrology -
That she and everyone should think and say
560 That all the Breton rocks were gone away,
Or else that they were sunken underground.
So at the last the proper time he found
To do his tricks and all his wretchedness
Of such a superstitious wickedness.
565 For his Toletan Tables forth he brought,
All well corrected, and he lacked in naught,
The years collected nor the separate years,
Nor his known roots, nor any other gears,
As, say, his centres and his argument,
570 And his proportionals convenient
In estimating truly his equations.
       The eighth sphere showed him in his calculations
How far removed was Alnath, passing by,
From head of that fixed Aries on high,
575 That in the ninth great sphere considered is;
Right cleverly he calculated this.


       Whan he hadde founde his firste mansioun,
He knew the remenaunt by proporcioun,
And knew the arisyng of his moone weel,
580 And in whos face and terme, and everydeel;
And knew ful weel the moones mansioun
Acordaunt to his operacioun,
And knew also hise othere observaunces
For swiche illusiouns and swiche meschaunces
585 As hethen folk useden in thilke dayes;-
For which no lenger maked he delayes,
But thurgh his magik, for a wyke or tweye,
It semed that alle the rokkes were aweye.


       When he the moon's first mansion thus had found,
The rest proportionally he could expound;
And knew the moon's arising-time right well,
580 And in what face and term, and all could tell;
This gave him then the mansion of the moon-
He worked it out accordingly right soon,
And did the other necessary rites
To cause illusions and such evil sights
585 As heathen peoples practised in those days.
Therefore no longer suffered he delays,
But all the rocks by magic and his lore
Appeared to vanish for a week or more.

        Aurelius, which that yet despeired is,
590 Wher he shal han his love, or fare amys,
Awaiteth nyght and day on this myracle.
And whan he knew that ther was noon obstacle,
That voyded were thise rokkes everychon,
Doun to hise maistres feet he fil anon,
595 And seyde, "I woful wrecche, Aurelius,
Thanke yow, lord, and lady myn, Venus,
That me han holpen fro my cares colde."
And to the temple his wey forth hath he holde
Where as he knew he sholde his lady see,
600 And whan he saugh his tyme, anon right hee
With dredful herte and with ful humble cheere
Salewed hath his sovereyn lady deere.
       "My righte lady," quod this woful man,
"Whom I moost drede and love as I best kan,
605 And lothest were of al this world displese,
Nere it that I for yow have swich disese
That I moste dyen heere at youre foot anon,
Noght wolde I telle how me is wo bigon;
But, certes, outher moste I dye or pleyne,
610 Ye sle me giltelees for verray peyne.
But of my deeth thogh that ye have no routhe,
Avyseth yow er that ye breke youre trouthe.
Repenteth yow for thilke God above,
Er ye me sleen by cause that I yow love.
615 For madame, wel ye woot what ye han hight -
Nat that I chalange any thyng of right
Of yow, my sovereyn lady, but youre grace -
But in a gardyn yond, at swich a place
Ye woot right wel what ye bihighten me,
620 And in myn hand youre trouthe plighten ye
To love me best - God woot ye seyde so,
Al be that I unworthy be therto.
Madame, I speke it for the honour of yow,
Moore than to save myn hertes lyf right now, -
625 I have do so as ye comanded me,
And if ye vouche sauf, ye may go see.
Dooth as yow list, have youre biheste in mynde,
For, quyk or deed, right there ye shal me fynde.
In yow lith al, to do me lyve of deye,
630 But wel I woot the rokkes been aweye!"


       Aurelius, who yet was torn by this,
590 Whether he'd gain his love or fare amiss,
Awaited night and day this miracle;
And when he knew there was no obstacle,
That vanished were these black rocks, every one,
Down at the master's feet he fell anon
595 And said: "I, woeful wretch, Aurelius,
Thank you, my lord, and Lady mine Venus,
That have so saved me from my dreadful care."
And to the temple straightway did he fare,
Whereat he knew he should his lady see.
600 And when he saw his opportunity,
With fluttering heart and with an humble cheer
He greeted thus his sovereign lady dear.
       "My own dear lady," said this woeful man,
"Whom I most fear and love best, as I can,
605 And whom, of all this world, I'd not displease,
Were it not that for you I've such unease
That I must die here at your feet anon,
I would not tell how I am woebegone;
But I must either die or else complain;
610 You slay me, for no crime, with utter pain.
But on my death, although you have no ruth,
Take heed now, before you break your promised troth
Repent you, for die sake of God above,
Before you kill me, because it's you I love.
615 For well you know your promise apposite;
Not that I challenge aught, of my own right,
In you, my sovereign lady, save your grace;
But in a garden, in a certain place,
You know right well what you did promise me;
620 And in my hand you plighted troth," said he,
"To love me best, God knows you promised so,
Howe'er I may unworthy be thereto.
Madam, I say it for your honour's vow
More than to save my heart's dear life right now;
625 I have done all that you commanded me;
And if you will, you may well go and see.
Do as you please, but hold your word in mind,
For quick or dead, as you do, me you'll find;
In you lies all, to make me live or die,
630 But well I know the rocks are vanished, aye!"

       He taketh his leve, and she astonied stood,
In al hir face nas a drope of blood.
She wende nevere han come in swich a trappe.
"Allas," quod she, "that evere this sholde happe.
635 For wende I nevere, by possibilitee,
That swich a monstre or merveille myghte be.
It is agayns the proces of nature."
And hoom she goth a sorweful creature,
For verray feere unnethe may she go.
640 She wepeth, wailleth, al a day or two,
And swowneth that it routhe was to see;
But why it was, to no wight tolde shee,
For out of towne was goon Arveragus.
But to hirself she spak, and seyde thus,
645 With face pale and with ful sorweful cheere,
In hire compleynt, as ye shal after heere.
       "Allas!" quod she, "on thee, Fortune, I pleyne,
That unwar wrapped hast me in thy cheyne;
For which t'escape woot I no socour
650 Save oonly deeth or elles dishonour;
Oon of thise two bihoveth me to chese.
But nathelees, yet have I levere to lese
My lif, thanne of my body have a shame,
Or knowe myselven fals or lese my name,
655 And with my deth I may be quyt, ywis;
Hath ther nat many a noble wyf er this
And many a mayde yslayn hirself, allas,
Rather than with hir body doon trespas?


       He took his leave, and she astounded stood,
In all her face there was no drop of blood;
She never thought to have come in such a trap.
"Alas!" said she, "that ever this should hap!
635 For thought I never, by possibility,
That such prodigious marvel e'er might be!
It is against the way of all nature."
And home she went, a sorrowful creature.
For utter terror hardly could she go,
640 She wept, she wailed throughout a day or so,
And swooned so much 'twas pitiful, to see;
But why this was to not a soul told she;
For out of town was gone Arviragus.
But to her own heart spoke she, and said thus,
645 With her face pale and with a heavy cheer,
All her complaint, as you'll hereafter hear:
       "Of thee," she said, "O Fortune, I complain,
That, unaware, I'm bound within thy chain;
From which to go, I know of no succour
650 Except only death, or else my dishonour;
One of these two I am compelled to choose.
Nevertheless, I would far rather lose
My life than of my body come to shame,
Or know myself untrue, or lose my name;
655 By death I know it well, I may be freed;
Has there not many a noble wife, indeed,
And many a maiden slain herself - alas! -
Rather than with her body do trespass?

       Yis, certes, lo, thise stories beren witnesse,
660 Whan thritty tirauntz, ful of cursednesse,
Hadde slayn Phidoun in Atthenes, at feste,
They comanded hise doghtres for tareste,
And bryngen hem biforn hem in despit,
Al naked, to fulfille hir foul delit,
665 And in hir fadres blood they made hem daunce
Upon the pavement, God yeve hem meschaunce!
For which thise woful maydens ful of drede,
Rather than they wolde lese hir maydenhede,
They prively been stirt into a welle
670 And dreynte hemselven, as the bookes telle.


       Yes, truly, lo, these stories bear witness;
660 When thirty tyrants, full of wickedness,
Had Phido slain in Athens, at a feast,
They gave command his daughters to arrest,
And had them brought before them, for despite,
All naked, to fulfill their foul delight,
665 And in their father's blood they made them dance
Upon the pavement - God give them mischance!
For which these woeful maidens, full of dread,
Rather than they should lose their maidenhead,
Unseen they all leaped down into a well
670 And drowned themselves therein, as old books tell.

       They of Mecene leete enquere and seke
Of Lacedomye fifty maydens eke,
On whiche they wolden doon hir lecherye;
But was ther noon of al that compaignye
675 That she nas slayn, and with a good entente
Chees rather for to dye than assente
To been oppressed of hir maydenhede.
Why sholde I thanne to dye been in drede?
Lo, eek, the tiraunt Aristoclides,
680 That loved a mayden heet Stymphalides,
Whan that hir fader slayn was on a nyght,
Unto Dianes temple goth she right,
And hente the ymage in hir handes two;
Fro which ymage wolde she nevere go,
685 No wight ne myghte hir handes of it arace,
Til she was slayn right in the selve place.


       They of Messina did require and seek
From Lacedaemon fifty maids to take,
On whom they would have done their lechery;
But there was none of all that company
675 Who was not slain, and who with good intent
Preferred not death rather than give consent
To be thus ravished of her maidenhead.
Why should I then hold dying in such dread?
Lo, too, the tyrant Aristoclides,
680 Who loved a maiden called Stimphalides.
Whenas her father had been slain by night,
Unto Diana's temple she took flight
And grasped the image in her two hands so
That from this image would she not let go.
685 No one could tear her hands from that embrace
Till she was slaughtered in that self-same place.

       Now sith that maydens hadden swich despit,
To been defouled with mannes foul delit,
Wel oghte a wyf rather hirselven slee,
690 Than be defouled, as it thynketh me.
What shal I seyn of Hasdrubales wyf
That at Cartage birafte hirself hir lyf?
For whan she saugh that Romayns wan the toun,
She took hir children alle and skipte adoun
695 Into the fyr, and chees rather to dye
Than any Romayn dide hir vileynye.
Hath nat Lucresse yslayn hirself, allas!
At Rome whan that she oppressed was
Of Tarquyn, for hir thoughte it was a shame
700 To lyven whan she hadde lost hir name?
The sevene maydens of Milesie also
Han slayn hemself, for verray drede and wo
Rather than folk of Gawle hem sholde oppresse.
Mo than a thousand stories, as I gesse,
705 Koude I now telle as touchynge this mateere.
Whan Habradate was slayn, his wyf so deere
Hirselven slow, and leet hir blood to glyde
In Habradates woundes depe and wyde;
And seyde, 'My body at the leeste way
710 Ther shal no wight defoulen, if I may.'


       Now since these maidens showed such scorn outright
Of being defiled to make man's foul delight,
Well ought a wife rather herself to slay
690 Than be defiled, I think, and so I say.
What shall I say of Hasdrubal's fair wife,
Who in Carthage bereft herself of life?
For when she saw that Romans won the town,
She took her children all and leaped right down
695 Into the fire, choosing thus to die
Before a Roman did her villainy.
Did not Lucretia slay herself- alas!-
At Rome, when she so violated was
By Tarquin? For she thought it was a shame
700 Merely to live when she had lost her name.
The seven maidens of Miletus, too,
Did slay themselves, for very dread and woe,
Rather than men of Gaul should on them press.
More than a thousand stories, as I guess,
705 Could I repeat now of this matter here.
"With Abradates slain, his wife so dear
Herself slew, and she let her red blood glide
In Abradates' wounds so deep and wide,
And said: 'My body, at the least, I say,
710 No man shall now defile,' and passed away.

       What sholde I mo ensamples heer of sayn?
Sith that so manye han hemselven slayn,
Wel rather than they wolde defouled be,
I wol conclude that it is bet for me
715 To sleen myself, than been defouled thus.
I wol be trewe unto Arveragus,
Or rather sleen myself in som manere,
As dide Demociones doghter deere,
By cause that she wolde nat defouled be.
720 O Cedasus, it is ful greet pitee
To reden how thy doghtren deyde, allas,
That slowe hemself, for swich manere cas!
As greet a pitee was it, or wel moore,
The Theban mayden, that for Nichanore
725 Hirselven slow right for swich manere wo.
Another Theban mayden dide right so;
For oon of Macidonye hadde hire oppressed,
She with hire deeth hir maydenhede redressed.
What shal I seye of Nicerates wyf,
730 That for swich cas birafte hirself hir lyf?
How trewe eek was to Alcebiades
His love that rather for to dyen chees
Than for to suffre his body unburyed be.
Lo, which a wyf was Alceste," quod she,
735 "What seith Omer of goode Penalopee?
Al Grece knoweth of hire chastitee.
Pardee of Lacedomya is writen thus,
That whan at Troie was slayn Protheselaus,
Ne lenger wolde she lyve after his day.
740 The same of noble Porcia telle I may,
Withoute Brutus koude she nat lyve,
To whom she hadde al hool hir herte yeve.
The parfit wyfhod of Arthemesie
Honured is thurgh al the Barbarie.
745 O Teuta, queene! thy wyfly chastitee
To alle wyves may a mirrour bee!
The same thyng I seye of Bilyea,
Of Rodogone, and eek Valeria."


       Why should I of more instances, be fain?
Since that so many have their bodies slain
Rather than that they should dishonoured be?
I will conclude it better is for me
715 To slay myself than be dishonoured thus.
I will be true unto Arviragus,
Or else I'll slay myself in some manner,
As did Demotion's virgin daughter dear
Because she would not violated be.
720 O Cedasus, it rouses great pity
To read of how your daughters died, alas!
That slew themselves in such another case.
As great a pity was it, aye and more,
That a fair Theban maid, for Nicanor,
725 Did slay herself in such a kind of woe.
Another Theban maiden did also;
For one of Macedonia her had pressed,
And she, by death, her maidenhead redressed.
What shall I say of Nicerates' wife,
730 Who, for like cause, took away her own life?
How true, too, was to Alcibiades
His love, who chose to drain death to the lees
And would not let his corpse unburied be!
Lo, what a wife was Alcestis," said she.
735 "What says Homer of good Penelope?
The whole of Hellas knew her chastity.
Indeed, of Laodamia they wrote thus,
That when at Troy was slain Protesilaus,
No longer would she live after his day.
740 "The same of noble Portia may I say;
Without her Brutus could she no wise live,
To whom in youth her whole heart she did give.
"The perfect wifehood of Artemisia
Was honoured throughout all old Caria.
745 O Teuta, queen! Your wifely chastity,
To all wives may a very mirror be.
The same thing may I say of Bilia,
Of Rhodogune and of Valeria."

       Thus pleyned Dorigene a day or tweye,
750 Purposynge evere that she wolde deye.
But nathelees, upon the thridde nyght
Hoom cam Arveragus, this worthy knyght,
And asked hir why that she weep so soore.
And she gan wepen ever lenger the moore.
755 "Allas!" quod she, "that evere I was born.
Thus have I seyd," quod she, "thus have I sworn" -
And toold hym al as ye han herd bifore,
It nedeth nat reherce it yow namoore.
This housbonde with glad chiere in freendly wyse
760 Answerde and seyde, as I shal yow devyse,
"Is ther oght elles, Dorigen, but this?"


       Thus Dorigen went on a day or so,
750 Purposing ever that to death she'd go.
But notwithstanding, upon the third night
Home came Arviragus, this worthy knight,
And asked her why it was she wept so sore.
And thereat she began to weep the more.
755 "Alas!" cried she, "that ever I was born!
Thus have I said," quoth she, "thus have I sworn" -
And told him all, as you have heard before;
It needs not to re-tell it to you more.
This husband, with glad cheer, in friendly wise,
760 Answered and said as I shall you apprise:
"Is there naught else, my Dorigen, than this?"

       "Nay, nay," quod she, "God helpe me so, as wys,
This is to muche, and it were Goddes wille."
"Ye, wyf," quod he, "lat slepen that is stille.
765 It may be wel paraventure yet to-day.
Ye shul youre trouthe holden, by my fay.
For God so wisly have mercy upon me,
I hadde wel levere ystiked for to be
For verray love which that I to yow have,
770 But if ye sholde your trouthe kepe and save.
Trouthe is the hyeste thyng that man may kepe."
But with that word he brast anon to wepe
And seyde, "I yow forbede, up peyne of deeth,
That nevere whil thee lasteth lyf ne breeth,
775 To no wight telle thou of this aventure -
As I may best, I wol my wo endure, -
Ne make no contenance of hevynesse,
That folk of yow may demen harm or gesse."


       "Nay, nay," said she, "God help me, as it is
This is too much, though it were God's own will."
"Yea, wife," said he, "let sleep what's lying still;
765 It may be well with us, perchance, today.
But you your word shall hold to, by my fay!
As God may truly mercy have on me,
Wounded to death right now I'd rather be,
For sake of this great love of you I have,
770 Than you should not your true word keep and save.
Truth is the highest thing that man may keep."
But with that word began he then to weep,
And said: "I you forbid, on pain of death,
That ever, while to you last life and breath,
775 To anyone you tell this adventure.
As I best may, I will my woe endure,
Nor show a countenance of heaviness,
That folk no harm may think of you, or guess."

        And forth he cleped a squier and a mayde;
780 "Gooth forth anon with Dorigen," he sayde,
"And bryngeth hir to swich a place anon,"
They take hir leve, and on hir wey they gon,
But they ne weste why she thider wente,
He nolde no wight tellen his entente.


       And then he called a squire and a maid:
780 "Go forth anon with Dorigen," he said,
"And bring her to a certain place anon."
They took their leave and on their way were gone.
But nothing knew of why she thither went
Nor would he to a soul tell his intent.


785        Paraventure, an heep of yow, ywis,
Wol holden hym a lewed man in this,
That he wol putte his wyf in jupartie.
Herkneth the tale er ye upon hire crie;
She may have bettre fortune than yow semeth,
790 And whan that ye han herd the tale, demeth.


785        Perhaps a lot of you will certainly
Hold him a wicked man that wilfully
Put his wife's honour thus in jeopardy;
Listen to the tale, before you upon her cry.
She may have better luck than you suppose;
790 And when you've heard all, let your judgment close.

       This squier, which that highte Aurelius,
On Dorigen that was so amorus,
Of aventure happed hir to meete
Amydde the toun, right in the quykkest strete,
795 As she was bown to goon the wey forth-right
Toward the gardyn, ther as she had hight.
And he was to the gardyn-ward also,
For wel he spyed whan she wolde go
Out of hir hous to any maner place.
800 But thus they mette, of aventure or grace
And he saleweth hir with glad entente,
And asked of hir whiderward she wente.
And she answerde, half as she were mad,
"Unto the gardyn as myn housbonde bad,
805 My trouthe for to holde, allas! allas!"


       This squire I've told you of, Aurelius,
Of Dorigen he being so amorous,
Chanced, as it seems, his lady fair to meet
In middle town, right in the busiest street,
795 As she was going forth, as you have heard,
Toward the garden where she'd pledged her word.
And he was going gardenward also;
For he was always watching when she'd go
Out of her house to any kind of place.
800 But thus they met, by chance perhaps or grace;
And he saluted her with good intent,
And asked her, now, whither it was she went.
And she replied, as if she were half mad:
"Unto the garden, as my husband bade,
805 My promise there to keep, alas, alast"

       Aurelius gan wondren on this cas,
And in his herte hadde greet compassioun
Of hir and of hir lamentacioun,
And of Arveragus, the worthy knyght,
810 That bad hire holden al that she had hight,
So looth hym was his wyf sholde breke hir trouthe;
And in his herte he caughte of this greet routhe,
Considerynge the beste on every syde
That fro his lust yet were hym levere abyde
815 Than doon so heigh a cherlyssh wrecchednesse
Agayns franchise and alle gentillesse;
For which in fewe wordes seyde he thus:


       Aurelius then pondered on this case,
And in his heart he had compassion great
On her and her lamenting and her state,
And on Arviragus, the noble knight,
810 Who'd bidden her keep promise, as she might,
Being so loath his wife should break with truth;
And in his heart he gained, from this, great ruth,
Considering the best on every side,
That from possession rather he'd abide
815 Than do so great a churlish grievousness
Against free hearts and all high nobleness;
For which, and in few words, he told her thus:


       "Madame, seyeth to your lord Arveragus,
That sith I se his grete gentillesse
820 To yow, and eek I se wel youre distresse,
That him were levere han shame - and that were routhe -
Than ye to me sholde breke thus youre trouthe,
I have wel levere evere to suffre wo
Than I departe the love bitwix yow two.
825 I yow relesse, madame, into youre hond
Quyt every surement and every bond,
That ye han maad to me as heer biforn,
Sith thilke tyme which that ye were born.
My trouthe I plighte, I shal yow never repreve
830 Of no biheste, and heere I take my leve,
As of the treweste and the beste wyf
That evere yet I knew in al my lyf."
But every wyf be war of hir biheeste,
On Dorigen remembreth atte leeste!
835 Thus kan a squier doon a gentil dede
As wel as kan a knyght, with outen drede.


       "Madam, say to your lord Arviragus
That since I see his noble gentleness
820 To you, and since I see well your distress,
That he'd have rather shame - and that were ruth -
Than you to me should break your word of truth,
I would myself far rather suffer woe
Than break apart the love between you two.
825 So I release, madam, into your hand,
And do return, discharged, each surety and
Each bond that you have given and have sworn,
Even from the very time that you were born.
My word I pledge, I'll never seek to retrieve
830 A single promise, and I take my leave
As of the truest and of the best wife
That ever yet I've known in all my life.
Let every wife of promises take care,
Remember Dorigen, and so beware!
835 Thus can a squire perform a gentle deed
As well as can a knight, of that take heed."

       She thonketh hym upon hir knees al bare,
And hoom unto hir housbonde is she fare,
And tolde hym al, as ye han herd me sayd;
840 And be ye siker, he was so weel apayd
That it were inpossible me to wryte.
What sholde I lenger of this cas endyte?


       Upon her bare knees did she thank him there,
And home unto her husband did she fare,
And told him all, as you have heard it said;
840 And be assured, he was so pleased and glad
That 'twere impossible of it to write.
What should I further of this case indite?


       Arveragus and Dorigen his wyf
In sovereyn blisse leden forth hir lyf,
845 Nevere eft ne was ther angre hem bitwene.
He cherisseth hire as though she were a queene,
And she was to hym trewe for everemoore.-
Of thise two folk ye gete of me namoore.


       Arviragus and Dorigen his wife
In sovereign happiness led forth their life.
845 Never did any anger come between;
He cherished her as if she were a queen;
And she to him was true for evermore.
Of these two folk you get from me no more.

       Aurelius, that his cost hath al forlorn
850 Curseth the tyme that evere he was born.
"Allas," quod he, "allas, that I bihighte
Of pured gold a thousand pound of wighte
Unto this philosophre! How shal I do?
I se namoore but that I am fordo;
855 Myn heritage moot I nedes selle
And been a beggere; heere may I nat dwelle,
And shamen al my kynrede in this place,
But I of hym may gete bettre grace.
But nathelees I wole of hym assaye
860 At certeyn dayes yeer by yeer to paye,
And thanke hym of his grete curteisye;
My trouthe wol I kepe, I wol nat lye."


       Aurelius, whose wealth was now forlorn,
850 He cursed the time that ever he was born;
"Alas!" cried he, "Alas! that I did state
I'd pay fine gold a thousand pounds by weight
To this philosopher! What shall I do?
I see no better than I'm ruined too.
855 All of my heritage I needs must sell
And be a beggar; here I cannot dwell
And shame all of my kindred in this place,
Unless I gain of him some better grace.
And so I'll go to him and try, today,
860 On certain dates, from year to year, to pay,
And thank him for his princely courtesy;
For I will keep my word, and I'll not lie."

       With herte soor he gooth unto his cofre,
And broghte gold unto this philosophre
865 The value of fyve hundred pound, I gesse,
And hym bisecheth of his gentillesse
To graunte hym dayes of the remenaunte,
And seyde, "Maister, I dar wel make avaunt,
I failled nevere of my trouthe as yit.
870 For sikerly my dette shal be quyt
Towareds yow, how evere that I fare,
To goon a begged in my kirtle bare!
But wolde ye vouche sauf upon seuretee
Two yeer or thre, for to respiten me,
875 Thanne were I wel, for elles moot I selle
Myn heritage, ther is namoore to telle."
       This philosophre sobrely answerde,
And seyde thus, whan he thise wordes herde,
"Have I nat holden covenant unto thee?"
880        "Yes, certes, wel and trewely," quod he.
       "Hastow nat had thy lady, as thee liketh?"
       "No, no," quod he, and sorwefully he siketh.
       "What was the cause, tel me if thou kan?"
       Aurelius his tale anon bigan,
885 And tolde hym al, as ye han herd bifoore,
It nedeth nat to yow reherce it moore.


       With sore heart he went then to his coffer,
And took gold unto this philosopher,
865 The value of five hundred pounds, I guess,
And so besought him, of his nobleness,
To grant him dates for payment of the rest,
And said: "Dear master, I may well protest
I've never failed to keep my word, as yet;
870 For certainly I'll pay my entire debt
To you, however after I may fare,
Even to begging, save for kirtle, bare.
But if you'd grant, on good security,
Two years or three of respite unto me,
875 Then all were well; otherwise must I sell
My heritage; there is no more to tell."
       Then this philosopher soberly answered
And spoke in this wise, when these words he'd heard:
"Have I not fairly earned my promised fee?"
880        "Yes, truly, you have done so, sir," said he.
       "Have you not had the lady at your will?"
       "No, no," said he, and sighed, and then was still.
       "What was the reason? Tell me if you can."
       Aurelius his tale anon began,
885 And told him all, as you have heard before;
It needs not I repeat it to you more.

       He seide, "Arveragus of gentillesse
Hadde levere dye in sorwe and in distresse
Than that his wyf were of hir trouthe fals;"
890 The sorwe of Dorigen he tolde hym als,
How looth hir was to been a wikked wyf,
And that she levere had lost that day hir lyf,
And that hir trouthe she swoor, thurgh innocence,
She nevere erst hadde herd speke of apparence.
895 "That made me han of hir so greet pitee;
And right as frely as he sente hir me,
As frely sente I hir to hym ageyn.
This al and som, ther is namoore to seyn."
       This philosophre answerde, "Leeve brother,
900 Everich of yow dide gentilly til oother.
Thou art a squier, and he is a knyght;
But God forbede, for his blisful myght,
But if a clerk koude doon a gentil dede
As wel as any of yow, it is no drede.
905 Sire, I releesse thee thy thousand pound,
As thou right now were cropen out of the ground,
Ne nevere er now ne haddest knowen me;
For, sire, I wol nat taken a peny of thee
For al my craft, ne noght for my travaille.
910 Thou hast ypayed wel for my vitaille,
It is ynogh, and farewel, have good day."
And took his hors, and forth he goth his way.
Lordynges, this questioun wolde I aske now,
Which was the mooste fre, as thynketh yow?
915 Now telleth me, er that ye ferther wende,
I kan namoore, my tale is at an ende.


       He said: "Arviragus, of nobleness,
Had rather die in sorrow and distress
Than that his wife were to her promise false."
890 He told of Dorigen's grief, too, and how else
She had been loath to live a wicked wife
And rather would that day have lost her life,
And that her troth she swore through ignorance:
"She'd ne'er before heard of such simulance;
895 Which made me have for her such great pity.
And just as freely as he sent her me,
As freely sent I her to him again.
This is the sum, there's no more to explain."
       Then answered this philosopher: "Dear brother,
900 Each one of you has nobly dealt with other.
You are a squire, true, and he is a knight,
But God forbid, what of his blessed might,
A clerk should never do a gentle deed
As well as any of you. Of this take heed!
905 Sir, I release to you your thousand pound,
As if, right now, you'd crept out of the ground
And never, before now, had known of me.
For, sir, I'll take of you not one penny
For all my art and all my long travail.
910 You have paid well for all my meat and ale;
It is enough, so farewell, have good day!"
And took his horse and went forth on his way.
Masters, this question would I ask you now:
Which was most generous, do you think, and how.
915 Pray tell me this before you farther wend.
I can no more, my tale is at an end.