"Nay thanne," quod he, "the foule feend me fecche
If I th'excuse, though thou shul be spilt!"


       "Nay, then," said he, "the foul Fiend may me fetch
If I excuse you, though your life be spilt!"


       "Allas!" quod she, "God woot, I have no gilt."
       "Pay me," quod he, "or by the swete Seinte Anne,
350 As I wol bere awey thy newe panne
For dette which thou owest me of old.
Whan that thou madest thyn housbonde cokewold,
I payde at hoom for thy correccioun."
       "Thou lixt!" quod she, "by my savacioun,
355 Ne was I nevere er now, wydwe ne wyf,
Somoned unto youre court in al my lyf;
Ne nevere I nas but of my body trewe!
Unto the devel blak and rough of hewe
Yeve I thy body and my panne also!"


       "Alas!" cried she, "God knows I have no guilt!"
       "Pay me," he cried, "or by the sweet Saint Anne
350 I'll take away with me your brand-new pan
For debt that you have owed to me of old,
When you did make your husband a cuckold;
I paid at home that fine to save citation."
       "You lie," she cried then, "by my own salvation!
355 Never was I, till now, widow or wife,
Summoned unto your court in all my life;
Nor ever of my body was I untrue!
Unto the Devil rough and black of hue
Give I your body and my pan also!"

       "Now, lord," quod she, "Crist Jhesu, kyng of kynges,
So wisly helpe me, as I ne may.
I have been syk, and that ful many a day.
I may nat go so fer," quod she, "ne ryde,
330 But I be deed, so priketh it in my syde.
May I nat axe a libel, sire somonour,
And answere there by my procuratour
To swich thyng as men wole opposen me?"


       "Now, lord," said she, "Christ Jesus, King of kings,
So truly keep me as I cannot; nay,
I have been sick, and that for many a day.
I cannot walk so far," said she, "nor ride,
330 Save I were dead, such aches are in my side.
Will you not give a writ, sir summoner,
And let my proctor for me there appear
To meet this charge, whatever it may be?"


       "Yis", quod this somonour, "pay anon - lat se -
335 Twelf pens to me, and I wol thee acquite.
I shal no profit han therby but lite;
My maister hath the profit, and nat I.
Com of, and lat me ryden hastily;
Yif me twelf pens, I may no lenger tarye."
340        "Twelf pens!" quod she, "now, lady Seinte Marie
So wisly help me out of care and synne,
This wyde world thogh that I sholde wynne,
Ne have I nat twelf pens withinne myn hoold.
Ye knowen wel that I am povre and oold;
345 Kithe youre almesse on me povre wrecche."


       "Yes," said this summoner, "pay straightway -let's see-
335 Twelvepence to me, and I'll have you acquitted.
Small profit there for me, be it admitted;
My master gets the profit, and not I.
Come then, and let me ride on, speedily;
Give me twelvepence, I may no longer tarry."
340        "Twelvepence!" cried she, "Our Lady Holy Mary
So truly keep me out of care and sin,
And though thereby I should the wide world win,
I have not twelvepence in my house all told.
You know right well that I am poor and old;
345 Show mercy unto me, a poor old wretch!"

       Whan that they coomen somwhat out of towne,
This somonour to his brother gan to rowne:
"Brother," quod he, "heere woneth an old rebekke,
310 That hadde almoost as lief to lese hire nekke
As for to yeve a peny of hir good.
I wole han twelf pens, though that she be wood,
Or I wol sompne hire unto oure office;
And yet, God woot, of hire knowe I no vice.
315 But for thou kanst nat, as in this contree,
Wynne thy cost, taak heer ensample of me."


       When they had come a little out of town,
This summoner whispered, to his brother drawn,
"Brother," said he, "here lives an ancient crone
310 Who'd quite as gladly lose her neck as own
She must give up a penny, good or bad.
But I'll have twelvepence, though it drive her mad
Or I will summon her to our office;
And yet God knows I know of her no vice.
315 But since you cannot, in this strange country,
Make your expenses, here take note of me."


       This somonour clappeth at the wydwes gate.
"Com out," quod he, "thou olde virytrate!
I trowe thou hast som frere or preest with thee."
320        "Who clappeth?" seyde this wyf, "benedicitee!
God save you, sire, what is youre sweete wille?"
       "I have, quod he, "of somonce here a bille;
Up peyne of cursyng, looke that thou be
To-morn bifore the erchedeknes knee,
325 T'answere to the court of certeyn thynges."


       This summoner knocked on the widow's gate.
"Come out," cried he, "you old she-reprobate!
I think you've got some friar or priest there, eh?"
320 "Who knocks then?" said the widow. "Ben'cite!
God save you, master, what is your sweet will?"
"I have," said he, "a summons here, a bill;
On pain of excommunication be
Tomorrow morn at the archdeacon's knee
325 To answer to the court for certain things."

       "I graunte," quod the devel, "by my fey.
And with that word they ryden forth hir wey.
And right at the entryng of the townes ende,
To which this somonour shoop hym for to wende,
275 They saugh a cart that charged was with hey,
Which that a cartere droof forth in his wey.
Deep was the wey, for which the carte stood.
The cartere smoot, and cryde as he were wood,
"Hayt, Brok! Hayt, Scot! what spare ye for the stones?
280 The feend," quod he, "yow fecche, body and bones,
As ferforthly as evere were ye foled,
So muche wo as I have with yow tholed!
The devel have al, bothe hors and cart and hey!"


       "Agreed, then," said the devil, "by my fay."
And with that word they rode upon their way.
As they drew near the town- it happened so-
To which this summoner had planned to go,
275 They saw a cart that loaded was with hay,
The which a carter drove along the way.
Deep was the mire; for which the cart now stood.
The carter whipped and cried as madman would,
"Hi, Badger, Scot! What care you for the stones?
280 The devil," he cried, "take body of you and bones,
As utterly as ever you were foaled!
More trouble you've caused me than can be told!
Devil take all, the horses, cart, and hay!"


       This somonour seyde, "Heere shal we have a pley."
285 And neer the feend he drough, as noght ne were,
Ful prively, and rowned in his ere:
"Herkne, my brother, herkne, by thy feith!
Herestow nat how that the cartere seith?
Hent it anon, for he hath yeve it thee,
290 Bothe hey and cart, and eek his caples thre."


       This summoner thought, "Here shall be played a play."
285 And near the demon he drew, as naught were there,
And unobserved he whispered in his ear:
"Listen, my brother, listen, by your faith;
Hear you not what the carter says in wrath?
Take all, at once, for he has given you
290 Both hay and cart, and this three horses too."


       "Nay," quod the devel, "God woot, never a deel!
It is nat his entente, trust me weel.
Axe hym thyself, it thou nat trowest me;
Or elles stynt a while, and thou shalt see."
295        This cartere thakketh his hors upon the croupe,
And they bigonne to drawen and to stoupe.
"Heyt! Now," quod he, "ther Jhesu Crist yow blesse,
And al his handwerk, bothe moore and lesse!
That was wel twight, myn owene lyard boy.
300 I pray God save thee, and Seinte Loy!
Now is my cart out of the slow, pardee!"
       "Lo, brother," quod the feend, "what tolde I thee?
Heere may ye se, myn owene deere brother,
The carl spak oo thing, but he thoghte another.
305 Lat us go forth abouten oure viage;
Heere wynne I nothyng upon cariage."


       "Nay," said the devil, "God knows, never a bit.
It is not his intention, trust to it.
Ask him yourself, if you believe not me,
Or else withhold a while, and you shall see."
295        This carter stroked his nags upon the croup,
And they began in collars low to stoop.
"Hi now!" cried he, "May Jesus Christ you bless
And all his creatures, greater, aye and less!
That was well pulled, old horse, my own grey boy!
300 I pray God save you, and good Saint Eloy!
Now is my cart out of the slough, by gad!"
       "Lo, brother," said the fiend, "what said I, lad?
Here may you see, my very own dear brother,
The peasant said one thing, but thought another.
305 Let us go forth upon our travellers' way;
Here win I nothing I can take today."

       "Nay," quod this somonour, "that shal nat bityde!
260 I am a yeman, knowen is ful wyde;
My trouthe wol I holde, as in this cas.
For though thou were the devel Sathanas,
My trouthe wol I holde to my brother,
As I am sworn, and ech of us til oother,
265 For to be trewe brother in this cas;
And bothe we goon abouten oure purchas.
Taak thou thy part, what that men wol thee yive,
And I shal myn; thus may we bothe lyve.
And if that any of us have moore than oother,
270 Lat hym be trewe, and parte it with his brother."


       "Nay," said the other, "that shall not betide;
260 "I am a bailiff, known both far and wide;
My promise will I keep in this one case.
For though you were the devil Sathanas,
My loyalty will I preserve to my dear brother,
As I have sworn, and each of us to other,
265 That we will be true brothers in this case;
And let us both about our business pace.
Take your own part, of what men will you give,
And I will mine; and thus may we both live.
And if that either of us gets more than other,
270 Let him be true and share it with his brother."

240        "Yet tel me," quod the somonour, "feithfully,
Make ye yow newe bodies thus alway
Of elementz?" The feend answerde, "Nay.
Somtyme we feyne, and somtyme we aryse
With dede bodyes, in ful sondry wyse,
245 And speke as renably and faire and wel
As to the Phitonissa dide Samuel.
(And yet wol som men seye it was nat he;
I do no fors of youre dyvynytee.)
But o thyng warne I thee, I wol nat jape, -
250 Thou wolt algates wite how we been shape;
Thou shalt herafterward, my brother deere,
Come there thee nedeth nat of me to leere.
For thou shalt, by thyn owene experience,
Konne in a chayer rede of this sentence
255 Bet than Virgile, while he was on lyve,
Or dant also. Now lat us ryde blyve,
For I wole holde compaignye with thee
Til it be so that thou forsake me."


240        "Yet tell me," said the summoner, "faithfully,
Make you yourselves new bodies thus alway
Of elements?" The demon replied thus: "Nay.
Sometimes we feign them, sometimes we arise
In bodies that are dead, in various ways,
245 And speak as reasonably and fair and well
As to the witch at En-dor Samuel.
And yet some men maintain it was not he;
I do not care for your theology.
But of one thing I warn, nor will I jape,
250 You shall in all ways learn our proper shape;
You shall hereafter come, my brother dear,
Where you'll not need to ask of me, as here.
For you shall, of your own experience,
In a red chair have much more evidence
255 Than Virgil ever did while yet alive,
Or ever Dante; now let's swiftly drive.
For I will hold with you my company
Till it shall come to pass you part from me."

       "What maketh yow to han al this labour?"
210        "Ful many a cause, leeve sire somonour,"
Seyde this feend, "but alle thyng hath tyme.
The day is short, and it is passed pryme,
And yet ne wan I nothyng in this day.
I wol entende to wynnyng, if I may,
215 And nat entende oure wittes to declare.
For, brother myn, thy wit is al to bare
To understonde, althogh I tolde hem thee.
But, for thou axest why labouren we -
For somtyme we been goddes instrumentz,
220 And meenes to doon his comandementz,
Whan that hym list, upon his creatures,
In divers art and in diverse figures.
Withouten hym we have no myght, certayn,
If that hym list stonden ther-agayn.
225 And somtyme, at oure prayere, han we leve
Oonly the body and nat the soule greve;
Witnesse on job, whom that we diden wo.
And somtyme han we myght of bothe two,
This is to seyn, of soule and body eke.
230 And somtyme be we suffred for to seke
Upon a man, and doon his soule unreste,
And nat his body, and al is for the beste.
Whan he withstandeth oure temptacioun,
It is a cause of his savacioun,
235 Al be it that it was nat oure entente
He sholde be sauf, but that we wolde hym hente.
And somtyme be we servant unto man,
As to the erchebisshop Seint Dunstan,
And to the apostles servent eek was I."


       "What causes you to have all this labour?"
210        "Full many a cause, my dear sir summoner,"
Replied the demon, "but each thing has its time.
The day is short, and it is now past prime,
And yet have I won not a thing this day.
I will attend to winning, if I may,
215 And not our different notions to declare.
For, brother mine, your wits are all too bare
To understand, though I told mine fully.
But since you ask me why thus labour we-
Well, sometimes we are God's own instruments
220 And means to do his orders and intents,
When so he pleases, upon all his creatures,
In divers ways and shapes, and divers features.
Without him we've no power, 'tis certain,
If he be pleased to stand against our train.
225 And sometimes, at our instance, have we leave
Only the body, not the soul, to grieve;
As witness job, to whom we gave such woe.
And sometimes have we power of both, you know,
That is to say, of soul and body too.
230 And sometimes we're allowed to search and do
That to a man which gives his soul unrest,
And not his body, and all is for the best.
And when one does withstand all our temptation,
It is the thing that gives his soul salvation;
235 Albeit that it was not our intent
He should be saved; we'd have him impotent.
And sometimes we are servants unto man,
As to that old archbishop, Saint Dunstan,
And to the apostles servant once was I."

170        "Now certes," quod this somonour, "so fare I.
I spare nat to taken, God it woot,
But if it be to hevy or to hoot.
What I may gete in conseil prively,
No maner conscience of that have I.
175 Nere myn extorcioun, I myghte nat lyven,
Ne of swiche japes wol I nat be shryven.
Stomak ne conscience ne knowe I noon;
I shrewe thise shrifte-fadres everychoon.
Wel be we met, by God and by Seint Jame!
180 But, leeve brother, tel me thanne thy name,"
Quod this somonour. In this meene while
This yeman gan a litel for to smyle.


170        "Now truly," said this summoner, "so do I.
I never spare to take a thing, knows God,
Unless it be too heavy or too hot.
What I get for myself, and privately,
No kind of conscience for such things have I.
175 But for extortion, I could not well live,
Nor of such japes will I confession give.
Stomach nor any conscience have I, none;
A curse on father-confessors, every one.
Well are we met, by God and by Saint James!
180 But, my dear brother, tell your name or names."
Thus said the summoner, and in meanwhile
The yeoman just a little began to smile.


       "Brother," quod he, "wiltow that I thee telle?
I am a feend; my dwellyng is in helle,
185 And heere I ryde aboute my purchasyng,
To wite wher men wol yeve me any thyng.
My purchas is th'effect of al my rente.
Looke how thou rydest for the same entente,
To wynne good, thou rekkest nevere how;
190 Right so fare I, for ryde wolde I now
Unto the worldes ende for a preye."


       "Brother," said he, "and will you that I tell?
I am a demon, my dwelling is in hell.
185 But here I ride about in hope of gain
And that some little gift I may obtain.
My only income is what so is sent.
I see you ride with much the same intent
To win some wealth, you never care just how;
190 Even so do I, for I would ride, right now,
Unto the world's end, all to get my prey."


       "A!" quod this somonour, "benedicite! sey ye?
I wende ye were a yeman trewely.
Ye han a mannes shap as wel as I;
195 Han ye a figure thanne determinat
In helle, ther ye been in youre estat?"
       "Nay, certeinly," quod he, "ther have we noon;
But whan us liketh, we kan take us oon,
Or elles make yow seme we been shape
200 Somtyme lyk a man, or lyk an ape,
Or lyk an angel kan I ryde or go.
It is no wonder thyng thogh it be so;
A lowsy jogelour kan deceyve thee,
And pardee, yet kan I moore craft than he."
205        "Why," quod this somonour, "ryde ye thanne or goon
In sondry shap, and nat alwey in oon?"
       "For we," quod he, "wol us swiche formes make
As moost able is oure preyes for to take."


       "Ah," cried he, "ben'cite! What do you say?
I took you for a yeoman certainly.
You have a human shape as well as I;
195 Have you a figure then determinate
In hell, where you are in your proper state?"
"Nay," said he, "there of figure we have none;
But when it pleases us we can take one,
Or else we make you think we have a shape,
200 Sometimes like man, or sometimes like an ape;
Or like an angel can I seem, you know.
It is no wondrous thing that this is so;
A lousy juggler can deceive, you see,
And by gad, I have yet more craft than he."
205        "Why," asked the summoner, "ride you then, or go,
In various shapes, and not in one, you know?"
       "Because," said he, "we will such figures make
As render likely that our prey we'll take."

120        "Sire," quod this somnour, "hayl, and wel atake!"
       "Welcome," quod he, "and every good felawe!
Wher rydestow, under this grene-wode shawe?"
Seyde this yeman, "Wiltow fer to day?"


120        "Sir," said the summoner, "hail and well met, Jack!"
       "Welcome," said he, "and every comrade good!
Whither do you ride under this greenwood?"
Said this yeoman, "Will you go far today?"


       This somnour hym answerde and seyde, "Nay;
125 Heere faste by," quod he, "is myn entente
To ryden, for to reysen up a rente
That longeth to my lordes duetee."


       This summoner replied to him with: "Nay,
125 Hard by this place," said he, "'tis my intent
To ride, sir, to collect a bit of rent
Pertaining to my lord's temporality."


       "Artow thanne a bailly?" "Ye," quod he.
He dorste nat, for verray filthe and shame
130 Seye that he was a somonour, for the name.
       "Depardieux," quod this yeman, "deere broother,
Thou art a bailly, and I am another.
I am unknowen as in this contree;
Of thyn aqueyntance I wolde praye thee,
135 And eek of bretherhede, if that yow leste.
I have gold and silver in my cheste;
If that thee happe to comen in oure shire,
Al shal be thyn, right as thou wolt desire."


       "And are you then a bailiff?" "Aye," said he.
He dared not, no, for very filth and shame,
130 Say that he was a summoner, for the name.
       "In God's name," said this yeoman then, "dear brother,
You are a bailiff and I am another.
I am a stranger in these parts, you see;
Of your acquaintance I'd be glad," said he,
135 "And of your brotherhood, if 'tis welcome.
I've gold and silver in my chest at home.
And if you chance to come into our shire,
All shall be yours, just as you may desire."


       "Grant mercy," quod this somonour, "by my feith!"
140 Everych in ootheres hand his trouthe leith,
For to be sworne bretheren til they deye.
In daliance they ryden forth and pleye.


       "Many thanks," said this summoner, "by my faith!"
140 And they struck hands and made their solemn oath
To be sworn brothers till their dying day.
Gossiping then they rode upon their way.


       This somonour, which that was as ful of jangles,
As ful of venym been thise waryangles,
145 And evere enqueryng upon every thyng,
       "Brother," quod he, "where is now youre dwellyng
Another day if that I sholde yow seche?"
This yeman hym answerde in softe speche,
       "Brother," quod he, "fer in the north contree,
150 Where-as I hope som tyme I shal thee see.
Er we departe, I shal thee so wel wisse
That of myn hous ne shaltow nevere mysse."


       This summoner, who was as full of words
As full of malice are these butcher birds,
145 And ever enquiring after everything,
       "Brother," asked he, "where now is your dwelling,
If some day I should wish your side to reach?"
This yeoman answered him in gentle speech,
"Brother," said he, "far in the north country,
150 Where, as I hope, some day you'll come to me.
Before we part I will direct you so
You'll never miss it when that way you go."


       "Now, brother," quod this somonour, "I yow preye,
Teche me, whil that we ryden by the weye,
155 Syn that ye been a baillif as am I,
Som subtiltee, and tel me feithfully
In myn office how that I may moost wynne;
And spareth nat for conscience ne synne,
But as my brother tel me, how do ye."


       "Now, brother," said this summoner, "I pray
You'll teach me, while we ride along our way,
155 Since that you are a bailiff, as am I,
A trick or two, and tell me faithfully
How, in my office, I may most coin win;
And spare not for nice conscience, nor for sin,
But as my brother tell your arts to me."


160        "Now, by my trouthe, brother deere," seyde he,
"As I shal tellen thee a feithful tale,
My wages been ful streite and ful smale.
My lord is hard to me and daungerous,
And myn office is ful laborous,
165 And therfore by extorcions I lyve.
For sothe, I take al that men wol me yive.
Algate, by sleyghte or by violence,
Fro yeer to yeer I wynne al my dispence.
I kan no bettre telle, feithfully."


160        "Now by my truth, dear brother," then said he,
If I am to relate a faithful tale,
My wages are right scanty, and but small.
My lord is harsh to me and niggardly,
My job is most laborious, you see;
165 And therefore by extortion do I live.
Forsooth, I take all that these men will give;
By any means, by trick or violence,
From year to year I win me my expense.
I can no better tell you faithfully."

       This false theef, this somonour, quod the Frere,
75 Hadde alwey bawdes redy to his hond,
As any hauk to lure in Engelond,
That tolde hym al the secree that they knewe;
For hire acqueyntace was nat come of newe.
They weren his approwours prively.
80 He took hymself a greet profit therby;
His maister knew nat alwey what he wan.
Withouten mandement a lewed man
He koude somne, on peyne of Cristes curs,
And they were glade for to fille his purs,
85 And make hym grete feestes atte nale.
And right as Judas hadde purses smale,
And was a theef, right swich a theef was he;
His maister hadde but half his duetee.
He was, if I shal yeven hym his laude,
90 A theef, and eek a somnour, and baude.
He hadde eek wenches at his retenue,
That, wheither that sir Robert or sir Huwe,
Or Jakke, or Rauf, or whoso that it were
That lay by hem, they tolde it in his ere.
95 Thus was the wenche and he of oon assent;
And he wolde fecche a feyned mandement,
And somne hem to chapitre bothe two,
And pile the man, and lete the wenche go.
Thanne wolde he seye, 'Freend, I shal for thy sake
100 Do striken hire out of oure lettres blake;
Thee thar namoore as in this cas travaille.
I am thy freend, ther I thee may availle.'
Certeyn he knew of briberyes mo
Than possible is to telle in yeres two.
105 For in this world nys dogge for the bowe
That kan an hurt deer from an hool yknowe
Bet than this somnour knew a sly lecchour,
Or an avowtier, or a paramour.
And for that was the fruyt of al his rente,
110 Therfore on it he sette al his entente.
And so bifel that ones on a day
This somnour, evere waityng on his pray,
Rood for to somne an old wydwe, a ribibe,
Feynynge a cause, for he wolde brybe.
115 And happed that he saugh bifore hym ryde
A gay yeman, under a forest syde,
A bowe he bar, and arwes brighte and kene;
He hadde upon a courtepy of grene,
An hat upon his heed with frenges blake.


       This false thief, then, this summoner, said the friar
75 Had always panders ready to his hand,
For any hawk to lure in all England,
Who told him all the scandal that they knew;
For their acquaintances were nothing new.
They were all his informers privily;
80 And he took to himself great gain thereby;
His master knew not how his profits ran.
Without an order, and an ignorant man,
Yet would he summon, on pain of Christ's curse,
Those who were glad enough to fill his purse
85 And feast him greatly at the taverns all.
And just as Judas had his purses small
And was a thief, just such a thief was he.
His master got but half of every fee.
He was, if I'm to give him proper laud,
90 A thief, and more, a summoner, and a bawd.
He'd even wenches in his retinue,
And whether 'twere Sir Robert, or Sir Hugh,
Or Jack, or Ralph, or whosoever 'twere
That lay with them, they told it in his ear;
95 Thus were the wench and he in partnership.
And he would forge a summons from his scrip,
And summon to the chapter-house those two
And rob the man and let the harlot go.
Then would he say: "My friend, and for your sake,
100 Her name from our blacklist will I now take;
Trouble no more for what this may entail;
I am your friend in all where 'twill avail."
He knew more ways to rob and blackmail you
Than could be told in one year or in two.
105 For in this world's no dog trained to the bow
That can a hurt deer from a sound one know
Better than this man knew a sly lecher,
Or fornicator, or adulterer.
And since this was the fruit of all his rent,
110 Therefore on it he fixed his whole intent.
And so it happened that once upon a day
This summoner, ever lurking for his prey,
Rode out to summon a widow, an old rip,
Feigning a cause, for her he planned to strip.
115 It happened that he saw before him ride
A yeoman gay along a forest's side.
A bow he bore, and arrows bright and keen;
He wore a short coat of the Lincoln green,
And hat upon his head, with fringes black.

       "Peter! so been the wommen of the styves,"
Quod the Somonour, "yput out of oure cure!"
70        "Pees! with myschance and with mysaventure!"
Thys seyde oure Hoost, "and lat hym telle his tale.
Now telleth forth, thogh that the somonour gale;
Ne spareth nat, myn owene maister deere."


       "Peter! So are the women of the dives,"
The summoner said, "likewise beyond my cure!"
70        "Peace, with mischance and with misadventure!"
Thus spoke our host, "and let him tell his tale.
Now tell it on, despite the summoner's wail,
Nor spare in anything, my master dear."

       Whilom ther was dwellynge in my contree
And erchedeken, a man of heigh degree,
That boldely dide execucioun
40 In punysshynge of fornicacioun,
Of wicchecraft, and eek of bawderye,
Of diffamacioun, and avowtrye,
Of chirche reves, and of testamentz,
Of contractes and of lakke of sacramentz,
45 Of usure, and of symonye also.
But certes, lecchours dide he grettest wo;
They sholde syngen if that they were hent;
And smale tytheres weren foule yshent,
If any persoun wolde upon hem pleyne.
50 Ther myghte asterte hym no pecunyal peyne.
For smale tithes and for smal offrynge
He made the peple pitously to synge.
For er the bisshop caughte hem with his hook,
They weren in the erchedeknes book.
55 Thanne hadde he, thurgh his jurisdiccioun,
Power to doon on hem correccioun.
He hadde a somonour redy to his hond;
A slyer boye nas noon in Engelond;
For subtilly he hadde his espiaille,
60 That taughte hym wel wher that hym myghte availle.
He koude spare of lecchours oon or two,
To techen hym to foure and twenty mo.
For thogh this somonour wood were as an hare,
To telle his harlotrye I wol nat spare;
65 For we been out of his correccioun.
They han of us no jurisdiccioun,
Ne nevere shullen, terme of alle hir lyves.


       Once on a time there dwelt in my country
An archdeacon, a man of high degree,
Who boldly executed the Church's frown
40 In punishment of fornication known,
And of witchcraft and of all known bawdry,
And defamation and adultery
Of church-wardens, and of fake testaments
And contracts, and the lack of sacraments,
45 And usury and simony also.
But unto lechers gave he greatest woe;
They should lament if they were apprehended;
And payers of short tithes to shame descended.
If anyone informed of such, 'twas plain
50 He'd not escape pecuniary pain.
For all short tithes and for small offering
He made folk pitifully to howl and sing.
For before the bishop caught them with his crook,
They were already in the archdeacon's book.
55 Then had he, by his competent jurisdiction,
Power to punish them by such infliction.
He had a summoner ready to his hand,
A slyer rogue was not in all England;
For cunningly he'd espionage to trail
60 And bring reports of all that might avail.
He could protect of lechers one or two
To learn of four and twenty more, mark you.
For though this man were wild as is a hare,
To tell his evil deeds I will not spare;
65 For we are out of his reach of infliction;
They have of us no competent jurisdiction,
Nor ever shall for term of all their lives.

       Oure Hoost tho spak, "A, sire, ye sholde be hende
And curteys, as a man of youre estaat;
In compaignye we wol have no debaat.
25 Telleth youre tale, and lat the somonour be."
       "Nay," quod the Somonour, "lat hym seye to me
What so hym list; whan it comth to me lot,
By God, I shal hym quiten every grot.
I shal hym tellen which a greet honour
30 It is to be a flaterynge lymytour;
And eek of many another manere cryme
Which nedeth nat rehercen at this tyme;
And his office I shal hym telle, ywis."


       Our host then spoke: "O sir, you should attend
To courtesy, like man of your estate;
In company here we will have no debate.
25 Tell forth your tale and let the summoner be."
       "Nay," said the summoner, "let him say to me
What pleases him; when it falls to my lot,
By God I'll then repay him, every jot.
I'll then make plain to him what great honour
30 It is to be a flattering limiter;
And also of many other ways of crime
Which do not have to be repeated at this time
I'll certainly tell him what his business is."


       Oure Hoost answerde, "Pees, namoore of this!"
35 And after this he seyde unto the Frere,
"Tel forth youre tale, my leeve maister deere."


       Our host replied: "Oh peace, no more of this!"
35 And after that he said unto the friar:
"Tell now your tale to us, good master dear."

       This worthy lymytour, this noble Frere,
He made alwey a maner louryng chiere
Upon the Somonour, but for honestee
No vileyns word as yet to hym spak he.
5 But atte laste he seyde unto the wyf,
"Dame," quod he, "God yeve yow right good lyf!
Ye han heer touched, also moot I thee,
In scole-matere greet difficultee.
Ye han seyd muche thyng right wel, I seye;
10 But, dame, heere as we ryde by the weye,
Us nedeth nat to speken but of game,
And lete auctoritees, on Goddes name,
To prechyng and to scole eek of clergye.
But if it lyke to this compaignye,
15 I wol yow of a somonour telle a game.
Pardee, ye may wel knowe by the name
That of a somonour may no good be sayd;
I praye that noon of you be yvele apayd.
A somonour is a rennere up and doun
20 With mandementz for fornicacioun,
And is ybet at every townes ende."


       This worthy limiter, this noble friar,
He turned always a lowering face, and dire,
Upon the summoner, but for courtesy
No rude and insolent word as yet spoke he.
5 But at the last he said unto the wife:
"Lady," said he, "God grant you a good life!
You have here touched, as I may prosperous be,
Upon school matters of great difficulty;
You have said many things right well, I say;
10 But, lady, as we ride along our way,
We need but talk to carry on our game,
And leave authorities, in good God's name,
To preachers and to schools for clergymen.
But if it pleases all this company, then,
15 I'll tell you of a summoner, to make game.
By God, you could surmise it by the name
That of a summoner may no good be said;
I pray that no one will be angry made.
A summoner is a runner up and down
20 With summonses for fornication known,
And he is beaten well at each town's end."

       "Thanne have I gete of yow maistrie," quod she,
"Syn I may chese and governe as me lest?"
       "Ye, certes, wyf," quod he, "I holde it best."
1245        "Kys me," quod she, "we be no lenger wrothe,
For, by my trouthe, I wol be to yow bothe!
This is to seyn, ye, bothe fair and good.
I prey to God that I moote sterven wood
But I to yow be al so good and trewe
1250 As evere was wyf, syn that the world was newe.
And but I be to-morn as fair to seene
As any lady, emperice, or queene,
That is bitwixe the est and eke the west,
Dooth with my lyf and deth right as yow lest.
1255 Cast up the curtyn, looke how that it is."


       "Then have I got of you the mastery,
Since I may choose and govern, in earnest?"
       "Yes, truly, wife," said he, "I hold that best."
1245        "Kiss me," said she, "we'll be no longer wroth,
For by my truth, to you I will be both;
That is to say, I'll be both good and fair.
I pray God I go mad, and so declare,
If I be not to you as good and true
1250 As ever wife was since the world was new.
And, save I be, at dawn, as fairly seen
As any lady, empress, or great queen
That is between the east and the far west,
Do with my life and death as you like best.
1255 Throw back the curtain and see how it is."


       And whan the knyght saugh verraily al this,
That she so fair was, and so yong therto,
For joye he hente hire in hise armes two.
His herte bathed in a bath of blisse,
1260 A thousand tyme a-rewe he gan hir kisse,
And she obeyed hym in every thyng
That myghte doon hym plesance or likyng.
       And thus they lyve unto hir lyves ende
In parfit joye;-and Jesu Crist us sende
1265 Housbondes meeke, yonge, fressh abedde,
And grace t'overbyde hem that we wedde;
And eek I praye Jesu shorte hir lyves
That nat wol be governed by hir wyves;
And olde and angry nygardes of dispence,
1270 God sende hem soone verray pestilence!


       And when the knight saw verily all this,
That she so very fair was, and young too,
For joy he clasped her in his strong arms two,
His heart bathed in a bath of utter bliss;
1260 A thousand times, all in a row, he'd kiss.
And she obeyed his wish in everything
That might give pleasure to his love-liking.
       And thus they lived unto their lives' fair end,
In perfect joy; and Jesus to us send
1265 Meek husbands, and young ones, and fresh in bed,
And good luck to outlive them that we wed.
And I pray Jesus to cut short the lives
Of those who'll not be governed by their wives;
And old and querulous niggards with their pence,
1270 And send them soon a mortal pestilence!

       Now sire, of elde ye repreve me,
And certes, sire, thogh noon auctoritee
1215 Were in no book, ye gentils of honour
Seyn, that men sholde an oold wight doon favour,
And clepe hym fader for youre gentillesse;
And auctours shal I fynden, as I gesse.
       Now, ther ye seye that I am foul and old,
1220 Than drede you noght to been a cokewold;
For filthe and eelde, al so moot I thee,
Been grete wardeyns upon chastitee;
But nathelees, syn I knowe youre delit,
I shal fulfille youre worldly appetit."


       Now, sir, with age you have upbraided me;
And truly, sir, though no authority
1215 Were in a book, you gentles of honour
Say that men should the aged show favour,
And call him father, of your gentleness;
And authors could I find for this, I guess.
       Now since you say that I am foul and old,
1220 Then fear you not to be made a cuckold;
For dirt and age, as prosperous I may be,
Are mighty wardens over chastity.
Nevertheless, since I know your delight,
I'll satisfy your worldly appetite.


1225        "Chese now," quod she, "oon of thise thynges tweye:
To han me foul and old til that I deye,
And be to yow a trewe humble wyf,
And nevere yow displese in al my lyf;
Or elles ye wol han me yong and fair,
1230 And take youre aventure of the repair
That shal be to youre hous, by cause of me,
Or in som oother place may wel be.
Now chese yourselven wheither that yow liketh."
       This knyght avyseth hym and sore siketh,
1235 But atte laste, he seyde in this manere:
"My lady and my love, and wyf so deere,
I put me in youre wise governance.
Cheseth yourself, which may be moost plesance
And moost honour to yow and me also.
1240 I do no fors the wheither of the two;
For, as yow liketh, it suffiseth me."


1225        "Two choices," said she, "which one will you try,
To have me foul and old until I die,
And be to you a true and humble wife,
And never anger you in all my life;
Or else to have me young and very fair
1230 And take your chance with those who will repair
Unto your house, and all because of me,
Or in some other place, as well may be.
Now choose which you like better and reply."
       This knight considered, and did sorely sigh,
1235 But at the last replied as you shall hear:
"My lady and my love, and wife so dear,
I put myself in your wise governing;
Do you choose which may be the more pleasing,
And bring most honour to you, and me also.
1240 I care not which it be of these things two;
For if you like it, that suffices me."

       Thenketh hou noble, as seith Valerius,
Was thilke Tullius Hostillius,
That out of poverte roos to heigh noblesse.
Reedeth Senek, and redeth eek Boece,
1175 Ther shul ye seen expres that it no drede is,
That he is gentil that dooth gentil dedis.
And therfore, leeve housbonde, I thus conclude:
Al were it that myne auncestres weren rude,
Yet may the hye God, and so hope I,
1180 Grante me grace to lyven vertuously.
Thanne am I gentil whan that I bigynne
To lyven vertuously, and weyve synne.
       And ther as ye of poverte me repreeve,
The hye God, on whom that we bileeve,
1185 In wilful poverte chees to lyve his lyf.
And certes every man, mayden or wyf,
May understonde that Jesus, hevene kyng,
Ne wolde nat chesen vicious lyvyng.
Glad poverte is an honeste thyng, certeyn,
1190 This wole Senec and othere clerkes seyn.
Who so that halt hym payd of his poverte,
I holde hym riche, al hadde he nat a sherte.
He that coveiteth is a povre wight,
For he wolde han that is nat in his myght;
1195 But he that noght hath, ne coveiteth have,
Is riche, although ye holde hym but a knave.
Verray poverte, it syngeth proprely;
Juvenal seith of poverte myrily:
`The povre man, whan he goth by the weye,
1200 Bifore the theves he may synge and pleye.'
Poverte is hateful good, and, as I gesse,
A ful greet bryngere out of bisynesse;
A greet amender eek of sapience
To hym that taketh it in pacience.
1205 Poverte is this, although it seme alenge,
Possessioun, that no wight wol chalenge.
Poverte ful ofte, whan a man is lowe,
Maketh his God and eek hymself to knowe.
Poverte a spectacle is, as thynketh me,
1210 Thurgh which he may hise verray freendes see.
And therfore, sire, syn that I noght yow greve,
Of my poverte namoore ye me repreve.


       Think how noble, as says Valerius,
Was that same Tullius Hostilius,
Who out of poverty rose to high estate.
Seneca and Boethius inculcate,
1175 Expressly (and no doubt it thus proceeds),
That he is noble who does noble deeds;
And therefore, husband dear, I thus conclude:
Although my ancestors mayhap were rude,
Yet may the High Lord God, and so hope I,
1180 Grant me the grace to live right virtuously.
Then I'll be gentle when I do begin
To live in virtue and to do no sin.
       And when you me reproach for poverty,
The High God, in Whom we believe, say I,
1185 In voluntary poverty lived His life.
And surely every man, or maid, or wife
May understand that Jesus, Heaven's King,
Would not have chosen vileness of living.
Glad poverty's an honest thing, that's plain,
1190 Which Seneca and other clerks maintain.
Whoso will be content with poverty,
I hold him rich, though not a shirt has he.
And he that covets much is a poor wight,
For he would gain what's all beyond his might,
1195 But he that has not, nor desires to have,
Is rich, although you hold him but a knave.
"True poverty, it sings right naturally;
Juvenal gaily says of poverty:
'The poor man, when he walks along the way,
1200 Before the robbers he may sing and play.'
Poverty's odious good, and, as I guess,
It is a stimulant to busyness;
A great improver, too, of sapience
In him that takes it all with due patience.
1205 Poverty's this, though it seem misery -
Its quality may none dispute, say I.
Poverty often, when a man is low,
Makes him his God and even himself to know.
And poverty's an eye-glass, seems to me,
1210 Through which a man his loyal friends may see.
Since you've received no injury from me,
Then why reproach me for my poverty.

       Wel kan the wise poete of Florence,
That highte Dant, speken in this sentence.
Lo in swich maner rym is Dantes tale:
`Ful selde upriseth by his branches smale
1135 Prowesse of man, for God of his goodnesse,
Wole, that of hym we clayme oure gentillesse.'
For of oure eldres may we no thyng clayme
But temporel thyng, that man may hurte and mayme.
       Eek every wight woot this as wel as I,
1140 If gentillesse were planted natureelly
Unto a certeyn lynage doun the lyne,
Pryvee nor apert, thanne wolde they nevere fyne
To doon of gentillesse the faire office,
They myghte do no vileynye or vice.
1145        Taak fyr, and ber it in the derkeste hous
Bitwix this and the mount of Kaukasous,
And lat men shette the dores and go thenne;
Yet wole the fyr as faire lye and brenne
As twenty thousand men myghte it biholde;
1150 His office natureel ay wol it holde,
Up peril of my lyf, til that it dye.
       Heere may ye se wel, how that genterye
Is nat annexed to possessioun,
Sith folk ne doon hir operacioun
1155 Alwey, as dooth the fyr, lo, in his kynde.
For God it woot, men may wel often fynde
A lordes sone do shame and vileynye,
And he that wole han pris of his gentrye,
For he was boren of a gentil hous,
1160 And hadde hise eldres noble and vertuous,
And nel hym-selven do no gentil dedis,
Ne folwen his gentil auncestre that deed is,
He nys nat gentil, be he duc or erl;
For vileyns synful dedes make a cherl.
1165 For gentillesse nys but renomee
Of thyne auncestres for hire heigh bountee,
Which is a strange thyng to thy persone.
Thy gentillesse cometh fro God allone.
Thanne comth oure verray gentillesse of grace,
1170 It was no thyng biquethe us with oure place.


       Well does that poet wise of great Florence,
Called Dante, speak his mind in this sentence;
Somewhat like this may it translated be:
'Rarely unto the branches of the tree
1135 Doth human worth mount up: and so ordains
He who bestows it; to him it pertains.'
For of our fathers may we nothing claim
But temporal things, that man may hurt and maim
       And everyone knows this as well as I,
1140 If nobleness were implanted naturally
Within a certain lineage, down the line,
In private and in public, I opine,
The ways of gentleness they'd alway show
And never fall to vice and conduct low.
1145        Take fire and carry it in the darkest house
Between here and the Mount of Caucasus,
And let men shut the doors and from them turn;
Yet will the fire as fairly blaze and burn
As twenty thousand men did it behold;
1150 Its nature and its office it will hold,
On peril of my life, until it die.
"From this you see that true gentility
Is not allied to wealth a man may own,
Since folk do not their deeds, as may be shown,
1155 As does the fire, according to its kind.
For God knows that men may full often find
A lord's son doing shame and villainy;
And he that prizes his gentility
In being born of some old noble house,
1160 With ancestors both noble and virtuous,
But will himself do naught of noble deeds
Nor follow him to whose name he succeeds,
He is not gentle, be he duke or earl;
For acting churlish makes a man a churl.
1165 Gentility is not just the renown
Of ancestors who have some greatness shown,
In which you have no portion of your own.
Your own gentility comes from God alone;
Thence comes our true nobility by grace,
1170 It was not willed us with our rank and place

1110        "Is this," quod she, "the cause of youre unreste?"
       "Ye certeinly," quod he, "no wonder is!"
       "Now, sire," quod she, "I koude amende al this,
If that me liste, er it were dayes thre,
So wel ye myghte bere yow unto me.
1115        But for ye speken of swich gentillesse
As is descended out of old richesse,
That therfore sholden ye be gentil men,
Swich arrogance nis nat worth an hen.
Looke who that is moost vertuous alway,
1120 Pryvee and apert, and moost entendeth ay
To do the gentil dedes that he kan,
Taak hym for the grettest gentil man.
Crist wole we clayme of hym oure gentillesse,
Nat of oure eldres for hire old richesse.
1125 For thogh they yeve us al hir heritage,
For which we clayme to been of heigh parage,
Yet may they nat biquethe, for no thyng
To noon of us hir vertuous lyvyng,
That made hem gentil men ycalled be,
1130 And bad us folwen hem in swich degree.


1110        "Is this," asked she, "the cause of your unrest?"
       "Yes, truly," said he, "and no wonder 'tis."
       "Now, sir," said she, "I could amend all this,
If I but would, and that within days three,
If you would bear yourself well towards me.
1115        "But since you speak of such gentility
As is descended from old wealth, till ye
Claim that for that you should be gentlemen,
I hold such arrogance not worth a hen.
Find him who is most virtuous alway,
1120 Alone or publicly, and most tries aye
To do whatever noble deeds he can,
And take him for the greatest gentleman.
Christ wills we claim from him gentility,
Not from ancestors of landocracy.
1125 For though they give us all their heritage,
For which we claim to be of high lineage,
Yet can they not bequeath, in anything,
To any of us, their virtuous living,
That made men say they had gentility,
1130 And bade us follow them in like degree.

       Now wolden som men seye, paraventure,
1080 That for my necligence I do no cure
To tellen yow the joye and al th'array,
That at the feeste was that ilke day;
To whiche thyng shortly answere I shal:
I seye, ther nas no joye ne feeste at al;
1085 Ther nas but hevynesse and muche sorwe.
For prively he wedde hir on a morwe,
And al day after hidde hym as an owle,
So wo was hym, his wyf looked so foule.
       Greet was the wo the knyght hadde in his thoght,
1090 Whan he was with his wyf abedde ybroght;
He walweth and he turneth to and fro.
His olde wyf lay smylynge everemo,
And seyde, "O deere housbonde, benedicitee,
Fareth every knyght thus with his wyf, as ye?
1095 Is this the lawe of Kyng Arthures hous?
Is every knyght of his so dangerous?
I am youre owene love and youre wyf;
I am she which that saved hath youre lyf.
And certes, yet dide I yow nevere unright;
1100 Why fare ye thus with me this firste nyght?
Ye faren lyk a man had lost his wit.
What is my gilt? For Goddes love, tel it,
And it shal been amended, if I may."
       "Amended," quod this knyght, "allas! nay! nay!
1105 It wol nat been amended nevere mo;
Thou art so loothly and so oold also,
And therto comen of so lough a kynde,
That litel wonder is thogh I walwe and wynde.
So wolde God, myn herte wolde breste!"


       Now, peradventure, would some men say here,
1080 That, of my negligence, I take no care
To tell you of the joy and all the array
That at the wedding feast were seen that day.
Make a brief answer to this thing I shall;
I say, there was no joy or feast at all;
1085 There was but heaviness and grievous sorrow;
For privately he wedded on the morrow,
And all day, then, he hid him like an owl;
So sad he was, his old wife looked so foul.
       Great was the woe the knight had in his thought
1090 When he, with her, to marriage bed was brought;
He rolled about and turned him to and fro.
His old wife lay there, always smiling so,
And said: "O my dear husband, ben'cite!
Fares every knight with wife as you with me?
1095 Is this the custom in King Arthur's house?
Are knights of his all so fastidious?
I am your own true love and, more, your wife;
And I am she who saved your very life;
And truly, since I've never done you wrong,
1100 Why do you treat me so, this first night long?
You act as does a man who's lost his wit;
What is my fault? For God's love tell me it,
And it shall be amended, if I may."
       "Amended!" cried this knight, "Alas, nay, nay!
1105 It will not be amended ever, no!
You are so loathsome, and so old also,
And therewith of so low a race were born,
It's little wonder that I toss and turn.
Would God my heart would break within my breast!"