Greet was the sorwe for the haukes harm
That Canacee and alle hir wommen made.
They nyste hou they myghte the faucoun glade;
635 But Canacee hom bereth hir in hir lappe,
And softely in plastres gan hir wrappe,
Ther as she with hir beek hadde hurt hirselve.
Now kan nat Canacee but herbes delve
Out of the ground, and make saves newe
640 Of herbes preciouse and fyne of hewe,
To heelen with this hauk. Fro day to nyght
She dooth hir bisynesse and al hir myght.
And by hir beddes heed she made a mewe,
And covered it with veluettes blewe,
645 In signe of trouthe that is in wommen sene.
And al withoute, the mewe is peynted grene,
In which were ypeynted alle thise false fowles,
As ben thise tidyves, tercelettes, and owles,
Right for despit were peynted hem bisyde,
650 Pyes, on hem for to crie and chyde.


      Great was the sorrow for the falcon's harm
That Canace and all her women made;
They knew not how they might this falcon aid.
635 But Canace home bore her in her lap,
And softly her in poultices did wrap
Where she with her own beak had hurt herself.
Now Canace dug herbs more rich than pelf
Out of the ground, and made up ointments new
640 Of precious herbs, all beautiful of hue,
Wherewith to heal this hawk; from day to night
She nursed her carefully with all her might.
And by her bed's head she contrived a mew
And lined the cage with velvets all of blue,
645 Symbol of truth that is in women seen.
And all without, the mew was painted green,
And there were painted all these treacherous fowls
As are these titmice, tercelets, and these owls,
While for despite were painted there beside
650 Magpies, that they might cry at them and chide.

      Thus lete I Canacee hir hauk kepyng;
I wol namoore as now speke of hir ryng,
Til it come eft to purpos for to seyn
How that this faucoun gat hire love ageyn
655 Repentant, as the storie telleth us,
By mediacioun of Cambalus,
The kynges sone, of which that I yow tolde.
But hennesforth I wol my proces holde
To speken of aventures and of batailles,
660 That nevere yet was herd so grete mervailles.
      First wol I telle yow of Cambyuskan,
That in his tyme many a citee wan;
And after wol I speke of Algarsif,
How that he wan Theodora to his wif,
665 For whom ful ofte in greet peril he was,
Ne hadde he be holpen by the steede of bras;
And after wol I speke of Cambalo
That faught in lystes with the bretheren two
For Canacee, er that he myghte hir wynne.
670 And ther I lefte, I wol ayeyn bigynne.


      Thus leave I Canace her hawk keeping,
I will no more, just now, speak of her ring,
Till I come back with purpose to explain
How this poor falcon got her love again
655 Repentant, as the story tells to us,
By mediation of that Cambalus,
The king's son, of whom I've already told.
But henceforth I a straightened course will hold
Great battles and adventures to relate,
660 Whereof were never heard such marvels great.
      First will I tell you of King Cambinskan
Who won so many a town and many a man;
And after will I speak of Algarsyf,
How he won Theodora for his wife,
665 For whom full oft in peril great he was,
Had he been helped not by the steed of brass;
And after that I'll speak of Cambalo,
Who in the lists fought with the brothers two
For Canace, before he could her win.
670 And where I left off, I'll again begin.

       Appollo whirleth up his chaar so hye
Til that the god Mercurius hous, the slye ----


      Apollo in his chariot whirled so high
That in the God Mercurius' house, the sly----



      "In feith, Squier, thow hast thee wel yquit,
And gentilly I preise wel thy wit,"
675 Quod the Frankeleyn, "considerynge thy yowthe,
So feelyngly thou spekest, sire, I allow the;
As to my doom, ther is noon that is heere
Of eloquence that shal be thy peere,
If that thou lyve; God yeve thee good chaunce,
680 And in vertu sende thee continuance!
For of thy speche I have greet deyntee;
I have a sone, and, by the Trinitee,
I hadde levere than twenty pound worth lond,
Though it right now were fallen in myn hond,
685 He were a man of swich discrecioun
As that ye been! Fy on possessioun
But if a man be vertuous withal!
I have my sone snybbed, and yet shal,
For he to vertu listneth nat entende,
690 But for to pleye at dees, and to despende
And lese al that he hath, is his usage.
And he hath levere talken with a page
Than to comune with any gentil wight
Where he myghte lerne gentillesse aright."
695       "Straw for youre gentillesse," quod our Hoost,
"What, Frankeleyn, pardee! sire, wel thou woost
That ech of yow moot tellen atte leste
A tale or two, or breken his biheste."


      In faith, sir squire, you have done well with it,
And openly I praise you for your wit,"
675 The franklin said, "Considering your youth,
So feelingly you speak, sir, in good truth!
In my opinion, there is none that's here
In eloquence shall ever be your peer,
If you but live; may God give you good chance
680 And in all virtue send continuance!
For, sir, your speech was great delight to me.
I have a son, and by the Trinity
I'd rather have, than twenty pounds in land,
Though it were right now fallen to my hand,
685 He were a man of such discretion shown
As you, sir; fie on what a man may own,
Unless the man have virtue therewithal.
I've checked my son, and yet again I shall,
For he toward virtue chooses not to wend;
690 But just to play at dice, and gold to spend,
And lose all that he has, is his usage.
And he would rather talk with any page
Than to commune with any gentle wight
From whom he might, learn courtesy aright."
695       "A straw for courtesy!" exclaimed our host;
"What, franklin? Indeed, sir, well you know, I trust,
That each of you must tell us, at the least,
A tale or two, or break his sworn behest."


      "That knowe I wel, sire," quod the Frankeleyn,
700 "I prey yow, haveth me nat in desdeyn
Though to this man I speke a word or two."
      "Telle on thy tale, withouten wordes mo."
      "Gladly, sire Hoost," quod he, "I wole obeye
Unto your wyl; now herkneth what I seye.
705 I wol yow nat contrarien in no wyse
As fer as that my wittes wol suffyse;
I prey to God that it may plesen yow,
Thanne woot I wel that it is good ynow."


      "I know it," said the franklin; "I am fain,
700 And pray you all, you do not me disdain,
Though to this man I speak a word or two."
      "Come, tell your tale, sir, without more ado."
      "Gladly, sir host," said he, "I will obey
Your will, good host; now hearken what I say.
705 For I'll not be contrary in any wise,
At least so far as my wit shall suffice;
I pray to God that it may please you; rough
Though it may be, I'll know 'tis good enough."

侍从的故事没有写完

       Thise olde gentil Britouns in hir dayes
Of diverse aventures maden layes,
Rymeyed in hir firste Briton tonge;
Whiche layes with hir instrumentz they songe,
5 Or elles redden hem, for hir plesaunce.
And oon of hem have I in remembraunce,
Whiche I shal seyn, with good-wyl, as I kan.


       These ancient gentle Bretons, in their days,
Of divers high adventures made great lays
And rhymed them in their primal Breton tongue,
The which lays to their instruments they sung,
5 Or else recited them where joy might be;
And one of them have I in memory,
Which I shall gladly tell you, as I can.


       But sires, by cause I am a burel man,
At my bigynnyng first I yow biseche,
10 Have me excused of my rude speche.
I lerned nevere rethorik, certeyn;
Thyng that I speke, it moot be bare and pleyn.
I sleep nevere on the Mount of Parnaso,
Ne lerned Marcus Tullius Scithero.
15 Colours ne knowe I none, withouten drede,
But swiche colours as growen in the mede,
Or elles swiche, as men dye or peynte.
Colours of rethoryk been me to queynte,
My spirit feeleth noght of swich mateere;
20 But if yow list, my tale shul ye heere.


       But, sirs, because I am an ignorant man,
At my beginning must I first beseech
10 You will excuse me for my vulgar speech;
I never studied rhetoric, that's certain;
That which I say, it must be bare and plain.
I never slept on Mount Parnassus, no,
Nor studied Marcus Tullius Cicero.
15 Colours I know not, there's no doubt indeed,
Except colours such as grow within the mead,
Or such as men achieve with dye or paint.
Colours of rhetoric I find but quaint;
My spirit doesn't feel the beauty there.
20 But if you wish, my story you shall hear.

       In Armorik, that called is Britayne,
Ther was a knyght that loved and dide his payne
To serve a lady in his beste wise;
And many a labour, many a greet emprise,
25 He for his lady wroghte, er she were wonne.
For she was oon the faireste under sonne,
And eek therto comen of so heigh kynrede
That wel unnethes dorste this knyght for drede
Telle hir his wo, his peyne, and his distresse.
30 But atte laste, she for his worthynesse,
And namely for his meke obeysaunce,
Hath swiche a pitee caught of his penaunce,
That pryvely she fil of his accord
To take hym for hir housbonde and hir lord,
35 Of swich lordshipe as men han over hir wyves-
And for to lede the moore in blisse hir lyves,
Of his free wyl he swoor hir as a knyght,
That nevere in al his lyf he, day ne nyght,
Ne sholde upon hym take no maistrie
40 Agayn hir wyl, ne kithe hir jalousie,
But hir obeye and folwe hir wyl in al
As any lovere to his lady shal,
Save that the name of soveraynetee,
That wolde he have, for shame of his degree.


       In old Armorica, now Brittany,
There was a knight that loved and strove, did he
To serve a lady in the highest wise;
And many a labour, many a great emprise
25 He wrought for her, or ever she was won.
For she was of the fairest under sun,
And therewithal come of so high kindred
That scarcely could this noble knight, for dread,
Tell her his woe, his pain, and his distress.
30 But at the last she, for his worthiness,
And specially for his meek obedience,
Had so much pity that, in consequence,
She secretly was come to his accord
To take him for her husband and her lord,
35 Of such lordship as men have over wives;
And that they might be happier in their lives,
Of his free will he swore to her, as knight,
That never in his life, by day or night,
Would he assume a right of mastery
40 Against her will, nor show her jealousy,
But would obey and do her will in all
As any lover of his lady shall;
Except the name and show of sovereignty,
Those would he have, lest he shame his degree


45        She thanked hym, and with ful greet humblesse
She seyde, "Sire, sith of youre gentillesse
Ye profre me to have so large a reyne,
Ne wolde nevere God bitwixe us tweyne,
As in my gilt, were outher werre or stryf.
50 Sir, I wol be youre humble trewe wyf,
Have heer my trouthe til that myn herte breste."
Thus been they bothe in quiete and in reste.


45        She thanked him, and with a great humbleness
She said: "Since, sir, of your own nobleness
You proffer me to have so loose a rein
Would God there never come between us twain,
For any guilt of mine, a war or strife.
50 Sir, I will be your humble, faithful wife,
Take this as truth till heart break in my breast."
Thus were they both in quiet and in rest.

       For o thyng, sires, saufly dar I seye,
That freendes everych oother moot obeye,
55 If they wol longe holden compaignye.
Love wol nat been constreyned by maistrye;
Whan maistrie comth, the God of Love anon
Beteth hise wynges, and farewel, he is gon!
Love is a thyng as any spirit free.
60 Wommen, of kynde desiren libertee,
And nat to been constreyned as a thral;
And so doon men, if I sooth seyen shal.
Looke who that is moost pacient in love,
He is at his avantage al above.
65 Pacience is an heigh vertu, certeyn,
For it venquysseth, as thise clerkes seyn,
Thynges that rigour sholde nevere atteyne.
For every word men may nat chide or pleyne,
Lerneth to suffre, or elles, so moot I goon,
70 Ye shul it lerne, wherso ye wole or noon.
For in this world, certein, ther no wight is
That he ne dooth or seith som tyme amys.
Ire, siknesse, or constellacioun
Wyn, wo, or chaungynge of complexioun
75 Causeth ful ofte to doon amys or speken.
On every wrong a man may nat be wreken;
After the tyme moste be temperaunce
To every wight that kan on governaunce.
And therfore hath this wise worthy knyght,
80 To lyve in ese, suffrance hir bihight,
And she to hym ful wisly gan to swere
That nevere sholde ther be defaute in here.


       For one thing, sirs, I safely dare to say,
That friends each one the other must obey
55 If they'd be friends and long keep company.
Love will not be constrained by mastery;
When mastery 'comes, the god of love anon
Beats his fair wings, and farewell! He is gone!
Love is a thing as any spirit free;
60 Women by nature love their liberty,
And not to be constrained like any thrall,
And so do men, if say the truth I shall.
Observe who is most patient in his love,
He is advantaged others all above.
65 Patience is virtue high, and that's certain;
For it does vanquish, as these clerks make plain,
Things that oppression never could attain.
One must not chide for trifles nor complain.
Learn to endure, or else, so may I go,
70 You'll have to learn it, whether you will or no.
For in this world, it's certain, no one is
Who never does or says sometimes amiss.
Sickness, or woe, or what the stars have sent,
Anger, or wine, or change of temperament
75 Causes one oft to do amiss or speak.
For every wrong one may not vengeance wreak;
Conditions must determine temperance
In all who understand good governance.
And therefore did this wise and worthy knight,
80 To live in quiet, patience to her plight,
And unto him full truly did she swear
That never should he find great fault in her.


       Heere may men seen an humble wys accord!
Thus hath she take hir servant and hir lord,
85 Servant in love, and lord in mariage;
Thanne was he bothe in lordship and servage-
Servage? Nay, but in lordshipe above,
Sith he hath bothe his lady and his love-
His lady, certes, and his wyf also,
90 The which that lawe of love acordeth to.
And whan he was in this prosperitee,
Hoom with his wyf he gooth to his contree,
Nat fer fro Pedmark, ther his dwellyng was,
Where as he lyveth in blisse and in solas.


       Here may men see an humble wise accord;
Thus did she take her servant and her lord,
85 Servant in love and lord in their marriage;
So was he both in lordship and bondage;
In bondage? Nay, but in lordship above,
Since he had both his lady and his love;
His lady truly, and his wife also,
90 To which the law of love accords, we know.
And when he was in this prosperity,
Home with his wife he went to his country,
Not far from Penmarch, where his dwelling was.
And there he lived in bliss and all solace.

95        Who koude telle, but he hadde wedded be,
The joye, the ese, and the prosperitee
That is bitwixe an housbonde and his wyf?
A yeer and moore lasted this blisful lyf,
Til that the knyght of which I speke of thus,
100 That of Kayrrud was cleped Arveragus,
Shoop hym to goon, and dwelle a yeer or tweyne,
In Engelond, that cleped was eek Briteyne,
To seke in armes worshipe and honour-
For al his lust he sette in swich labour-
105 And dwelled there two yeer, the book seith thus.


95        Who could relate, except those that wedded be,
The joy, the ease, and the prosperity
That are between a husband and a wife?
A year and more endured this blissful life,
Until the knight, of whom I've spoken thus,
100 Who at Kayrrud was called Arviragus,
Arranged to go and dwell a year or twain
In England, which was then known as Britain,
To seek in arms renown and great honour;
For his desire was fixed in such labour;
105 And there he lived two years, the book says thus.

        Now wol I stynten of this Arveragus,
And speken I wole of Dorigene his wyf,
That loveth hir housbonde as hir hertes lyf.
For his absence wepeth she and siketh,
110 As doon thise noble wyves whan hem liketh.
She moorneth, waketh, wayleth, fasteth, pleyneth,
Desir of his presence hir so destreyneth,
That al this wyde world she sette at noght,
Hir freendes whiche that knewe hir hevy thoght,
115 Conforten hir in al that ever they may.
They prechen hir, they telle hir nyght and day
That causelees she sleeth hirself, allas!
And every confort possible in this cas
They doon to hir, with all hir bisynesse,
120 Al for to make hir leve hir hevynesse.
       By proces, as ye knowen everichoon,
Men may so longe graven in a stoon,
Til som figure therinne emprented be.
So longe han they conforted hir, til she
125 Receyved hath by hope and by resoun
The emprentyng of hir consolacioun,
Thurgh which hir grete sorwe gan aswage;
She may nat alwey duren in swich rage.


       Now will I hold from this Arviragus,
And I will speak of Dorigen his wife,
Who loved her husband as her heart's own life.
For all his absence wept she and she sighed,
110 As noble wives do at a lone fireside.
She mourned, watched, wailed, she fasted and complained;
Desire for him so bound her and constrained,
That all this wide world did she set at naught.
Her friends, who knew her grief and heavy thought,
115 Comforted her as they might do or say;
They preached to her, they told her night and day
That for no cause she killed herself, alas!
And every comfort possible in this pass
They gave to her, in all their busyness,
120 To make her thus put by her heaviness.
       With passing time, as you know, every one,
Men may so long with tools engrave a stone
That thereon will some figure printed be.
And so long did they comfort her that she
125 Received at last, by hope and reason grown,
Imprinted consolations as her own,
Whereby her sorrow did somewhat assuage;
She could not always live in such a rage.


       And eek Arveragus, in al this care,
130 Hath sent hir lettres hoom of his welfare,
And that he wol com hastily agayn,
Or elles hadde this sorwe hir herte slayn.
       Hir freendes sawe hir sorwe gan to slake,
And preyde hir on knees, for Goddes sake,
135 To com and romen hir in compaignye,
Awey to dryve hir derke fantasye.
And finally she graunted that requeste,
For wel she saugh that it was for the beste.


       And, then, Arviragus, through all her care,
130 Had sent her letters home, of his welfare.
And that he would come speedily again;
Otherwise had this sorrow her heart slain.
       Her friends saw that her grief began to slake,
And prayed her on their knees, for dear God's sake,
135 To come and wander in their company
And drive away her gloomy fantasy.
And finally she granted that request;
For well she saw that it was for the best.

       Now stood hir castel faste by the see;
140 And often with hir freendes walketh she
Hire to disporte, upon the bank an heigh,
Where as she many a ship and barge seigh
Seillynge hir cours, where as hem liste go.
But thanne was that a parcel of hir wo,
145 For to hirself ful ofte "Allas," seith she,
"Is ther no ship of so many as I se
Wol bryngen hoom my lord? Thanne were myn herte
Al warisshed of hisse bittre peynes smerte."
       Another tyme ther wolde she sitte and thynke
150 And caste hir eyen dounward fro the brynke;
But whan she saugh the reisly rokkes blake,
For verray feere, so wolde hir herte quake
That on hire feet she myghte hir noght sustene.
Thanne wolde she sitte adoun upon the grene,
155 And pitously into the see biholde,
And seyn right thus, with sorweful sikes colde:


       Now stood her castle very near the sea,
140 And often with her good friends wandered she
For pleasure on the cliffs that reared so high,
Whence she saw many a ship and barge go by,
Sailing their courses where they wished to go;
But that was part and parcel of her woe.
145 For to herself full oft, "Alas!" said she,
"Is there no ship, of many that I see,
Will bring me home my lord? Then were my heart
Recovered of its bitter pains that smart."
       At other times there would she sit and think,
150 And cast her two eyes downward from the brink.
But when she saw the grisly rocks all black,
For very fear her heart would start aback
And quake so that her feet would not sustain
Her weight. Then on the grass she'd sit again
155 And piteously upon the sea she'd stare,
And say, with dull sighs on the empty air:


       "Eterne God, that thurgh thy purveiaunce
Ledest the world by certein governaunce,
In ydel, as men seyn, ye no thyng make.
160 But, lord, thise grisly feendly rokkes blake,
That semen rather a foul confusioun
Of werk, than any fair creacioun
Of swich a parfit wys God and a stable,
Why han ye wroght this werk unresonable?
165 For by this werk, south, north, ne west ne eest
Ther nys yfostred man, ne bryd, ne beest.
It dooth no good, to my wit, but anoyeth,
Se ye nat, lord, how mankynde it destroyeth?
An hundred thousand bodyes of mankynde
170 Han rokkes slayn, al be they nat in mynde;
Which mankynde is so fair part of thy werk
That thou it madest lyk to thyn owene merk.
Thanne semed it ye hadde a greet chiertee
Toward mankynde; but how thanne may it bee
175 That ye swiche meenes make it to destroyen,
Whiche meenes do no good, but evere anoyen?
I woot wel clerkes wol seyn, as hem leste,
By argumentz, that al is for the beste,
Though I ne kan the causes nat yknowe,
180 But thilke God that made wynd to blowe
As kepe my lord; this my conclusioun.
To clerkes lete I al this disputisoun-
But wolde God, that alle thise rokkes blake,
Were sonken into helle for his sake!
185 Thise rokkes sleen myn herte for the feere!"
Thus wolde she seyn, with many a pitous teere.


       "Eternal God, who by your providence
Leadest the world with a true governance,
Idly, as men say, do you nothing make;
160 But, Lord, these grisly, fiendish rocks, so black,
That seem but rather foul confusion thrown
Awry than any fair world of your own,
Aye of a perfect wise God and stable,
Why have you wrought this insane work, pray tell?
165 For by this work, north, south, and west and east,
There is none nurtured, man, nor bird, nor beast;
It does no good, to my mind, but annoys.
See'st you not, Lord, how mankind it destroys?
A hundred thousand bodies of mankind
170 Have died on rocks, whose names are not in mind,
And man's a creature made by you most fair,
After your image, as you did declare.
Then seemed it that you had'st great charity
Toward mankind; but how then may it be
175 That you had wrought such means man to destroy,
Which means do never good, but ever annoy?
I know well, clerics gladly do attest,
By arguments, that all is for the best,
Though I can never the real causes know.
180 But O you God who made'st the wind to blow,
Keep you my lord! This is my argument;
To clerks I leave disputing on what's meant.
But O would God that all these rocks so black
Were sunken down to Hell for my lord's sake!
185 These rocks, they slay my very heart with fear."
Thus would she say, with many a piteous tear.


       Hir freendes sawe that it was no disport
To romen by the see, but disconfort,
And shopen for to pleyen somwher elles;
190 They leden hir by ryveres and by welles,
And eek in othere places delitables;
They dauncen, and they pleyen at ches and tables.


       Her friends saw that to her it was no sport
To wander by the sea, but discomfort;
And so arranged to revel somewhere else.
190 They led her along rivers and to wells,
And such delightful places; and told fables,
They danced, and they played at chess and tables.

       So on a day, right in the morwe tyde,
Unto a gardyn that was ther bisyde,
195 In which that they hadde maad hir ordinaunce
Of vitaille and of oother purveiaunce,
They goon and pleye hem al the longe day.
And this was in the sixte morwe of May,
Which May hadde peynted with his softe shoures
200 This gardyn ful of leves and of floures,
And craft of mannes hand so curiously
Arrayed hadde this gardyn trewely,
That nevere was ther gardyn of swich prys,
But if it were the verray Paradys.
205 The odour of floures and the fresshe sighte
Wolde han maked any herte lighte
That evere was born, but if to greet siknesse
Or to greet sorwe helde it in distresse;
So ful it was of beautee with plesaunce.
210 At after-dyner gonne they to daunce
And synge also, save Dorigen allone,
Which made alwey hir compleint and hir moone
For she ne saugh hym on the daunce go
That was hir housbonde, and hir love also.
215 But nathelees she moste a tyme abyde,
And with good hope lete hir sorwe slyde.


       So on a day, all in the morningtide,
Unto a garden which was there beside,
195 Wherein they'd given command that there should be
Food and whatever else was necessary,
They went for pleasure all the livelong day.
And this was on the morning sixth of May,
And May had painted with his soft warm showers
200 This garden full of foliage and of flowers;
And work of man's hand had so curiously
Arrayed this lovely garden, truthfully,
That never was another of such price,
Unless it were the very Paradise.
205 The scent of flowers and the fair fresh sight
Would have made any heart dance for delight
That ever was born, unless too great sickness
Or too great sorrow held it in distress;
So full it was of beauty and pleasance.
210 After their dinner all began to dance,
And sing, also, except Dorigen alone,
Who made alway her same complaint and moan.
For him she saw not through the dancing go,
Who was her husband and her love also.
215 Nevertheless, she must a time abide,
And with good hope held, let her sorrow slide.

       Upon this daunce, amonges othere men,
Daunced a squier biforn Dorigen
That fressher was, and jolyer of array,
220 As to my doom, than is the monthe of May.
He syngeth, daunceth, passynge any man
That is or was, sith that the world bigan.
Therwith he was, if men sholde hym discryve,
Oon of the beste farynge man of lyve;
225 Yong, strong, right vertuous, and riche, and wys,
And wel biloved, and holden in greet prys.
And shortly, if the sothe I tellen shal,
Unwityng of this Dorigen at al,
This lusty squier, servant to Venus,
230 Which that ycleped was Aurelius,
Hadde loved hir best of any creature
Two yeer and moore, as was his aventure;
But nevere dorste he tellen hir his grevaunce,
Withouten coppe he drank al his penaunce.
235 He was despeyred, no thyng dorste he seye
Save in his songes somwhat wolde he wreye
His wo, as in a general compleynyng.
He seyde he lovede, and was biloved no thyng,
Of swich matere made he manye layes,
240 Songes, compleintes, roundels, virelayes,
How that he dorste nat his sorwe telle,
But langwissheth, as a furye dooth in helle,
And dye he moste, he seyde, as dide Ekko
For Narcisus, that dorste nat telle hir wo,
245 In oother manere than ye heere me seye,
Ne dorste he nat to hir his wo biwreye,
Save that paraventure som tyme at daunces,
Ther yonge folk kepen hir observaunces,
It may wel be he looked on hir face,
250 In swich a wise as man that asketh grace;
But nothyng wiste she of his entente.
Nathelees it happed, er they thennes wente,
By cause that he was hir neighebour,
And was a man of worshipe and honour,
255 And hadde yknowen hym of tyme yoore,
They fille in speche, and forthe moore and moore
Unto this purpos drough Aurelius.
And whan he saugh his tyme, he seyde thus:


       Amid these mazes, with the other men,
There danced a squire before this Dorigen,
That was more blithe, and prettier of array,
220 In my opinion, than the month of May.
He sang and danced better than any man
That is, or was, since first the world began.
Therewith he was, description to contrive,
One of best conditioned men alive;
225 Young, strong, right virtuous, and rich, and wise,
And well beloved, and one to idealize.
And briefly, if I tell the truth withal,
Unknown to Dorigen - nay, least of all -
This pleasant squire, servant to Queen Venus,
230 The name of whom was this, Aurelius,
Had loved her best of anyone alive
Two years and more (since she did first arrive),
But never dared he tell her of his state;
Without a cup he drank his draught of fate.
235 He had despaired, for nothing dared he say,
Except that in songs he would somewhat betray
His woe, as of a general complaint;
He loved, but none loved him, though he went faint.
Of such a subject made he many lays,
240 Songs and complaints, rondels and virelays,
How that he dared not his deep sorrow tell,
But languished, as a fury does in Hell;
And die he must, he said, as did Echo
For her Narcissus, daring not tell her woe.
245 In other manner than you hear me say
Dared he not unto her his woe betray;
Except that, perchance, there would be times at dances,
Where young folk honoured all that makes romances,
It may well be he looked upon her face
250 In such wise as a man who sued for grace;
But nothing knew she of his love's intent.
Nevertheless it chanced, before thence they went,
Because it happened he was her neighbour,
And was a man of worship and honour,
255 And she had known him in the time of yore,
They fell to talking; and so, more and more,
Unto his purpose drew Aurelius,
And when he saw his time addressed her thus:

       "Madame," quod he, "by God that this world made,
260 So that I wiste it myghte your herte glade,
I wolde that day that youre Arveragus
Wente over the see, that I, Aurelius,
Hadde went ther nevere I sholde have come agayn.
For wel I woot my servyce is in vayn,
265 My gerdoun is but brestyng of myn herte.
Madame, reweth upon my peynes smerte,
For with a word ye may me sleen or save.
Heere at your feet, God wolde that I were grave,
I ne have as now no leyser moore to seye,
270 Have mercy, sweete, or ye wol do me deye."


       "Madam," said he, "by God who this world made,
260 So that I knew it might your sad heart aid,
I would, that day when your Arviragus
Went overseas, that I, Aurelius,
Had gone whence never I should come again;
For well I know my service is in vain.
265 My reward is the breaking of my heart;
Madam, have pity on my pains that smart;
For with a word you may slay me or save,
Here at your feet would God I found my grave!
Time to say more, at present naught have I;
270 Have mercy, sweet, or you will make me die!"

       She gan to looke upon Aurelius:
"Is this youre wyl!" quod she, "and sey ye thus?
Nevere erst," quod she, "ne wiste I what ye mente.
But now, Aurelie, I knowe youre entente.
275 By thilke God, that yaf me soule and lyf,
Ne shal I nevere been untrewe wyf,
In word ne werk, as fer as I have wit.
I wol been his to whom that I am knyt.
Taak this for fynal answere as of me."
280 But after that, in pley thus seyde she,


       So then she looked upon Aurelius:
"Is this your will?" asked she, "And say you thus?
Never before have I known what you meant.
But since, Aurelius, I know your intent,
275 By that same God Who gave me soul and life,
Never shall I become an untrue wife
In word or deed, so far as I have wit:
I will remain his own to whom I'm knit;
Take this for final answer as from me."
280 But after that she said thus, sportively:

       "Aurelie," quod she, "by heighe God above,
Yet wolde I graunte yow to been youre love,
Syn I yow se so pitously complayne.
Looke, what day that endelong Britayne
285 Ye remoeve alle the rokkes, stoon by stoon,
That they ne lette shipe ne boot to goon, -
I seye, whan ye han maad the coost so clene
Of rokkes that ther nys no stoon ysene,
Thanne wol I love yow best of any man,
290 Have heer my trouthe in al that evere I kan."
       "Is ther noon oother grace in yow?" quod he.
       "No, by that lord," quod she, "that maked me;
For wel I woot that it shal nevere bityde;
Lat swiche folies out of your herte slyde.
295 What deyntee sholde a man han in his lyf
For to go love another mannes wyf,
That hath hir body whan so that hym liketh?"


       "Aurelius," said she, "by God above,
Yet would I well consent to be your love,
Since I hear you complain so piteously,
On that day when, from coasts of Brittany,
285 You've taken all the black rocks, stone by stone,
So that they hinder ship nor boat - I own,
I say, when you have made the coast so clean
Of rocks that there is no stone to be seen,
Then will I love you best of any man;
290 Take here my promise - all that ever I can."
       "Is there no other grace in you?" asked he.
       "No, by that Lord," said she, "Who has made me!
For well I know that it shall ne'er betide.
Let suchlike follies out of your heart slide.
295 What pleasure can a man have in his life
Who would go love another man's own wife,
That has her body when he wishes it?"

       Aurelius ful ofte soore siketh,
Wo was Aurelie, whan that he this herde,
300 And with a sorweful herte he thus answered.
       "Madame," quod he, "this were an inpossible;
Thanne moot I dye of sodeyn deth horrible."
And with that word he turned hym anon.
Tho coome hir othere freendes many oon,
305 And in the aleyes romeden up and doun,
And nothyng wiste of this conclusioun,
But sodeynly bigonne revel newe,
Til that the brighte sonne loste his hewe,
For th'orisonte hath reft the sonne his lyght -
310 This is as muche to seye as it was nyght -
And hoom they goon in joye and in solas,
Save oonly wrecche Aurelius, allas!
He to his hous is goon with sorweful herte;
He seeth he may nat fro his deeth asterte;
315 Hym semed that he felte his herte colde;
Up to the hevene hise handes he gan holde,
And on hise knowes bare he sette hym doun,
And in his ravyng seyde his orisoun.
For verray wo out of his wit he breyde;
320 He nyste what he spak, but thus he seyde:
With pitous herte his pleynt hath he bigonne
Unto the goddes, and first unto the sonne


       Deep sighs Aurelius did then emit;
Woe was Aurelius when this he heard,
300 And with a sorrowful heart he thus answered:
       "Madam," said he, "this were impossible!
Then must I die a sudden death and fell."
And with that word he turned away anon.
Then came her other friends, and many a one,
305 And in the alleys wandered up and down,
And nothing knew of this decision shown,
But suddenly began to dance anew
Until the bright sun lost his golden hue;
For the horizon had cut off his light;
310 This is as much as saying, it was night.
And home they went in joy and with solace,
Except the wretch Aurelius, alas!
He to his house went with a woeful heart;
He saw he could not from his near death part.
315 It seemed to him he felt his heart grow cold;
Up toward Heaven his two hands did he hold,
And on his bare knees did he kneel him down
And in his raving said his orison.
For very woe out of his wits he fled.
320 He knew not what he spoke, but thus he said;
With mournful heart his plaint had he begun
Unto the gods, and first unto the sun.

       He seyde, "Appollo, god and governour
Of every plaunte, herbe, tree, and flour
325 That yevest after thy declinacioun
To ech of hem his tyme and his sesoun,
As thyn herberwe chaungeth lowe or heighe,
Lord Phebus, cast thy mericiable eighe
On wrecche Aurelie, which that am but lorn.
330 Lo, lord, my lady hath my deeth ysworn
Withoute gilt, but thy benignytee
Upon my dedly herte have som pitee.
For wel I woot, lord Phebus, if yow lest,
Ye may me helpen, save my lady, best.
335 Now voucheth sauf that I may yow devyse
How that I may been holpen and in what wyse.


       He said: "Apollo, governor and god
Of every plant, herb, tree, and flower in sod,
325 That givest, according to thy declination,
To each of them its time of foliation,
All as thy habitation's low or high,
Lord Phoebus, cast thy merciful bright eye
On wretched Aurelius, who is lost and lorn.
330 Lo, Lord! My lady has my swift death sworn,
Without my guilt, save thy benignity
Upon my dying heart have some pity!
For well I know, Lord Phoebus, if you lest,
You can thus aid me, save my lady, best.
335 Now vouchsafe that I may for you devise
A plan to help me, telling in what wise.


       "Your blisful suster, Lucina the sheene,
That of the see is chief goddesse and queene,
(Though Neptunus have deitee in the see,
340 Yet emperisse aboven hym is she),
Ye knowen wel, lord, that right as hir desir
Is to be quyked and lightned of youre fir,
For which she folweth yow ful bisily,
Right so the see desireth naturelly
345 To folwen hir, as she that is goddesse
Bothe in the see and ryveres moore and lesse.
Wherfore, lord Phebus, this is my requeste -
Do this miracle, or do myn herte breste, -
That now next at this opposicioun
350 Which in the signe shal be of the Leoun,
As preieth hir, so greet a flood to brynge
That fyve fadme at the leeste it oversprynge
The hyeste rokke in Armorik Briteyne,
And lat this flood endure yeres tweyne.
355 Thanne, certes, to my lady may I seye
'Holdeth youre heste, the rokkes been aweye.'


       "Your blessed sister, Lucina, serene,
That of the sea is goddess chief and queen
(Though Neptune is the deity in the sea,
340 Yet empress set above him there is she).
You know well, Lord, that just as her desire
Is to be quickened and lighted by your fire,
For which she follows you right busily,
Just so the sea desires, and naturally,
345 To follow her, she being high goddess
Both of the sea and rivers, great and less.
Wherefore, Lord Phoebus, this request I make -
Without this miracle, my heart will break -
That at the time of your next opposition,
350 Which will be in the Lion, make petition
To her that she so great a flood will bring
That full five fathoms shall it over-spring
The highest rock in Armoric Brittany;
And let this flood endure two years for me;
355 Then truly to my lady may I say:
'Now keep your word, the rocks are gone away.'


       Lord Phebus, dooth this miracle for me,
Preye hir she go no faster cours than ye.
I seye, preyeth your suster that she go
360 No faster cours than ye thise yeres two.
Thanne shal she been evene atte fulle alway;
And spryng flood laste bothe nyght and day;
And but she vouche sauf in swich manere
To graunte me my sovereyn lady deere,
365 Prey hir to synken every rok adoun
Into hir owene dirke regioun
Under the ground ther Pluto dwelleth inne,
Or nevere mo shal I my lady wynne.
Thy temple in Delphos wol I barefoot seke,
370 Lord Phebus; se the teeris on my cheke,
And of my peyne have som compassioun!"
And with that word in swowne he fil adoun,
And longe tyme he lay forth in a traunce.


       "Lord Phoebus, do this miracle for me;
Pray her she run no faster course, being free-
I say, Lord, pray your sister that she go
360 No faster course than you these next years two.
Then shall she be even at the full alway,
And spring-flood shall endure both night and day.
And save she vouchsafe, Lord, in such manner
To grant to me my sovereign lady dear,
365 Pray her to sink, then, every rock far down
Into that region dark and cold, her own,
Under the earth, the place Pluto dwells in,
Or nevermore shall I my lady win.
Thy temple in Delphi will I, barefoot, seek;
370 Lord Phoebus, see the tears upon my cheek,
And on my pain be some compassion shown."
And with that word in swoon he tumbled down,
And for a long time lay there in a trance.

       His brother, which that knew of his penaunce,
375 Up caughte hym, and to bedde he hath hym broght.
Dispeyred in this torment and this thoght
Lete I this woful creature lye;
Chese he for me wheither he wol lyve or dye.
       Arveragus, with heele and greet honour,
380 As he that was of chivalrie the flour,
Is comen hoom, and othere worthy men.
O blisful artow now, thou Dorigen!
That hast thy lusty housbonde in thyne armes,
The fresshe knyght, the worthy man or armes,
385 That loveth thee, as his owene hertes lyf.
No thyng list hym to been ymaginatyf
If any wight hadde spoke, whil he was oute,
To hire of love; he hadde of it no doute,
He noght entendeth to no swich mateere,
390 But daunceth, justeth, maketh hir good cheere,
And thus in joye and blisse I lete hem dwelle,
And of the sike Aurelius I wol telle.


       His brother, who knew all his suppliance,
375 Found him, and took him, and to bed him brought.
Despairing in the torment of his thought,
Let I this woeful fellow-creature lie,
To choose, for all of me, to live or die.
       Arviragus, with health, in honour's hour,
380 As he that was of chivalry the flower,
Came home again, with other gentlemen.
O happy are you now, my Dorigen,
Who have your pleasant husband in your arms,
The vigorous knight, the worthy man-at-arms,
385 That loves you as he loves his own heart's life.
Nothing he chose to question of his wife
If any man had said, while he was out,
Some words of love; of her he had no doubt.
He tended not that way, it would appear,
390 But danced and jousted, made for her good cheer;
And thus in joy and bliss I let them dwell
And of love-sick Aurelius will I tell.

       In langour and in torment furyes
Two yeer and moore lay wrecche Aurelyus,
395 Er any foot he myghte on erthe gon;
Ne confort in this tyme hadde he noon,
Save of his brother, which that was a clerk.
He knew of al this wo and al this werk;
For to noon oother creature, certeyn,
400 Of this matere he dorste no word seyn.
Under his brest he baar it moore secree
Than evere dide Pamphilus for Galathee.
His brest was hool withoute for to sene,
But in his herte ay was the arwe kene.
405 And wel ye knowe that of a sursanure
In surgerye is perilous the cure,
But men myghte touche the arwe, or come therby.
His brother weep and wayled pryvely,
Til atte laste hym fil in remembraunce
410 That whiles he was at Orliens in Fraunce,
As yonge clerkes, that been lykerous
To reden artes that been curious,
Seken in every halke and every herne
Particular sciences for to lerne, -
415 He hym remembred, that upon a day
At Orliens in studie a book he say
Of magyk natureel, which his felawe,
That was that tyme a bacheler of lawe -
Al were he ther to lerne another craft,
420 Hadde prively upon his desk ylaft;
Which book spak muchel of the operaciouns,
Touchynge the eighte and twenty mansiouns
That longen to the moone, and swich folye
As in oure dayes is nat worth a flye, -
425 For hooly chirches feith in oure bileve
Ne suffreth noon illusioun us to greve.
And whan this book was in his remembraunce,
Anon for joye his herte gan to daunce,
And to hymself he seyde pryvely,
430 "My brother shal be warisshed hastily;
For I am siker that ther be sciences
By whiche men make diverse apparences
Swiche as thise subtile tregetoures pleye;
For ofte at feestes have I wel herd seye
435 That tregetoures withinne an halle large
Have maad come in a water and a barge,
And in the halle rowen up and doun.
Somtyme hath semed come a grym leoun;
And somtyme floures sprynge as in a mede,
440 Somtyme a vyne, and grapes white and rede,
Somtyme a castel al of lym and stoon;
And whan hem lyked, voyded it anoon,
Thus semed it to every mannes sighte.


       In weakness and in torment furious
Two years and more lay wretched Aurelius
395 Before foot on earth he went - aye, even one;
For comfort in this long time had he none,
Except from his brother, who was a good clerk;
He knew of all this woe and all this work.
For to no other human, 'tis certain,
400 Dared he his cause of illness to explain.
In breast he kept more secret his idea
Than did Pamphilius for Galatea.
His breast was whole, with no wound to be seen,
But in his heart there was the arrow keen.
405 And well you know that of a sursanure
In surgery is difficult the cure,
Unless they find the dart or take it out.
His brother wept, and long he sought about
Till at the last he called to remembrance
410 That while he was at Orleans in France -
For many young clerks are all ravenous
To read of arts that are most curious,
And into every nook and cranny turn
Particular strange sciences to learn-
415 He thus recalled that once upon a day,
At Orleans, while studying there, I say,
A book of natural magic there he saw
In a friend's room, a bachelor of law
Though he was there to learn another craft,
420 Which book he'd privately on his desk left;
And which book said much of the operations
Touching the eight and twenty variations
That designate the moon, and such folly
As is, in our days, valued not a fly;
425 For Holy Church provides us with a creed
That suffers no illusion to mislead.
And when this book came to his remembrance,
At once, for joy, his heart began to dance,
And to himself he said in privacy:
430 "My brother shall be healed, and speedily;
For I am sure that there are sciences
Whereby men make divers appearances,
Such as these prestidigitators play.
For oft at feasts, have I well heard men say
435 That jugglers, in a hall both bright and large,
Have made come in there, water and a barge,
And in the hall the barge rowed up and down.
Sometimes there seemed to come a grim lion;
And sometimes flowers sprang as in a mead;
440 Or vines with grapes both red and white indeed;
Sometimes a castle built of lime and stone;
And when they wished it disappeared anon.
Thus seemed these things to be in each man's sight.


       Now thanne conclude I thus, that if I myghte
445 At Orliens som oold felawe yfynde
That hadde this moones mansions in mynde,
Or oother magyk natureel above,
He sholde wel make my brother han his love;
For with an apparence a clerk may make
450 To mannes sighte, that alle the rokkes blake
Of Britaigne weren yvoyded everichon,
And shippes by the brynke comen and gon,
And in swich forme enduren a wowke or two.
Thanne were my brother warisshed of his wo;
455 Thanne moste she nedes holden hire biheste,
Or elles he shal shame hire atte leste."


       "Now, then, conclude I thus, that if I might
445 At Orleans some old school-fellow find,
Who has these mansions of the moon in mind,
Or other natural magic from above,
He could well make my brother have his love.
For with a mere appearance clerks may make
450 It seem in man's sight that all rocks that break
The seas of Brittany were removed, so
That right above them ships might come and go,
And in such wise endure a week or two;
Then were my brother cured of all his woe.
455 For she must keep the word she gave at feast.
Or he'll have right to shame her, at the least."

       What sholde I make a lenger tale of this?
Unto his brotheres bed he comen is,
And swich confort he yaf hym for to gon
460 To Orliens that he up stirte anon,
And on his wey forthward thanne is he fare
In hope for to been lissed of his care.
       Whan they were come almoost to that citee,
But if it were a furlong or three,
465 A yong clerk romynge by hymself they mette,
Which that in Latyn thriftily hem grette,
And after that he seyde a wonder thyng:
"I knowe," quod he, "the cause of youre comyng."
And er they ferther any foote wente,
470 He tolde hem al that was in hire entente.


       Why should I longer speak of this event?
He to the bedside of his brother went,
And urged him eagerly to get him gone
460 To Orleans; he started up anon
And forward on his way at once did fare
In hope to be relieved of all his care.
       When they were come almost to that city,
Perhaps two furlongs short of it, or three,
465 A young clerk walking by himself they met,
Who, in good Latin, heartily did greet,
And after that he said a wondrous thing.
"I know," said he, "the cause of your coming."
And before a farther foot the brothers went,
470 He told them all the soul of their intent.


       This Briton clerk hym asked of felawes
The whiche that he had knowe in olde dawes,
And he answerde hym that they dede were,
For which he weep ful ofte many a teere.
475        Doun of his hors Aurelius lighte anon,
And with this magicien forth is he gon
Hoom to his hous, and maden hem wel at ese.
Hem lakked no vitaille that myghte hem plese.
So wel arrayed hous as ther was oon
480 Aurelius in his lyf saugh nevere noon.


       This Breton clerk asked after school-fellows
Whom he had known through former suns and snows;
And he replied to this that dead they were,
Whereat he wept, for sorrow, many a tear.
475        Down from his horse Aurelius leaped anon,
And onward with this wizard he was gone
Home to his house, where he was put at ease.
To him there lacked no victuals that might please;
So well appointed house as was that one
480 Aurelius in life before saw none.