Amydde a tree fordryed, as whit as chalk,
410 As Canacee was pleyyng in hir walk,
Ther sat a faucon over hir heed ful hye,
That with a pitous voys so gan to crye
That all the wode resouned of hir cry.
Ybeten hath she hirself so pitously
415 With bothe hir wynges, til the rede blood
Ran endelong the tree ther-as she stood,
And evere in oon she cryde alwey and shrighte,
And with hir beek hirselven so she prighte,
That ther nys tygre, ne noon so crueel beest
420 That dwelleth outher in wode or in forest
That nolde han wept, if that he wepe koude
For sorwe of hire, she shrighte alwey so loude.
For ther nas nevere yet no man on lyve
If that I koude a faucon wel discryve,
425 That herde of swich another of fairnesse,
As wel of plumage as of gentillesse
Of shape and al that myghte yrekened be.
A faucon peregryn thanne semed she
Of fremde land, and everemoore as she stood
430 She swowneth now and now for lakke of blood,
Til wel neigh is she fallen fro the tree.


      Amidst a dry, dead tree, as white as chalk,
410 As Canace was playing in her walk,
There sat a falcon overhead full high,
That in a pitiful voice began to cry,
That all the wood resounded mournfully.
For she had beaten herself so pitiably
415 With both her wings that the red glistening blood
Ran down the tree trunk whereupon she stood.
And ever in one same way she cried and shrieked,
And with her beak her body she so pricked
That there's no tiger, nor a cruel beast
420 That dwells in open wood or deep forest,
Would not have wept, if ever weep he could,
For pity of her, she shrieked alway so loud.
For never yet has been a man alive -
If but description I could well contrive -
425 That heard of such a falcon for fairness,
As well of plumage as of nobleness
Of shape, and all that reckoned up might be.
A falcon peregrine she was, and she
Seemed from a foreign land; and as she stood
430 She fainted now and then for loss of blood,
Till almost she had fallen from the tree.


      This faire kynges doghter, Canacee,
That on hir fynger baar the queynte ryng,
Thurgh which she understood wel every thyng
435 That any fowel may in his leden seyn,
And koude answeren hym in his ledene ageyn,
Hath understonde what this faucoun seyde,
And wel neigh for the routhe almoost she deyde.
And to the tree she gooth ful hastily,
440 And on this faucoun looketh pitously,
And heeld hir lappe abrood, for wel she wiste
The faucoun moste fallen fro the twiste,
Whan that it swowned next, for lakke of blood.
A longe while to wayten hir she stood,
445 Til atte laste she spak in this manere
Unto the hauk, as ye shal after heere.


      This king's fair daughter, Princess Canace,
Who on her finger bore the magic ring
Whereby she understood well everything
435 That any bird might in his language say,
And in such language could reply straightway,
She understood well what this falcon said,
And of her pity well-nigh was she dead.
So to the tree she went right hastily,
440 And on this falcon looked she pitifully,
And held her lap up wide, for she knew now
The falcon must come falling from the bough
When next it swooned away from loss of blood.
A long while waiting there the princess stood,
445 Till at the last she spoke, in her voice clear,
Unto the hawk, as you'll hereafter hear.

      The vapour, which that fro the erthe glood,
Made the sonne to seme rody and brood;
395 But natheless, it was so fair a sighte
That it made alle hir hertes for to lighte,
What for the sesoun and the morwenynge,
And for the foweles that she herde synge;
For right anon she wiste what they mente
400 Right by hir song, and knew al hir entente.
      The knotte, why that every tale is toold,
If it be taried til that lust be coold
Of hem that han it after herkned yoore,
The savour passeth ever lenger the moore,
405 For fulsomnesse of his prolixitee;
And by the same resoun thynketh me,
I sholde to the knotte condescende,
And maken of hir walkyng soone an ende.


      The morning mists that rose from the damp earth
Reddened the sun and broadened it in girth;
395 Nevertheless it was so fair a sight
That it made all their hearts dance for delight,
What of the season and the fair morning,
And all the myriad birds that she heard sing;
For when she heard, she knew well what they meant,
400 Just by their songs, and learned all their intent.
      The point of every story, why it's told,
If it's delayed till interest grow cold
In those who have, perchance, heard it before,
The savour passes from it more and more,
405 For fulsomeness of its prolixity.
And for this reason, as it seems to me,
I should to my tale's major point descend
And make of these girls' walking a swift end.

      The norice of digestioun, the sleep,
Gan on hem wynke, and bad hem taken keep,
That muchel drynke and labour wolde han reste;
350 And with a galpyng mouth hem alle he keste,
And seyde that it was tyme to lye adoun,
For blood was in his domynacioun.
'Cherisseth blood, natures freend,' quod he.
They thanken hym, galpynge, by two, by thre,
355 And every wight gan drawe hym to his reste,
As sleep hem bad; they tooke it for the beste.
      Hir dremes shul nat been ytoold for me;
Ful were hir heddes of fumositee,
That causeth dreem, of which ther nys no charge.
360 They slepen til that it was pryme large,
The mooste part, but it were Canacee;
She was ful mesurable, as wommen be.
For of hir fader hadde she take leve
To goon to reste, soone after it was eve.
365 Hir liste nat appalled for to be,
Ne on the morwe unfeestlich for to se:
And slepte hir firste sleepe, and thanne awook;
For swich a joye she in hir herte took,
Bothe of hir queynte ryng and hire mirour,
370 That twenty tyme she changed hir colour,
And in hire sleep right for impressioun
Of hire mirrour she hadde a visioun.
Wherfore, er that the sonne gan up glyde,
She cleped on hir maistresse, hir bisyde,
375 And seyde, that hir liste for to ryse.


      The nurse of good digestion, natural sleep,
Caused them to nod, and bade them they take keep
That labour and much drinking must have rest;
350 And with a gaping mouth all these he pressed,
And said that it was time they laid them down,
For blood was in the ascendant, as was shown,
And nature's friend, the blood, must honoured be.
They thanked him, gaping all, by two, by three,
355 And every one began to go to rest,
As sleep them bade; they took it for the best.
      But here their dreams shall not by me be said;
The fumes of wine had filled each person's head,
Which cause senseless dreams at any time.
360 They slept next morning till the hour of prime,
That is, the others, but not Canace;
She was right temperate, as women be.
For of her father had she taken leave,
To go to rest, soon after it was eve;
365 For neither pale nor languid would she be,
Nor wear a weary look for men to see;
But slept her first deep sleep and then awoke.
For so much joy upon her heart there broke
When she looked on the mirror and the ring
370 That twenty times she flushed, and sleep did bring-
So strong an impress had the mirror made-
A vision of it to the slumbering maid.
Wherefore, ere up the sun began to glide,
She called her mistress, sleeping there beside,
375 And said to her that she was pleased to rise.


      Thise olde wommen that been gladly wyse,
As hir maistresse answerde hir anon,
And seyde, "Madame, whider wil ye goon
Thus erly, for the folk been alle on reste?"
380       "I wol," quod she, "arise, for me leste
No lenger for to slepe; and walke aboute."
Hir maistresse clepeth wommen a greet route,
And up they rysen wel an ten or twelve.
Up riseth fresshe Canacee hirselve,
385 As rody and bright as dooth the yonge sonne,
That in the Ram is foure degrees upronne,
Noon hyer was he, whan she redy was;
And forth she walketh esily a pas,
Arrayed after the lusty seson soote,
390 Lightly for to pleye and walke on foote,
Nat but with fyve or sixe of hir meynee;
And in a trench forth in the park gooth she.


      Old women like this governess are wise,
Or often so, and she replied anon,
And said: "My lady, where will you be gone
Thus early? For the folk are all at rest."
380       "I will," said she, "arise, for I've no zest
For longer sleep, and I will walk about."
Her mistress called of women a great rout,
And they rose up, a dozen more or less,
And up rose lovely Canace to dress,
385 As ruddy and bright as is the warm young sun
That in the Ram now four degrees has run;
He was no higher when she all ready was;
And forth she sauntered at an easy pace,
Arrayed according to the season sweet,
390 Lightly, to play and walk on maiden feet;
With five or six girls of her company
All down an alley, through the park, went she.

305       Swich wondryng was ther on this hors of bras,
That syn the grete sege of Troie was,
Theras men wondreden on an hors also,
Ne was ther swich a wondryng as was tho.
But fynally, the kyng axeth this knyght
310 The vertu of this courser, and the myght;
And preyde hym to telle his governaunce.


305       Such wondering was there on this horse of brass
That, since the siege of Troy did overpass,
When once a horse seemed marvellous to men.
Was there such wondering as happened then.
But finally the king asked of this knight
310 The virtue of this courser, and the might,
And prayed him tell the means of governance.


      This hors anoon bigan to trippe and daunce,
Whan that this knyght leyde hand upon his reyne,
And seyde, "Sire, ther is namoore to seyne,
315 But whan yow list to ryden any where,
Ye mooten trille a pyn, stant in his ere,
Which I shal telle yow bitwix us two.
Ye moote nempne hym to what place also,
Or to what contree, that yow list to ryde,
320 And whan ye com ther as yow list abyde,
Bidde hym descende, and trille another pyn,
For therin lith th'effect of al the gyn
And he wol doun descende, and doon youre wille.
And in that place he wol stonde stille,
325 Though al the world the contrarie hadde yswore;
He shal nat thennes been ydrawe ne ybore.
Or, if yow liste, bidde hym thennes goon,
Trille this pyn, and he wol vanysshe anoon
Out of the sighte of every maner wight,
330 And com agayn, be it day or nyght,
Whan that yow list to clepen hym ageyn,
In swich a gyse as I shal to yow seyn,
Bitwixe yow and me, and that ful soone.
Ride whan yow list; ther is namoore to doone."


      This horse anon began to trip and dance
When this strange knight laid hand upon the rein
And said: "Sire, there's no more I need explain
315 Than, when you wish to journey anywhere,
You must but turn a peg within his ear,
Which I will show you when alone with you.
You must direct him to what place also,
Or to what country you may please to ride.
320 And when you come to where you would abide,
Bid him descend, and twirl another pin,
For therein lies the secret of the gin,
And he will then descend and do your will;
And there he'll stand, obedient and still.
325 Though all the world the contrary had sworn,
He shall not thence be drawn nor thence be borne.
Or, if you wish to bid him thence be gone,
Twirl but this pin and he'll depart anon
And vanish utterly from all men's sight,
330 And then return to you, by day or night,
When you shall please to call him back again
In such a fashion as I will explain
When we two are alone, and that full soon.
Ride when you choose, there's no more to be done."


335       Enformed whan the kyng was of that knyght,
And hath conceyved in his wit aright
The manere and the forme of al this thyng,
Thus glad and blithe this noble doughty kyng
Repeireth to his revel as biforn,
340 The brydel is unto the tour yborn,
And kept among hise jueles, leeve and deere.
The hors vanysshed, I noot in what manere,
Out of hir sighte; ye gete namoore of me.
But thus I lete in lust and jolitee
345 This Cambyuskan, hise lordes festeiynge,
Til wel ny the day bigan to sprynge.


335       Instructed when the king was by that knight,
And when he'd stablished in his mind aright
The method and the form of all this thing,
Then glad and blithe this noble doughty king
Repaired unto his revels as before.
340 The bridle to the donjon tower they bore,
And placed among his jewels rich and dear.
How I know not, the horse did disappear
Out of their sight; you get no more of me.
But thus I leave, in joy and jollity,
345 This Cambinskan with all his lords feasting
Well nigh until the day began to spring.

      The styward bit the spices for to hye,
And eek the wyn, in al this melodye;
The usshers and the squiers been ygoon,
The spices and the wyn is come anoon,
295 They ete and drynke, and whan this hadde an ende,
Unto the temple, as reson was, they wende.
The service doon, they soupen al by day;
What nedeth me rehercen hir array?
Ech man woot wel, that at a kynges feeste
300 Hath plentee, to the mooste and to the leeste,
And deyntees mo than been in my knowyng.
At after soper gooth this noble kyng,
To seen this hors of bras, with al the route
Of lordes, and of ladyes hym aboute.


      The steward bade them serve the spices, aye,
And the rich wine through all this melody.
The ushers and the squires got them gone;
The spices and the wine were come anon.
295 They ate and drank, and when this had an end,
Unto the temple, as was right, did wend.
The service done, they supped while yet 'twas day.
What needs it that I tell all their array?
Each man knows well that at a kingly feast
300 There's plenty for the greatest and the least,
And dainties more than are in my knowing.
Then, after supper, went this noble king
To see the horse of brass, with all the rout
Of lords and ladies thronging him about.

      Phebus hath laft the angle meridional,
And yet ascendynge was the beest roial,
265 The gentil Leoun, with his Aldiran,
Whan that this Tartre kyng, this Cambyuskan,
Roos fro his bord, ther that he sat ful hye.
Toforn hym gooth the loude mynstralcye
Til he cam to his chambre of parementz,
270 Ther as they sownen diverse intrumentz
That it is lyk an hevene for to heere.
Now dauncen lusty Venus children deere,
For in the Fyssh hir lady sat ful hye,
And looketh on hem with a freendly eye.
275       This noble kyng is set up in his trone;
This strange knyght is fet to hym ful soone,
And on the daunce he gooth with Canacee.
Heere is the revel and the jolitee
That is nat able a dul man to devyse;
280 He moste han knowen love and his servyse,
And been a feestlych man as fressh as May,
That sholde yow devysen swich array.
      Who koude telle yow the forme of daunces,
So unkouthe and so fresshe contenaunces,
285 Swich subtil lookyng and dissymulynges,
For drede of jalouse mennes aperceyvynges?
No man but Launcelot, and he is deed.
Therfore I passe of al this lustiheed;
I sey namoore, but in this jolynesse
290 I lete hem, til men to the soper dresse.


      Phoebus had left the angle meridional,
And yet ascending was that beast royal,
265 The noble Lion, with his Aldiran,
When that this Tartar king, this Cambinskan
Rose from his board where he had sat full high.
Before him went the sounding minstrelsy,
Into a room hung with rich ornaments,
270 Wherein they sounded divers instruments
Till it was like a heavenly thing to hear.
And now danced merry Venus' children dear,
For in the Fish their lady sat on high
And looked upon them with a friendly eye.
275       This noble king sat high upon his throne.
And this strange knight was brought to him anon,
And then to dance he went with Canace.
Here was such revel and such jollity
As no dull man is able to surmise;
280 He must have known and served love's high emprise,
And be a festive man as fresh as May
Who could for you describe such an array.
      Who could tell you the figures of the dances,
So odd and strange and the blithe countenances,
285 The subtle glances and dissimulation
For fear of jealous persons' observation?
No man but Launcelot, and he is dead!
I therefore pass the joyous life they led
And saw no more, but in this jolliness
290 I leave them till to supper all did press.

      Tho speeke they of Canacees ryng,
And seyden alle, that swich a wonder thyng
Of craft of rynges herde they nevere noon;
250 Save that he Moyses, and kyng Salomon
Hadde a name of konnyng in swich art.
Thus seyn the peple, and drawen hem apart.
But nathelees, somme seiden that it was
Wonder to maken of fern asshen glas,
255 And yet nys glas nat lyk asshen of fern;
But for they han knowen it so fern,
Therfore cesseth hir janglyng and hir wonder.
As soore wondren somme on cause of thonder,
On ebbe, on flood, on gossomer, and on myst,
260 And alle thyng, til that the cause is wyst.
Thus jangle they, and demen, and devyse,
Til that the knyg gan fro the bord aryse.


      Then spoke they of fair Canace's gold ring,
And all men said that such a wondrous thing
They'd ne'er heard of as being in ring-craft done,
250 Except that Moses and King Solomon
Had each a name for cunning in such art.
Thus spoke the people and then drew apart,
But notwithstanding, some said that it was
Wondrous to make fern-ashes into glass,
255 Since glass is nothing like the ash of fern;
But since long since of this thing men did learn,
Therefore they ceased their gabble and their wonder,
As sorely wonder some on cause of thunder,
Of ebb, of flood, of gossamer, of mist,
260 And each thing, till they know what cause exist.
Thus did they chatter and judge and thus surmise
Until the king did from the board arise.

      And oother folk han wondred on the swerd,
That wolde percen thurgh out every thyng;
And fille in speche of Thelophus the kyng
And of Achilles with his queynte spere,
240 For he koude with it bothe heele and dere,
Right in swich wise as men may with the swerd,
Of which right now ye han youreselven herd.
They speken of sondry hardyng of metal,
And speke of medicynes therwithal,
245 And how and whanne it sholde yharded be,
Which is unknowe, algates unto me.


      And other folk did wonder on the sword
That had the power to pierce through anything;
And so they spoke of Telephus the king,
And of Achilles with his magic spear,
240 Wherewith he healed and hurt too, 'twould appear,
Even as a man might do with this new sword
Of which, but now, I've told and you have heard.
They spoke of tempering metal sundry wise,
And medicines therewith, which men devise,
245 And how and when such steel should hardened be;
Which, nevertheless, is all unknown to me.

225       And somme of hem wondred on the mirour
That born was up into the maister-tour,
How men myghte in it swiche thynges se.


225       And some much wondered on the mirror's power,
That had been borne up to the heighest tower,
And how men in it such strange things could see.


      Another answerde, and seyde, it myghte wel be
Naturelly by composiciouns
230 Of anglis and of slye reflexiouns;
And seyden, that in Rome was swich oon.
They speken of Alocen and Vitulon,
And Aristotle, that writen in hir lyves
Of queynte mirours and of perspectives,
235 As knowen they that han hir bookes herd.


      Another answered, saying it might be
Quite natural, by angles oddly spaced
230 And sly reflections thus within it placed,
And said, at Rome was such a one, men know.
They spoke of Alhazen and Vitello
And Aristotle, who wrote, in their lives,
On mirrors strange and on perspectives,
235 As all they know who've read their published word.

      Greet was the prees that swarmeth to and fro
190 To gauren on this hors, that stondeth so.
For it so heigh was, and so brood, and long,
So wel proporcioned for to been strong,
Right as it were a steede of Lumbardye;
Therwith so horsly and so quyk of eye,
195 As it a gentil Poilleys courser were.
For certes, fro his tayl unto his ere,
Nature ne art ne koude hym nat amende
In no degree, as al the peple wende.
But everemoore hir mooste wonder was
200 How that it koude go, and was of bras.
It was a fairye, as al the peple semed.
Diverse folk diversely they demed;
As many heddes, as manye wittes ther been.
They murmureden as dooth a swarm of been,
205 And maden skiles after hir fantasies,
Rehersynge of thise olde poetries,
And seyde that it was lyk the Pegasee,
The hors that hadde wynges for to flee;
Or elles, it was the Grekes hors Synoun,
210 That broghte Troie to destruccioun,
As men in thise olde geestes rede.
"Myn herte," quod oon, "is everemoore in drede.
I trowe som men of armes been therinne,
That shapen hem this citee for to wynne.
215 It were right good that al swich thyng were knowe."
Another rowned to his felawe lowe,
And seyde, "He lyeth; it is rather lyk
An apparence ymaad by som magyk,
As jogelours pleyen at thise feestes grete."
220 Of sondry doutes thus they jangle and trete,
As lewed peple demeth comunly
Of thynges that been maad moore subtilly
Than they kan in hir lewednesse comprehende;
They demen gladly to the badder ende.


      Great was the press of people to and fro
190 Swarming to see this horse that stood there so;
For it so high was, and so broad and long,
So well proportioned as to be most strong,
Just as it were a steed of Lombardy;
Therewith as horselike and as quick of eye
195 As if a gentle Apulian courser 'twere.
For truly, from his tail unto his ear
Nature nor art could better nor amend
In any wise, as people did contend.
But evermore their greatest wonder was,
200 How it could go, being made all of brass;
It was of Faery, as to people seemed.
And divers folk diversely of it deemed;
So many heads, so many wits, one sees.
They buzzed and murmured like a swarm of bees,
205 And played about it with their fantasy,
Recalling what they'd learned from poetry;
Like Pegasus it was that mounted high,
That horse which had great wings and so could fly;
Or else it was the horse of Greek Sinon
210 Who brought Troy to destruction, years agone.
As men in these old histories may read.
"My heart," said one, "is evermore in dread;
I think some men-at-arms are hid therein
Who have in mind this capital to win.
215 It were right well that of such things we know."
Another whispered to his fellow, low,
And said: "He lies, for it is rather like
Some conjured up appearance of magic,
Which jugglers practise at these banquets great."
220 Of sundry doubts like these they all did treat,
As vulgar people chatter commonly
Of all things that are made more cunningly
Than they San in their ignorance comprehend;
They gladly judge they're made for some base end.

      And whan this knyght hath thus his tale toold,
He rideth out of halle, and doun he lighte.
170 His steede, which that shoon as sonne brighte,
Stant in the court, as stille as any stoon.
This knyght is to his chambre lad anoon,
And is unarmed and unto mete yset.
      The presentes been ful roially yfet,
175 This is to seyn, the swerd and the mirrour,
And born anon into the heighe tour
With certeine officers ordeyned therfore.
And unto Canacee this ryng was bore,
Solempnely, ther she sit at the table.
180 But sikerly, withouten any fable,
The hors of bras, that may nat be remewed,
It stant as it were to the ground yglewed.
Ther may no man out of the place it dryve,
For noon engyn of wyndas ne polyve;
185 And cause why? For they kan nat the craft,
And therfore in the place they han it laft,
Til that the knyght hath taught hem the manere
To voyden hym, as ye shal after heere.


      And when this knight had thus his message told,
He rode out of the hall and did alight.
170 His steed, which shone as sun does, and as bright,
Stood in the courtyard, still as any stone.
This knight was to a chamber led anon,
And was unarmed, and there at meat sat down.
The gifts were brought and royally were shown.
175 That is to say, the sword and glass of power,
And borne anon into the heigh tower
By certain officers detailed thereto;
The ring to Canace was borne also
With ceremony, where she sat at table.
180 But certainly, it is no lie or fable,
The horse of brass could no way be removed;
It stood as it were glued to ground. 'Twas proved
There was no man could lead it out or drive
With any windlass that he might contrive.
185 And why? Because they hadn't craft to heave it.
And therefore in that place they had to leave it
Until the knight had taught them the manner
Of moving it, as you'll hereafter hear.

      This strange knyght, that cam thus sodeynly
90 Al armed, save his heed, ful richely,
Saleweth kyng, and queene, and lordes alle,
By ordre, as they seten in the halle,
With so heigh reverence and obeisaunce,
As wel in speche as in contenaunce,
95 That Gawayn, with his olde curteisye,
Though he were comen ayeyn out of Fairye,
Ne koude hym nat amende with a word.
And after this, biforn the heighe bord
He with a manly voys seith his message,
100 After the forme used in his langage,
Withouten vice of silable or of lettre.
And, for his tale sholde seme the bettre,
Accordant to hise wordes was his cheere,
As techeth art of speche hem that it leere.
105 l be it that I kan nat sowne his stile,
Ne kan nat clymben over so heigh a style,
Yet seye I this, as to commune entente,
Thus muche amounteth al that evere he mente,
If it so be that I have it in mynde.
110 He seyde, "The kyng of Arabe and of Inde,
My lige lord, on this solempne day
Saleweth yow, as he best kan and may;
And sendeth yow, in honour of your feeste,
By me, that am al redy at your heeste,
115 This steede of bras, that esily and weel
Kan in the space of o day natureel,
This is to seyn, in foure and twenty houres,
Wher-so yow lyst, in droghte or elles shoures,
Beren youre body into every place
120 To which youre herte wilneth for to pace,
Withouten wem of yow, thurgh foul or fair.
Or if yow lyst to fleen as hye in the air
As dooth an egle, whan that hym list to soore,
This same steede shal bere yow evere moore
125 Withouten harm, til ye be ther yow leste,
Though that ye slepen on his bak or reste;
And turne ayeyn, with writhyng of a pyn.
He that it wroghte, koude ful many a gyn;
He wayted many a constellacion
130 Er he had doon this operacion;
And knew ful many a seel, and many a bond.


      This stranger knight, who came thus suddenly,
90 Armed at all points, except his head, richly,
Saluted king and queen and those lords all,
In order of rank, as they sat there in hall,
Showing such humble courtesy to each
In manner of behaviour and in speech,
95 That Gawain, with his old-time courtesy,
Though he were come again from Faery,
Could not have bettered him in any word.
And after this, before the king's high board,
He with a manly voice said his message,
100 After the form in use in his language,
Without mistake in syllable or letter;
And, that his tale should seem to all the better,
According to his language was his cheer,
As men teach art of speech both there and here;
105 Albeit that I cannot ape his style,
Nor can I climb across so high a stile,
Yet sky I this, as to his broad intent,
To this amounts the whole of what he meant,
If so be that I have it yet in mind.
110 He said: "The king of Araby and Ind,
My liege-lord, on this great and festive day
Salutes you as he now best can and may,
And sends to you, in honour of your feast,
By me, that am prepared for your behest,
115 This steed of brass, that easily and well
Can, in one natural day, 'tis truth I tell,
That is to say, in four and twenty hours,
Where'er you please, in drought or else in showers,
Bear you in body unto every place
120 To which your heart wants that you go apace,
Without least hurt to you, through foul or fair;
Or, if you please to fly as high in air
As does an eagle when he wishes to soar,
This self-same steed will bear you evermore
125 Without least harm, till you have gained your quest,
Although you sleep upon his back, or rest;
And he'll return, by twisting of a pin.
He that made this could make full many a gin;
He waited, watching many a constellation
130 Before he did contrive this operation;
And he knew many a magic seal and band.


      This mirrour eek, that I have in myn hond,
Hath swich a myght, that men may in it see
Whan ther shal fallen any adversitee
135 Unto your regne, or to yourself also,
And openly who is your freend, or foo.
      And over al this, if any lady bright
Hath set hir herte in any maner wight,
If he be fals, she shal his tresoun see,
140 His newe love, and al his subtiltee
So openly, that ther shal no thyng hyde.
Wherfore, ageyn this lusty someres tyde,
This mirour and this ryng that ye may see,
He hath sent unto my lady Canacee,
145 Your excellente doghter that is heere.


      This mirror, too, which I have in my hand,
Has power such that in it men may see
When there shall happen any adversity
135 Unto your realm, and to yourself also;
And openly who is your friend or foe.
      More than all this, if any lady bright
More than all this, if any lady bright
If he be false she shall his treason see,
140 His newer love and all his subtlety
So openly that nothing can he hide.
Wherefore, upon this pleasant summertide,
This mirror and this ring, which you may see,
He has sent to my Lady Canace,
145 Your most surpassing daughter, who is here.


      The vertu of the ryng, if ye wol heere,
Is this, that if hir lust it for to were
Upon hir thombe, or in hir purs it bere,
Ther is no fowel that fleeth under the hevene
150 That she ne shal wel understonde his stevene,
And knowe his menyng openly and pleyn,
And answere hym in his langage ageyn.
And every gras that groweth upon roote,
She shal eek knowe, and whom it wol do boote,
155 Al be hise woundes never so depe and wyde.
      This naked swerd, that hangeth by my syde
Swich vertu hath, that what man so ye smyte
Thurgh out his armure it wole kerve and byte,
Were it as thikke as is a branched ook.
160 And what man that is wounded with a strook
Shal never be hool, til that yow list of grace
To stroke hym with the plate in thilke place
Ther he is hurt; this is as muche to seyn,
Ye moote with the plate swerd ageyn
165 Stroke hym in the wounde, and it wol close.
This is a verray sooth withouten glose.
It faileth nat, whils it is in youre hoold."


      The virtue of the ring, if you will hear,
Is this: that if she pleases it to wear
Upon her thumb, or in her purse to bear,
There is no bird that flies beneath the heaven
150 But she shall understand his language, even
To know his meaning openly and plain,
And answer him in his own words again.
And every herb that grows upon a root
She shall know, too, and whom 'twill heal, to boot,
155 Although his wounds be never so deep and wide.
      This naked sword that's hanging by my side
Such virtue has that any man you smite,
Right through his armour will it carve and bite,
Were it as thick as is a branching oak;
160 And that man who is wounded by its stroke
Shall never be whole until you please, of grace,
To strike him with the flat in that same place
Where he is hurt; which is to say, 'tis plain,
That you may with the flat sword blade again
165 Strike him upon the wound and it will close;
This is the truth, I seek not to impose,
For it shall fail not while it's in your hold."

      And so bifel, that after the thridde cours
Whil that this kyng sit thus in his nobleye,
Herknynge hise mynstrals hir thynges pleye
Biforn hym at the bord deliciously,
80 In at the halle dore al sodeynly
Ther cam a knyght, upon a steede of bras,
And in his hand a brood mirour of glas,
Upon his thombe he hadde of gold a ryng,
And by his syde a naked swerd hangyng.
85 And up he rideth to the heighe bord.
In al the hall ne was ther spoken a word
For merveille of this knyght; hym to biholde
Ful bisily ther wayten yonge and olde.


      And so it happened that, after the third course,
While this great king sat in his state that day,
Hearing his minstrels on their instruments play
Before him at the board, deliciously,
80 In at the hall door, and all suddenly,
There came a knight upon a steed of brass,
Holding in hand a mirror broad of glass.
Upon his thumb he had a golden ring,
And by his side a naked sword hanging;
85 And up he rode right to the highest board.
In all the hall there was not spoken word
For marvel of this knight; him to behold,
They stared and stretched and craned, both young and old.

      And so bifel, that whan this Cambyuskan
Hath twenty wynter born his diademe,
As he was wont fro yeer to yeer, I deme,
45 He leet the feeste of his nativitee
Doon cryen thurghout Sarray his citee,
The last Idus of March after the yeer.
Phebus the sonne ful joly was and cleer,
For he was neigh his exaltacioun
50 In Martes face, and in his mansioun
In Aries, the colerik hoote signe.
Ful lusty was the weder, and benigne,
For which the foweles agayn the sonne sheene,
What for the sesoun and the yonge grene,
55 Ful loude songen hir affecciouns;
Hem semed han geten hem protecciouns
Agayn the swerd of wynter, keene and coold.


      And so it happened that, when this Cambinskan
Had twenty winters worn his diadem,
As he was wont from year to year, I deem,
45 He let the feast of his nativity
Be cried throughout all Sarai, his city,
The last Idus of March, as 'twas that year.
Phoebus the sun right festive was, and clear;
For he was near his exaltation grown
50 In face of Mars, and in his mansion known
In Aries, the choleric hot sign.
Right pleasant was the weather, and benign,
For which the wild birds in the sun's gold sheen,
What of the season and the springing green,
55 Full loudly sang their love and their affection;
It seemed that they had got themselves protection
Against the sword of winter keen and cold.


      This Cambyuskan, of which I have yow toold,
In roial vestiment sit on his deys,
60 With diademe, ful heighe in his paleys,
And halt his feeste so solempne and so ryche,
That in this world ne was ther noon it lyche.
Of which, if I shal tellen al th'array,
Thanne wolde it occupie a someres day,
65 And eek it nedeth nat for to devyse,
At every cours the ordre of hire servyse.
I wol nat tellen of hir strange sewes,
Ne of hir swannes, nor of hire heronsewes;
Eek in that lond, as tellen knyghtes olde,
70 Ther is som mete that is ful deynte holde,
That in this lond men recche of it but smal;
Ther nys no man that may reporten al.
I wol nat taryen yow, for it is pryme,
And for it is no fruyt but los of tyme.
75 Unto my firste I wole have my recours.


      This Cambinskan, of whom I have you told,
High in the palace, mounted on his throne
60 With crown and royal vestments sat alone,
And held his feast, so splendid and so rich
That in this world its like was not, of which,
If I should tell you all of the array,
Then would it occupy a summer's day.
65 Besides, it needs not here that I apprise
Of every course the order of service.
I will not tell you of their each strange sauce,
Nor of their swans, nor of their heronshaws.
Moreover, in that land, as tell knights old,
70 There are some foods which they for dainties hold.
Of which in this land the esteem is small;
There is no man that can report them all.
I will not so delay you, for it's prime,
And all the fruit of this were loss of time;
75 Unto my first theme I will have recourse.

      At Sarray, in the land of Tartarye,
10 Ther dwelte a kyng that werreyed Russye,
Thurgh which ther dyde many a doughty man.
This noble kyng was cleped Cambyuskan,
Which in his tyme was of so greet renoun,
That ther was nowher in no regioun
15 So excellent a lord in alle thyng.
Hym lakked noght that longeth to a kyng;
And of the secte, of which that he was born,
He kepte his lay, to which that he was sworn;
And therto he was hardy, wys, and riche,
20 And pitous, and just, and everemoore yliche,
Sooth of his word, benigne, and honurable,
Of his corage as any centre stable,
Yong, fressh, strong, and in armes desirous
As any bacheler of al his hous.
25 A fair persone he was, and fortunat,
And kepte alwey so wel roial estat
That ther was nowher swich another man.


      At Sarai, in the land of Tartary,
10 There dwelt a king who warred on Russia, he,
Whereby there died full many a doughty man.
This noble king was known as Cambinskan,
Who in his time was of so great renown
That there was nowhere in the wide world known
15 So excellent a lord in everything;
He lacked in naught belonging to a king.
As for the faith to which he had been born,
He kept its law to which he had been sworn;
And therewith he was hardy, rich, and wise,
20 And merciful and just in all men's eyes,
True to his word, benign and honourable,
And in his heart like any center stable;
Young, fresh, and strong, in warfare ambitious
As any bachelor knight of all his house.
25 Of handsome person, he was fortunate,
And kept always so well his royal state
That there was nowhere such another man.


      This noble kyng, this Tarte Cambyuskan,
Hadde two sones on Elpheta his wyf,
30 Of whiche the eldeste highte Algarsyf,
That oother sone was cleped Cambalo.
A doghter hadde this worthy kyng also,
That yongest was, and highte Canacee.
But for to telle yow al hir beautee,
35 It lyth nat in my tonge nyn my konnyng.
I dar nat undertake so heigh a thyng;
Myn Englissh eek is insufficient.
I moste been a rethor excellent,
That koude his colours longynge for that art,
40 If he sholde hir discryven every part.
I am noon swich; I moot speke as I kan.


      This noble king, this Tartar Cambinskan
Had got two sons on Elpheta, his wife,
30 Of whom the elder's name was Algarsyf,
And that same second son was Cambalo.
A daughter had this worthy king, also,
Who was the youngest, and called Canace.
But to describe to you all her beauty,
35 It lies not in my tongue nor my knowing;
I dare not undertake so high a thing.
My English is quite insufficient for
What must require a finished orator
Who knew the colours needful to that art
40 If he were to describe her every part.
I am none such, I must speak as I can.

      "Squier, come neer, if it your wille be,
And sey somwhat of love, for certes, ye
Konnen theron as muche as any man."
      "Nay sir," quod he, "but I wol seye as I kan,
5 With hertly wyl, for I wol nat rebelle
Agayn your lust. A tale wol I telle,
Have me excused if I speke amys;
My wyl is good, and lo, my tale is this."


      "Squire, come nearer, if your will it be,
And speak to us of love; for certainly
You know thereof as much as any man."
      "Nay, sir," said he, "but I'll do what I can
5 With hearty will; for I will not rebel
Against your wishes, but a tale will tell.
Hold me excused if I say aught amiss,
My aim is good, and lo, my tale is this."

       "Ey! Goddes mercy!" seyde oure Hooste tho,
"Now swich a wyf I pray God kepe me fro!
Lo, whiche sleightes and subtilitees
1210 In wommen been! for ay as bisy as bees
Been they, us sely men for to deceyve,
And from the soothe evere wol they weyve;
By this marchauntes tale it preveth weel.
But doutelees, as trewe as any steel
1215 I have a wyf, though that she povre be,
But of hir tonge, a labbyng shrewe is she,
And yet she hath an heep of vices mo;
Therof no fors! Lat alle swiche thynges go.
But wyte ye what? In conseil be it seyd,
1220 Me reweth soore I am unto hire teyd.
For, and I sholde rekenen every vice
Which that she hath, ywis I were to nyce;
And cause why, it sholde reported by
And toold to hire of somme of this meynee, -
1225 Of whom, it nedeth nat for to declare,
Syn wommen konnen outen swich chaffare;
And eek my with suffiseth nat therto,
To tellen al, wherfore my tale is do."


       Eh! By God's mercy!" cried our host. Said he:
"Now such a wife I pray God keep from me!
Behold what tricks, and lo, what subtleties
1210 In women are. For always busy as bees
Are they, us simple men thus to deceive,
And from the truth they turn aside and leave;
By this same merchant's tale it's proved, I feel,
But, beyond doubt, as true as any steel
1215 I have a wife, though poor enough she be;
But of her tongue a babbling shrew is she,
And she's a lot of other vices too.
No matter, though, with this we've naught to do.
But know you what? In secret, be it said,
1220 I am sore sorry that to her I'm wed.
For if I should up-reckon every vice
The woman has, I'd be a fool too nice,
And why? Because it should reported be
And told her by some of this company;
1225 Who'd be the ones, I need not now declare,
Since women know the traffic in such ware;
Besides, my wit suffices not thereto
To tell it all; wherefore my tale is through."

1200        This Januarie, who is glad but he?
He kisseth hire, and clippeth hire ful ofte,
And on hire wombe he stroketh hire ful softe,
And to his palays hoom he hath hire lad.
Now, goode men, I pray yow to be glad.
1205 Thus endeth heere my tale of Januarie;
God blesse us, and his mooder Seinte Marie!


1200        This January, who is glad but he?
He kisses her and he embraces her much and oft,
And caresses her belly and rubs her soft,
And home to palace led her, let me add.
And now, good men, I pray you to be glad.
1205 For here I end my tale of January;
God bless us, and his mother, holy Mary!

       And she answerde, "Sire, what eyleth yow?
Have pacience and resoun in youre mynde!
I have yow holpe on bothe youre eyen blynde.
Up peril of my soule, I shal nat lyen,
1160 As me was taught, to heele with youre eyen,
Was no thyng bet, to make yow to see,
Than strugle with a man upon a tree.
God woot, I dide it in ful good entente".
       "Strugle?" quod he, "ye algate in it wente!
1165 God yeve yow bothe on shames deth to dyen!
He swyved thee, I saugh it with myne yen,
And elles be I hanged by the hals!"


       And she replied: "Why, sir, and what ails you?
Have patience, and do reason in your mind
That I have helped you for your two eyes blind.
On peril of my soul, I tell no lies,
1160 But I was taught that to recover eyes
Was nothing better, so to make you see,
Than struggle with a man up in a tree.
God knows I did it with a good intent."
       "Struggle!" cried he, "but lady, in it went!
1165 God give you both a shameful death to die!
He screwed you, for I saw it with my eye,
Or may they hang me by the neck up, else!"


       "Thanne is," quod she, "my medicyne fals;
For certeinly, if that ye myghte se.
1170 Ye wolde nat seyn thise wordes unto me.
Ye han som glymsyng, and no parfit sighte."
       "I se," quod he, "as wel as evere I myghte,
Thonked be god! with bothe myne eyen two,
And by my trouthe, me thoughte he dide thee so."
1175        "Ye maze, maze, goode sire," quod she;
"This thank have I for I have maad yow see.
Allas," quod she, "that evere I was so kynde!
       "Now, dame," quod he, "lat al passe out of mynde.
Com doun, my lief, and if I have myssayd,
1180 God helpe me so, as I am yvele apayd.
But, by my fader soule, I wende han seyn
How that this Damyan hadde by thee leyn,
And that thy smok hadde leyn upon his brest.
       "Ye sire," quod she, "ye may wene as yow lest.
1185 But, sire, a man that waketh out of his sleep,
He may nat sodeynly wel taken keep
Upon a thyng, ne seen it parfitly,
Til that he be adawed verraily.
Right so a man that longe hath blynd ybe,
1190 Ne may nat sodeynly so wel yse,
First whan his sighte is newe come ageyn,
As he that hath a day or two yseyn.
Til that youre sighte ysatled be a while,
Ther may ful many a sighte yow bigile.
1195 Beth war, I prey yow; for, by hevene kyng,
Ful many a man weneth to seen a thyng,
And it is al another than it semeth.
He that mysconceyveth, he mysdemeth."
And with that word she leep doun fro the tree,


       "Then is," said she, "my medicine all false;
For certainly, if you could really see,
1170 You would not say these cruel words to me;
You catch but glimpses and no perfect sight."
       "I see," said he, "as well as ever I might -
Thanks be to God!- and with my two eyes, too,
And truth, I thought he did that thing to you."
1175        "You are bewildered still, good sir," said she,
"Such thanks I have for causing you to see;
Alas!" she cried, "that ever I was so kind!"
       "Now, dame," said he, "put all this out of mind.
Come down, my dear, and if I have missaid,
1180 God help me if I'm not put out indeed.
But by my father's soul, I thought to have seen
How Damian right over you did lean
And that your smock was pulled up to his breast."
       "Yes, sir," said she, "you may think as seems best;
1185 But, sir, a man that wakens out of sleep,
He cannot suddenly take note and keep
Of any thing, or see it perfectly,
Until he has recovered verily;
Just so a man that blinded long has been,
1190 He cannot say that suddenly he's seen
So well, at first, when sight is new to him,
As later, when his sight's no longer dim.
Until your sight be settled for a while,
There may full many a thing your mind beguile.
1195 Beware, I pray you, for, by heaven's king,
Full many a man thinks that he sees a thing,
And it is other quite than what it seems.
And he that misconstrues, why, he misdeems."
And with that word she leaped down from the tree.

       And whan that Pluto saugh this grete wrong,
To Januarie he gaf agayn his sighte,
And made hym se as wel as evere he myghte.
1145 And whan that he hadde caught his sighte agayn,
Ne was ther nevere man of thyng so fayn,
But on his wyf his thoght was everemo.
Up to the tree he caste his eyen two,
And saugh that Damyan his wyf had dressed
1150 In swich manere it may nat been expressed,
But if I wolde speke uncurteisly;
And up he yaf a roryng and a cry,
As dooth the mooder whan the child shal dye:
"Out! Help! Allas! Harrow!" he gan to crye,
1155 "O stronge lady stoore, what dostow?"


       And when King Pluto saw this awful wrong,
To January he gave again his sight,
And made him see as well as ever he might.
1145 And when he thus had got his sight again,
Never was man of anything so fain.
But since his wife he thought of first and last,
Up to the tree his eyes he quickly cast,
And saw how Damian his wife had dressed
1150 In such a way as cannot be expressed,
Except I should rudely speak and vulgarly:
And such a bellowing clamour then raised he
As does a mother when her child must die:
"Out! Help! Alas! Oh, help me!" he did cry,
1155 "Outlandish, brazen woman, what do you do?"