|
Heere
bigynneth the Freres Tale
Whilom ther was dwellynge in my contree
And erchedeken, a
man of heigh degree,
That boldely dide
execucioun
40 In punysshynge of fornicacioun,
Of wicchecraft, and
eek of bawderye,
Of diffamacioun, and
avowtrye,
Of chirche reves,
and of testamentz,
Of contractes and
of lakke of sacramentz,
Of usure, and of symonye
also.
But certes, lecchours
dide he grettest wo;
They sholde syngen
if that they were hent;
And smale tytheres
weren foule yshent,
If any persoun wolde
upon hem pleyne.
50 Ther myghte asterte hym
no pecunyal peyne.
For smale tithes and
for smal offrynge
He made the peple
pitously to synge.
For er the bisshop
caughte hem with his hook,
They weren in the
erchedeknes book.
55 Thanne hadde he, thurgh
his jurisdiccioun,
Power to doon on hem
correccioun.
He hadde a somonour
redy to his hond;
A slyer boye nas noon
in Engelond;
For subtilly he hadde
his espiaille,
60 That taughte hym wel
wher that hym myghte availle.
He koude spare of
lecchours oon or two,
To techen hym to foure
and twenty mo.
For thogh this somonour
wood were as an hare,
To telle his harlotrye
I wol nat spare;
65 For we been out of his
correccioun.
They han of us no
jurisdiccioun,
Ne nevere shullen,
terme of alle hir lyves.
"Peter! so been the wommen of the styves,"
Quod the Somonour,
"yput out of oure cure!"
70
"Pees! with myschance and with mysaventure!"
Thys seyde oure Hoost,
"and lat hym telle his tale.
Now telleth forth,
thogh that the somonour gale;
Ne spareth nat, myn
owene maister deere."
This false theef, this somonour, quod the Frere,
75 Hadde alwey bawdes redy
to his hond,
As any hauk to lure
in Engelond,
That tolde hym al
the secree that they knewe;
For hire acqueyntace
was nat come of newe.
They weren his approwours
prively.
80 He took hymself a greet
profit therby;
His maister knew nat
alwey what he wan.
Withouten mandement
a lewed man
He koude somne, on
peyne of Cristes curs,
And they were glade
for to fille his purs,
85 And make hym grete feestes
atte nale.
And right as Judas
hadde purses smale,
And was a theef, right
swich a theef was he;
His maister hadde
but half his duetee.
He was, if I shal
yeven hym his laude,
90 A theef, and eek a somnour,
and baude.
He hadde eek wenches
at his retenue,
That, wheither that
sir Robert or sir Huwe,
Or Jakke, or Rauf,
or whoso that it were
That lay by hem, they
tolde it in his ere.
95 Thus was the wenche and
he of oon assent;
And he wolde fecche
a feyned mandement,
And somne hem to chapitre
bothe two,
And pile the man,
and lete the wenche go.
Thanne wolde he seye,
'Freend, I shal for thy sake
100 Do striken hire out
of oure lettres blake;
Thee thar namoore
as in this cas travaille.
I am thy freend, ther
I thee may availle.'
Certeyn he knew of
briberyes mo
Than possible is to
telle in yeres two.
105 For in this world nys
dogge for the bowe
That kan an hurt deer
from an hool yknowe
Bet than this somnour
knew a sly lecchour,
Or an avowtier, or
a paramour.
And for that was the
fruyt of al his rente,
110 Therfore on it he sette
al his entente.
And so bifel that
ones on a day
This somnour, evere
waityng on his pray,
Rood for to somne
an old wydwe, a ribibe,
Feynynge a cause,
for he wolde brybe.
115 And happed that he saugh
bifore hym ryde
A gay yeman, under
a forest syde,
A bowe he bar, and
arwes brighte and kene;
He hadde upon a courtepy
of grene,
An hat upon his heed
with frenges blake.
120
"Sire," quod this somnour, "hayl, and wel atake!"
"Welcome," quod he, "and every good felawe!
Wher rydestow, under
this grene-wode shawe?"
Seyde this yeman,
"Wiltow fer to day?"
This somnour hym answerde and seyde, "Nay;
125 Heere faste by," quod
he, "is myn entente
To ryden, for to reysen
up a rente
That longeth to my
lordes duetee."
"Artow thanne a bailly?" "Ye," quod he.
He dorste nat, for
verray filthe and shame
130 Seye that he was a somonour,
for the name.
"Depardieux," quod this yeman, "deere broother,
Thou art a bailly,
and I am another.
I am unknowen as in
this contree;
Of thyn aqueyntance
I wolde praye thee,
135 And eek of bretherhede,
if that yow leste.
I have gold and silver
in my cheste;
If that thee happe
to comen in oure shire,
Al shal be thyn, right
as thou wolt desire."
"Grant mercy," quod this somonour, "by my feith!"
140 Everych in ootheres
hand his trouthe leith,
For to be sworne bretheren
til they deye.
In daliance they ryden
forth and pleye.
This somonour, which that was as ful of jangles,
As ful of venym been
thise waryangles,
145 And evere enqueryng
upon every thyng,
"Brother," quod he, "where is now youre dwellyng
Another day if that
I sholde yow seche?"
This yeman hym answerde
in softe speche,
"Brother," quod he, "fer in the north contree,
150 Where-as I hope som
tyme I shal thee see.
Er we departe, I shal
thee so wel wisse
That of myn hous ne
shaltow nevere mysse."
"Now, brother," quod this somonour, "I yow preye,
Teche me, whil that
we ryden by the weye,
155 Syn that ye been a baillif
as am I,
Som subtiltee, and
tel me feithfully
In myn office how
that I may moost wynne;
And spareth nat for
conscience ne synne,
But as my brother
tel me, how do ye."
160
"Now, by my trouthe, brother deere," seyde he,
"As I shal tellen
thee a feithful tale,
My wages been ful
streite and ful smale.
My lord is hard to
me and daungerous,
And myn office is
ful laborous,
165 And therfore by extorcions
I lyve.
For sothe, I take
al that men wol me yive.
Algate, by sleyghte
or by violence,
Fro yeer to yeer I
wynne al my dispence.
I kan no bettre telle,
feithfully."
170
"Now certes," quod this somonour, "so fare I.
I spare nat to taken,
God it woot,
But if it be to hevy
or to hoot.
What I may gete in
conseil prively,
No maner conscience
of that have I.
175 Nere myn extorcioun,
I myghte nat lyven,
Ne of swiche japes
wol I nat be shryven.
Stomak ne conscience
ne knowe I noon;
I shrewe thise shrifte-fadres
everychoon.
Wel be we met, by
God and by Seint Jame!
180 But, leeve brother,
tel me thanne thy name,"
Quod this somonour.
In this meene while
This yeman gan a litel
for to smyle.
"Brother," quod he, "wiltow that I thee telle?
I am a feend; my dwellyng
is in helle,
185 And heere I ryde aboute
my purchasyng,
To wite wher men wol
yeve me any thyng.
My purchas is th'effect
of al my rente.
Looke how thou rydest
for the same entente,
To wynne good, thou
rekkest nevere how;
190 Right so fare I, for
ryde wolde I now
Unto the worldes ende
for a preye."
"A!" quod this somonour, "benedicite! sey ye?
I wende ye were a
yeman trewely.
Ye han a mannes shap
as wel as I;
195 Han ye a figure thanne
determinat
In helle, ther ye
been in youre estat?"
"Nay, certeinly," quod he, "ther have we noon;
But whan us liketh,
we kan take us oon,
Or elles make yow
seme we been shape
200 Somtyme lyk a man, or
lyk an ape,
Or lyk an angel kan
I ryde or go.
It is no wonder thyng
thogh it be so;
A lowsy jogelour kan
deceyve thee,
And pardee, yet kan
I moore craft than he."
"Why," quod this somonour, "ryde ye thanne or goon
In sondry shap, and
nat alwey in oon?"
"For we," quod he, "wol us swiche formes make
As moost able is oure
preyes for to take."
"What maketh yow to han al this labour?"
210
"Ful many a cause, leeve sire somonour,"
Seyde this feend,
"but alle thyng hath tyme.
The day is short,
and it is passed pryme,
And yet ne wan I nothyng
in this day.
I wol entende to wynnyng,
if I may,
215 And nat entende oure
wittes to declare.
For, brother myn,
thy wit is al to bare
To understonde, althogh
I tolde hem thee.
But, for thou axest
why labouren we -
For somtyme we been
goddes instrumentz,
220 And meenes to doon his
comandementz,
Whan that hym list,
upon his creatures,
In divers art and
in diverse figures.
Withouten hym we have
no myght, certayn,
If that hym list stonden
ther-agayn.
225 And somtyme, at oure
prayere, han we leve
Oonly the body and
nat the soule greve;
Witnesse on job, whom
that we diden wo.
And somtyme han we
myght of bothe two,
This is to seyn, of
soule and body eke.
230 And somtyme be we suffred
for to seke
Upon a man, and doon
his soule unreste,
And nat his body,
and al is for the beste.
Whan he withstandeth
oure temptacioun,
It is a cause of his
savacioun,
235 Al be it that it was
nat oure entente
He sholde be sauf,
but that we wolde hym hente.
And somtyme be we
servant unto man,
As to the erchebisshop
Seint Dunstan,
And to the apostles
servent eek was I."
240
"Yet tel me," quod the somonour, "feithfully,
Make ye yow newe bodies
thus alway
Of elementz?" The
feend answerde, "Nay.
Somtyme we feyne,
and somtyme we aryse
With dede bodyes,
in ful sondry wyse,
245 And speke as renably
and faire and wel
As to the Phitonissa
dide Samuel.
(And yet wol som men
seye it was nat he;
I do no fors of youre
dyvynytee.)
But o thyng warne
I thee, I wol nat jape, -
250 Thou wolt algates wite
how we been shape;
Thou shalt herafterward,
my brother deere,
Come there thee nedeth
nat of me to leere.
For thou shalt, by
thyn owene experience,
Konne in a chayer
rede of this sentence
255 Bet than Virgile, while
he was on lyve,
Or dant also. Now
lat us ryde blyve,
For I wole holde compaignye
with thee
Til it be so that
thou forsake me."
"Nay," quod this somonour, "that shal nat bityde!
260 I am a yeman, knowen
is ful wyde;
My trouthe wol I holde,
as in this cas.
For though thou were
the devel Sathanas,
My trouthe wol I holde
to my brother,
As I am sworn, and
ech of us til oother,
265 For to be trewe brother
in this cas;
And bothe we goon
abouten oure purchas.
Taak thou thy part,
what that men wol thee yive,
And I shal myn; thus
may we bothe lyve.
And if that any of
us have moore than oother,
270 Lat hym be trewe, and
parte it with his brother."
"I graunte," quod the devel, "by my fey.
And with that word
they ryden forth hir wey.
And right at the entryng
of the townes ende,
To which this somonour
shoop hym for to wende,
275 They saugh a cart that
charged was with hey,
Which that a cartere
droof forth in his wey.
Deep was the wey,
for which the carte stood.
The cartere smoot,
and cryde as he were wood,
"Hayt, Brok! Hayt,
Scot! what spare ye for the stones?
280 The feend," quod he,
"yow fecche, body and bones,
As ferforthly as evere
were ye foled,
So muche wo as I have
with yow tholed!
The devel have al,
bothe hors and cart and hey!"
This somonour seyde, "Heere shal we have a pley."
285 And neer the feend he
drough, as noght ne were,
Ful prively, and rowned
in his ere:
"Herkne, my brother,
herkne, by thy feith!
Herestow nat how that
the cartere seith?
Hent it anon, for
he hath yeve it thee,
290 Bothe hey and cart,
and eek his caples thre."
"Nay," quod the devel, "God woot, never a deel!
It is nat his entente,
trust me weel.
Axe hym thyself, it
thou nat trowest me;
Or elles stynt a while,
and thou shalt see."
295
This cartere thakketh his hors upon the croupe,
And they bigonne to
drawen and to stoupe.
"Heyt! Now," quod
he, "ther Jhesu Crist yow blesse,
And al his handwerk,
bothe moore and lesse!
That was wel twight,
myn owene lyard boy.
300 I pray God save thee,
and Seinte Loy!
Now is my cart out
of the slow, pardee!"
"Lo, brother," quod the feend, "what tolde I thee?
Heere may ye se, myn
owene deere brother,
The carl spak oo thing,
but he thoghte another.
305 Lat us go forth abouten
oure viage;
Heere wynne I nothyng
upon cariage."
Whan that they coomen somwhat out of towne,
This somonour to his
brother gan to rowne:
"Brother," quod he,
"heere woneth an old rebekke,
310 That hadde almoost as
lief to lese hire nekke
As for to yeve a peny
of hir good.
I wole han twelf pens,
though that she be wood,
Or I wol sompne hire
unto oure office;
And yet, God woot,
of hire knowe I no vice.
315 But for thou kanst nat,
as in this contree,
Wynne thy cost, taak
heer ensample of me."
This somonour clappeth at the wydwes gate.
"Com out," quod he,
"thou olde virytrate!
I trowe thou hast
som frere or preest with thee."
320
"Who clappeth?" seyde this wyf, "benedicitee!
God save you, sire,
what is youre sweete wille?"
"I have, quod he, "of somonce here a bille;
Up peyne of cursyng,
looke that thou be
To-morn bifore the
erchedeknes knee,
325 T'answere to the court
of certeyn thynges."
"Now, lord," quod she, "Crist Jhesu, kyng of kynges,
So wisly helpe me,
as I ne may.
I have been syk, and
that ful many a day.
I may nat go so fer,"
quod she, "ne ryde,
330 But I be deed, so priketh
it in my syde.
May I nat axe a libel,
sire somonour,
And answere there
by my procuratour
To swich thyng as
men wole opposen me?"
"Yis", quod this somonour, "pay anon - lat se -
335 Twelf pens to me, and
I wol thee acquite.
I shal no profit han
therby but lite;
My maister hath the
profit, and nat I.
Com of, and lat me
ryden hastily;
Yif me twelf pens,
I may no lenger tarye."
340
"Twelf pens!" quod she, "now, lady Seinte Marie
So wisly help me out
of care and synne,
This wyde world thogh
that I sholde wynne,
Ne have I nat twelf
pens withinne myn hoold.
Ye knowen wel that
I am povre and oold;
345 Kithe youre almesse
on me povre wrecche."
"Nay thanne," quod he, "the foule feend me fecche
If I th'excuse, though
thou shul be spilt!"
"Allas!" quod she, "God woot, I have no gilt."
"Pay me," quod he, "or by the swete Seinte Anne,
350 As I wol bere awey thy
newe panne
For dette which thou
owest me of old.
Whan that thou madest
thyn housbonde cokewold,
I payde at hoom for
thy correccioun."
"Thou lixt!" quod she, "by my savacioun,
355 Ne was I nevere er now,
wydwe ne wyf,
Somoned unto youre
court in al my lyf;
Ne nevere I nas but
of my body trewe!
Unto the devel blak
and rough of hewe
Yeve I thy body and
my panne also!"
360
And whan the devel herde hire cursen so
Upon hir knees, he
seyde in this manere,
"Now, Mabely, myn
owene mooder deere,
Is this youre wyl
in ernest that ye seye?"
"The devel," quod she, "so fecche hym er he deye,
365 And panne and al, but
he wol hym repente!"
"Nay, olde stot, that is nat myn entente,
Quod this somonour,
"for to repente me
For any thyng that
I have had of thee.
I wolde I hadde thy
smok and every clooth!"
370
"Now, brother," quod the devel, "be nat wrooth;
Thy body and this
panne been myne by right.
Thou shalt with me
to helle yet to-nyght,
Where thou shalt knowen
of oure privetee
Moore than a maister
of dyvynytee."
375 And with that word this
foule feend hym hente;
Body and soule he
with the devel wente
Where as that somonours
han hir heritage.
And God, that maked
after his ymage
Mankynde, save and
gyde us, alle and some,
380 And leve thise somonours
goode men bicome!
Lordynges, I koude han toold yow, quod this Frere,
Hadde I had leyser
for this Somonour heere,
After the text of
Crist, Poul, and John,
And of oure othere
doctours many oon,
385 Swiche peynes that youre
hertes myghte agryse,
Al be it so no tonge
may it devyse,
Thogh that I myghte
a thousand wynter telle
The peynes of thilke
cursed hous of helle.
But for to kepe us
fro that cursed place,
390 Waketh, and preyeth
Jhesu for his grace
So kepe us from the
temptour Sathanas.
Herketh this word!
Beth war, as in this cas:
"The leoun sit in
his awayt alway
To sle the innocent,
if that he may."
395 Disposeth ay youre hertes
to withstonde
The feend, that yow
wolde make thral and bonde.
He may nat tempte
yow over youre myght,
For Crist wol be youre
champion and knyght.
And prayeth that thise
somonours hem repente
400 Of hir mysdedes, er
that the feend hem hente!
Heere endeth the Freres Tale |
Here begins the Friar's
Tale
Once on a time there dwelt
in my country
An archdeacon, a man of
high degree,
Who boldly executed the
Church's frown
In punishment of fornication
known,
And of witchcraft and of
all known bawdry,
And defamation and adultery
Of church-wardens, and of
fake testaments
And contracts, and the lack
of sacraments,
And still of many another
kind of crime
Which need not be recounted
at this time,
And usury and simony also.
But unto lechers gave he
greatest woe;
They should lament if they
were apprehended;
And payers of short tithes
to shame descended.
If anyone informed of such,
'twas plain
He'd not escape pecuniary
pain.
For all short tithes and
for small offering
He made folk pitifully to
howl and sing.
For ere the bishop caught
them with his crook,
They were already in the
archdeacon's book.
Then had he, by his competent
jurisdiction,
Power to punish them by
such infliction.
He had a summoner ready
to his hand,
A slyer rogue was not in
all England;
For cunningly he'd espionage
to trail
And bring reports of all
that might avail.
He could protect of lechers
one or two
To learn of four and twenty
more, mark you.
For though this man were
wild as is a hare,
To tell his evil deeds I
will not spare;
For we are out of his reach
of infliction;
They have of us no competent
jurisdiction,
Nor ever shall for term
of all their lives.
"Peter! So are the women
of the dives,"
The summoner said, "likewise
beyond my cure!"
"Peace, with mischance and
with misadventure!"
Thus spoke our host, "and
let him tell his tale.
Now tell it on, despite
the summoner's wail,
Nor spare in anything, my
master dear."
This false thief, then,
this summoner (said the friar)
Had always panders ready
to his hand,
For any hawk to lure in
all England,
Who told him all the scandal
that they knew;
For their acquaintances
were nothing new.
They were all his informers
privily;
And he took to himself great
gain thereby;
His master knew not how
his profits ran.
Without an order, and an
ignorant man,
Yet would he summon, on
pain of Christ's curse,
Those who were glad enough
to fill his purse
And feast him greatly at
the taverns all.
And just as Judas had his
purses small
And was a thief, just such
a thief was he.
His master got but half
of every fee.
He was, if I'm to give him
proper laud,
A thief, and more, a summoner,
and a bawd.
He'd even wenches in his
retinue,
And whether 'twere Sir Robert,
or Sir Hugh,
Or Jack, or Ralph, or whosoever
'twere
That lay with them, they
told it in his ear;
Thus were the wench and
he in partnership.
And he would forge a summons
from his scrip,
And summon to the chapter-house
those two
And fleece the man and let
the harlot go.
Then would he say: "My friend,
and for your sake,
Her name from our blacklist
will I now take;
Trouble no more for what
this may entail;
I am your friend in all
where 'twill avail."
He knew more ways to fleece
and blackmail you
Than could be told in one
year or in two.
For in this world's no dog
trained to the bow
That can a hurt deer from
a sound one know
Better than this man knew
a sly lecher,
Or fornicator, or adulterer.
And since this was the fruit
of all his rent,
Therefore on it he fixed
his whole intent.
And so befell that once
upon a day
This summoner, ever lurking
for his prey,
Rode out to summon a widow,
an old rip,
Feigning a cause, for her
he planned to strip.
It happened that he saw
before him ride
A yeoman gay along a forest's
side.
A bow he bore, and arrows
bright and keen;
He wore a short coat of
the Lincoln green,
And hat upon his head, with
fringes black.
"Sir," said the summoner,
"hail and well met, Jack!"
"Welcome," said he, "and
every comrade good!
Whither do you ride under
this greenwood?"
Said this yeoman, "Will
you go far today?"
This summoner replied to
him with: "Nay,
Hard by this place," said
he, "'tis my intent
To ride, sir, to collect
a bit of rent
Pertaining to my lord's
temporality."
"And are you then a bailiff?"
"Aye," said he.
He dared not, no, for very
filth and shame,
Say that he was a summoner,
for the name.
"In God's name," said this
yeoman then, "dear brother,
You are a bailiff and I
am another.
I am a stranger in these
parts, you see;
Of your acquaintance I'd
be glad," said he,
"And of your brotherhood,
if 'tis welcome.
I've gold and silver in
my chest at home.
And if you chance to come
into our shire,
All shall be yours, just
as you may desire."
"Many thanks," said this
summoner, "by my faith!"
And they struck hands and
made their solemn oath
To be sworn brothers till
their dying day.
Gossiping then they rode
upon their way.
This summoner, who was as
full of words
As full of malice are these
butcher birds,
And ever enquiring after
everything,
"Brother," asked he, "where
now is your dwelling,
If some day I should wish
your side to reach?"
This yeoman answered him
in gentle speech,
"Brother," said he, "far
in the north country,
Where, as I hope, some day
you'll come to me.
Before we part I will direct
you so
You'll never miss it when
that way you go."
"Now, brother," said this
summoner, "I pray
You'll teach me, while we
ride along our way,
Since that you are a bailiff,
as am I,
A trick or two, and tell
me faithfully
How, in my office, I may
most coin win;
And spare not for nice conscience,
nor for sin,
But as my brother tell your
arts to me."
"Now by my truth, dear brother,"
then said he,
If I am to relate a faithful
tale,
My wages are right scanty,
and but small.
My lord is harsh to me and
niggardly,
My job is most laborious,
you see;
And therefore by extortion
do I live.
Forsooth, I take all that
these men will give;
By any means, by trick or
violence,
From year to year I win
me my expense.
I can no better tell you
faithfully."
"Now truly," said this summoner,
"so do I.
I never spare to take a
thing, God wot,
Unless it be too heavy or
too hot.
What I get for myself, and
privately,
No kind of conscience for
such things have I.
But for extortion, I could
not well live,
Nor of such japes will I
confession give.
Stomach nor any conscience
have I, none;
A curse on father-confessors,
every one.
Well are we met, by God
and by Saint James!
But, my dear brother, tell
your name or names."
Thus said the summoner,
and in meanwhile
The yeoman just a little
began to smile.
"Brother," said he, "and
will you that I tell?
I am a fiend, my dwelling
is in Hell.
But here I ride about in
hope of gain
And that some little gift
I may obtain.
My only income is what so
is sent.
I see you ride with much
the same intent
To win some wealth, you
never care just how;
Even so do I, for I would
ride, right now,
Unto the world's end, all
to get my prey."
"Ah," cried he, "ben'cite!
What do you say?
I took you for a yeoman
certainly.
You have a human shape as
well as I;
Have you a figure then determinate
In Hell, where you are in
your proper state?"
"Nay," said he, "there of
figure we have none;
But when it pleases us we
can take one,
Or else we make you think
we have a shape,
Sometimes like man, or sometimes
like an ape;
Or like an angel can I seem,
you know.
It is no wondrous thing
that this is so;
A lousy juggler can deceive,
you see,
And by gad, I have yet more
craft than he."
"Why," asked the summoner,
"ride you then, or go,
In sundry shapes, and not
in one, you know?"
"Because," said he, "we
will such figures make
As render likely that our
prey we'll take."
"What causes you to have
all this labour?"
"Full many a cause, my dear
sir summoner,"
Replied the fiend, "but
each thing has its time.
The day is short, and it
is now past prime,
And yet have I won not a
thing this day.
I will attend to winning,
if I may,
And not our different notions
to declare.
For, brother mine, your
wits are all too bare
To understand, though I
told mine fully.
But since you ask me why
thus labour we-
Well, sometimes we are God's
own instruments
And means to do His orders
and intents,
When so He pleases, upon
all His creatures,
In divers ways and shapes,
and divers features.
Without Him we've no power,
'tis certain,
If He be pleased to stand
against our train.
And sometimes, at our instance,
have we leave
Only the body, not the soul,
to grieve;
As witness job, to whom
we gave such woe.
And sometimes have we power
of both, you know,
That is to say, of soul
and body too.
And sometimes we're allowed
to search and do
That to a man which gives
his soul unrest,
And not his body, and all
is for the best.
And when one does withstand
all our temptation,
It is the thing that gives
his soul salvation;
Albeit that it was not our
intent
He should be saved; we'd
have him impotent.
And sometimes we are servants
unto man,
As to that old archbishop,
Saint Dunstan,
And to the apostles servant
once was I."
"Yet tell me," said the
summoner, "faithfully,
Make you yourselves new
bodies thus alway
Of elements?" The fiend
replied thus: "Nay.
Sometimes we feign them,
sometimes we arise
In bodies that are dead,
in sundry wise,
And speak as reasonably
and fair and well
As to the witch at En-dor
Samuel.
And yet some men maintain
it was not he;
I do not care for your theology.
But of one thing I warn,
nor will I jape,
You shall in all ways learn
our proper shape;
You shall hereafter come,
my brother dear,
Where you'll not need to
ask of me, as here.
For you shall, of your own
experience,
In a red chair have much
more evidence
Than Virgil ever did while
yet alive,
Or ever Dante; now let's
swiftly drive.
For I will hold with you
my company
Till it shall come to pass
you part from me."
"Nay," said the other, "that
shall not betide;
"I am a bailiff, known both
far and wide;
My promise will I keep in
this one case.
For though you were the
devil Sathanas,
My troth will I preserve
to my dear brother,
As I have sworn, and each
of us to other,
That we will be true brothers
in this case;
And let us both about our
business pace.
Take your own part, of what
men will you give,
And I will mine; and thus
may we both live.
And if that either of us
gets more than other,
Let him be true and share
it with his brother."
"Agreed, then," said the
devil, "by my fay."
And with that word they
rode upon their way.
As they drew near the town-
it happened so-
To which this summoner had
planned to go,
They saw a cart that loaded
was with hay,
The which a carter drove
along the way.
Deep was the mire; for which
the cart now stood.
The carter whipped and cried
as madman would,
"Hi, Badger, Scot! What
care you for the stones?
The Fiend," he cried, "take
body of you and bones,
As utterly as ever you were
foaled!
More trouble you've caused
me than can be told!
Devil take all, the horses,
cart, and hay!"
This summoner thought, "Here
shall be played a play."
And near the fiend he drew,
as naught were there,
And unobserved he whispered
in his ear:
"Listen, my brother, listen,
by your faith;
Hear you not what the carter
says in wrath?
Take all, at once, for he
has given you
Both hay and cart, and this
three horses too."
"Nay," said the devil, "God
knows, never a bit.
It is not his intention,
trust to it.
Ask him yourself, if you
believe not me,
Or else withhold a while,
and you shall see."
This carter stroked his
nags upon the croup,
And they began in collars
low to stoop.
"Hi now!" cried he, "May
Jesus Christ you bless
And all His creatures, greater,
aye and less!
That was well pulled, old
horse, my own grey boy!
I pray God save you, and
good Saint Eloy!
Now is my cart out of the
slough, by gad!"
"Lo, brother," said the
fiend, "what said I, lad?
Here may you see, my very
own dear brother,
The peasant said one thing,
but thought another.
Let us go forth upon our
travellers' way;
Here win I nothing I can
take today."
When they had come a little
out of town,
This summoner whispered,
to his brother drawn,
"Brother," said he, "here
lives an ancient crone
Who'd quite as gladly lose
her neck as own
She must give up a penny,
good or bad.
But I'll have twelvepence,
though it drive her mad
Or I will summon her to
our office;
And yet God knows I know
of her no vice.
But since you cannot, in
this strange country,
Make your expenses, here
take note of me."
This summoner knocked on
the widow's gate.
"Come out," cried he, "you
old she-reprobate!
I think you've got some
friar or priest there, eh?"
"Who knocks then?" said
the widow. "Ben'cite!
God save you, master, what
is your sweet will?"
"I have," said he, "a summons
here, a bill;
On pain of excommunication
be
Tomorrow morn at the archdeacon's
knee
To answer to the court for
certain things."
"Now, lord," said she, "Christ
Jesus, King of kings,
So truly keep me as I cannot;
nay,
I have been sick, and that
for many a day.
I cannot walk so far," said
she, "nor ride,
Save I were dead, such aches
are in my side.
Will you not give a writ,
sir summoner,
And let my proctor for me
there appear
To meet this charge, whatever
it may be?"
"Yes," said this summoner,
"pay anon- let's see-
Twelvepence to me, and I'll
have you acquitted.
Small profit there for me,
be it admitted;
My master gets the profit,
and not I.
Come then, and let me ride
on, speedily;
Give me twelvepence, I may
no longer tarry."
"Twelvepence!" cried she,
"Our Lady Holy Mary
So truly keep me out of
care and sin,
And though thereby I should
the wide world win,
I have not twelvepence in
my house all told.
You know right well that
I am poor and old;
Show mercy unto me, a poor
old wretch!"
"Nay, then," said he, "the
foul Fiend may me fetch
If I excuse you, though
your life be spilt!"
"Alas!" cried she, "God
knows I have no guilt!"
"Pay me," he cried, "or
by the sweet Saint Anne
I'll take away with me your
brand-new pan
For debt that you have owed
to me of old,
When you did make your husband
a cuckold;
I paid at home that fine
to save citation."
"You lie," she cried then,
"by my own salvation!
Never was I, till now, widow
or wife,
Summoned unto your court
in all my life;
Nor ever of my body was
I untrue!
Unto the Devil rough and
black of hue
Give I your body and my
pan also!"
And when the devil heard
her cursing so
Upon her knees, he said
to her just here:
"Now, Mabely, my own old
mother dear,
Is this your will, in earnest,
that you say?"
"The Devil," said she, "take
him alive today,
And pan and all, unless
he will repent!"
"Nay, you old heifer, it's
not my intent,"
The summoner said, "for
pardon now to sue
Because of aught that I
have had from you;
I would I had your smock
and all your clo'es."
"Nay, brother," said the
devil, "easy goes;
Your body and this pan are
mine by right.
And you shall come to Hell
with me tonight,
Where you shall learn more
of our privity
Than any doctor of divinity."
And with that word this
foul fiend to him bent;
Body and soul he with the
devil went
Where summoners have their
rightful heritage.
And God, Who made after
His own image
Mankind, now save and guide
us, all and some;
And grant that summoners
good men become!
Masters, I could have told
you, said this friar,
Were I not pestered by this
summoner dire,
After the texts of Christ
and Paul and John,
And of our other doctors,
many a one,
Such torments that your
hearts would shake with dread,
Albeit by no tongue can
half be said,
Although I might a thousand
winters tell,
Of pains in that same cursed
house of Hell.
But all to keep us from
that horrid place,
Watch, and pray Jesus for
His holy grace,
And so reject the tempter
Sathanas.
Hearken this word, be warned
by this one case;
The lion lies in wait by
night and day
To slay the innocent, if
he but may.
Dispose your hearts in grace,
that you withstand
The Fiend, who'd make you
thrall among his band.
He cannot tempt more than
beyond your might;
For Christ will be your
champion and knight.
And pray that all these
summoners repent
Of their misdeeds, before
the Fiend torment.
Here ends the Friar's Tale |
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