CANTERBURY TALES
by Geoffry Chaucer
The Sailor's Tale
************************************************************ The Sailor's Prologue Our host upon his stirrups stood, anon,
And said: "Good men, now hearken, every one;
This was useful story, for the nonce!
Sir parish priest," quoth he, "for God His bones.
Tell us a tale, as you agreed before.
I see well that you learned men of lore
Have learned much good, by God's great dignity!"
The parson answered: "Benedicite!
What ails the man, so sinfully to swear?"
Our host replied: "Ho, Jenkin, are you there?
I smell a Lollard in the wind," quoth he.
"Ho, good men!" said our host, "now hearken me;
Wait but a bit, for God's high passion do,
For we shall have a sermon ere we're through;
This Lollard here will preach to us somewhat."
"Nay, by my father's soul, that shall he not!"
Replied the sailor; "Here he shall not preach,
Nor comment on the gospels here, nor teach.
We all believe in the great God," said he,
"But he would sow among us difficulty,
Or sprinkle cockles in our good clean corn;
And therefore, host, beforehand now, I warn
My jolly body shall a story tell
And I will clink for you so merry a bell
That it shall waken all this company;
But it shall not be of philosophy,
Nor yet of physics, nor quaint terms of law;
There is but little latin in my maw."
Heere bigynneth the Shipmannes Tale A marchant whilom dwelled at Seint-Denys
That riche was, for which men helde hym wys.
A wyf he hadde of excellent beautee;
And compaignable and revelous was she
5 Which is a thyng that causeth more dispence
Than worth is al the chiere and reverence
That men hem doon at festes and at daunces.
Swiche salutaciouns and contenaunces
Passen as dooth a shadwe upon the wal;
10 But wo is hym that payen moot for al!
The sely housbonde, algate he moot paye,
He moot us clothe, and he moot us arraye,
Al for his owene worshipe richely,
In which array we daunce jolily.
15 And if that he noght may, par aventure,
Or ellis list no swich dispence endure,
But thynketh it is wasted and ylost,
Thanne moot another payen for oure cost,
Or lene us gold, and that is perilous.
20 This noble marchaunt heeld a worthy hous,
For which he hadde alday so greet repair
For his largesse, and for his wyf was fair,
That wonder is; but herkneth to my tale.
Amonges alle his gestes, grete and smale,
25 Ther was a monk, a fair man and a boold -
I trowe a thritty wynter he was oold -
That evere in oon was drawynge to that place,
This yonge monk, that was so fair of face,
Aqueynted was so with the goode man,
30 Sith that hir firste knoweliche bigan,
That in his hous as famulier was he
As it is possible any freend to be.
And for as muchel as this goode man,
And eek this monk, of which that I bigan,
35 Were bothe two yborn in o village,
The monk hym claymeth as for cosynage;
And he agayn, he seith nat ones nay,
But was as glad therof as fowel of day;
For to his herte it was a greet plesaunce.
40 Thus been they knyt with eterne alliaunce,
And ech of hem gan oother for t'assure
Of bretherhede, whil that hir lyf may dure.
Free was daun John, and manly of dispence,
As in that hous, and ful of diligence
45 To doon plesaunce, and also greet costage.
He noght forgat to yeve the leeste page
In al that hous; but after hir degree,
He yaf the lord, and sitthe al his meynee,
Whan that he cam, som manere honest thyng,
50 For which they were as glad of his comyng
As fowel is fayn whan that the sonne up riseth.
Na moore of this as now, for it suffiseth.
But so bifel, this marchant on a day
Shoop hym to make redy his array
55 Toward the toun of Brugges for to fare,
To byen there a porcioun of ware;
For which he hath to Parys sent anon
A messenger, and preyed hath daun John
That he sholde come to Seint-Denys to pleye
60 With hym and with his wyf a day or tweye,
Er he to Brugges wente, in alle wise.
This noble monk, of which I yow devyse,
Hath of his abbot, as hym list, licence,
By cause he was a man of heigh prudence,
65 And eek an officer, out for to ryde,
To seen hir graunges and hire bernes wyde,
And unto Seint-Denys he comth anon.
Who was so welcome as my lord daun John,
Oure deere cosyn, ful of curteisye?
70 With hym broghte he a jubbe of malvesye,
And eek another, ful of fyn vernage,
And volatyl, as ay was his usage.
And thus I lete hem ete and drynke and pleye,
This marchant and this monk, a day or tweye.
75 The thridde day, this marchant up ariseth,
And on his nedes sadly hym avyseth,
And up into his contour-hous gooth he
To rekene with hymself, wel may be,
Of thilke yeer how that it with hym stood,
80 And how that he despended hadde his good,
And if that he encresses were or noon.
His bookes and his bagges many oon
He leith biforn hym on his countyng-bord.
Ful riche was his tresor and his hord,
85 For whiche ful faste his contour-dore he shette;
And eek he nolde that no man sholde hym lette
Of his acountes, for the meene tyme;
And thus he sit til it was passe pryme.
Daun John was rysen in the morwe also,
90 And in the gardyn walketh to and fro,
And hath his thynges seyd ful curteisly.
This goode wyf came walkynge pryvely
Into the gardyn, there he walketh softe,
And hym saleweth, as she hath doon ofte.
95 A mayde child cam in hire compaignye,
Which as hir list she may governe and gye,
For yet under the yerde was the mayde.
"O deere cosyn myn, daun John," she sayde,
"What eyleth yow so rathe for to ryse?"
100 "Nece," quod he, it oghte ynough suffise
Fyve houres for to slepe upon a nyght,
But it were for an old appalled wight,
As been thise wedded men, that lye and dare
As in a fourme sit a wery hare,
105 Were al forstraught with houndes grete and smale.
But deere nece, why be ye so pale?
I trowe, certes, that oure goode man
Hath yow laboured sith the nyght bigan,
That yow were nede to resten hastily."
110 And with that word he lough ful murily,
And of his owene thought he wax al reed.
This faire wyf gan for to shake hir heed
And seyde thus, "Ye, God woot al," quod she.
"Nay, cosyn myn, it stant nat so with me;
115 For, by that God that yaf me soule and lyf,
In al the reawme of France is ther no wyf
That lasse lust hath to that sory pley.
For I may synge 'allas and weylawey,
That I was born,' but to no wight," quod she,
120 "Dar I nat telle how that it stant with me.
Wherfore I thynke out of this land to wende,
Or elles of myself to make an ende,
So ful am I of drede and eek of care."
This monk bigan upon this wyf to stare,
125 And seyde, "Allas, my nece, God forbede
That ye, for any sorwe or any drede,
Fordo youreself; but telleth me youre grief.
Paraventure I may, in youre meschief,
Conseille or helpe; and therfore telleth me
130 Al youre anoy, for it shal been secree.
For on my porthors I make an ooth
That nevere in my lyf, for lief ne looth,
Ne shal I of no conseil yow biwreye."
"The same agayn to yow," quod she, "I seye.
135 By God and by this porthors I yow swere,
Though men me wolde al into pieces tere,
Ne shal I nevere, for to goon to helle,
Biwreye a word of thyng that ye me telle,
Nat for no cosynage ne alliance,
140 But verraily, for love and affiance."
Thus been they sworn, and heerupon they kiste,
And ech of hem tolde oother what hem liste.
"Cosyn," quod she, ''if that I hadde a space,
As I have noon, and namely in this place,
145 Thanne wolde I telle a legende of my lyf,
What I have suffred sith I was a wyf
With my housbonde, al be he youre cosyn."
"Nay," quod this monk, "by God and seint Martyn,
He is na moore cosyn unto me
150 Than is this leef that hangeth on the tree!
I clepe hym so, by Seint Denys of Fraunce,
To have the moore cause of aqueyntaunce
Of yow, which I have loved specially
Above alle wommen, sikerly.
155 This swere I yow on my professioun.
Telleth youre grief, lest that he come adoun;
And hasteth yow, and gooth youre wey anon."
"My deere love," quod she, "O my dayn John,
Ful lief were me this conseil for to hyde,
160 But oot it moot, I may namoore abyde.
Myn housbonde is to me the worste man
That evere was sith that the world bigan.
Buth sith I am a wyf, it sit nat me
To tellen no wight of oure privetee,
165 Neither abedde, ne in noon oother place;
God shilde I sholde it tellen, for his grace!
A wyf ne shal nat seyn of hir housbonde
But al honour, as I kan understonde;
Save unto yow thus muche I tellen shal:
170 As helpe me God, he is noght worth at al
In no degree the value of a flye.
But yet me greveth moost his nygardye.
And wel ye woot that wommen naturelly
Desiren thynges sixe as wel as I:
175 They wolde that hir housbondes sholde be
Hardy, and wise, and riche, and therto free,
And buxom unto his wyf, and fressh abedde.
But by that ilke Lord that for us bledde,
For his honour, myself for to arraye,
180 A Sonday next I moste nedes paye
An hundred frankes, or ellis I am lorn.
Yet were me levere that I were unborn
Than me were doon a sclaundre or vileynye;
And if myn housbonde eek it myghte espye,
185 I nere but lost; and therfore I yow preye,
Lene me this somme, or ellis moot I deye.
Daun John, I seye, lene me thise hundred frankes.
Pardee, I wol nat faille yow my thankes,
If that yow list to doon that I yow praye.
190 For at a certeyn day I wol yow paye,
And doon to yow what plesance and service
That I may doon, right as yow list devise.
And but I do, God take on me vengeance,
As foul as evere hadde Genylon of France."
195 This gentil monk answerde in this manere:
"Now trewely, myn owene lady deer,
I have," quod he, "on yow so greet a routhe
That I yow swere, and plighte yow my trouthe,
That whan youre housbonde is to Flaundres fare,
200 I wol delyvere yow out of this care;
For I wol brynge yow an hundred frankes."
And with that word he caughte hire by the flankes,
And hire embraceth harde, and kiste hire ofte.
"Gooth now youre wey," quod he, "al stille and softe,
205 And lat us dyne as soone as that ye may;
For by my chilyndre it is prime of day.
Gooth now, and beeth as trewe as I shal be."
"Now elles God forbede, sire," quod she;
And forth she gooth as jolif as a pye,
210 And bad the cookes that they sholde hem hye,
So that men myghte dyne, and that anon.
Up to hir housbonde is this wyf ygon,
And knokketh at his countour boldely.
"Quy la?" quod he. "Peter! it am I,"
215 Quod she, "what,sire, how longe wol ye faste?
How longe tyme wol ye rekene and caste
Youre sommes, and youre bookes, and youre thynges?
The devel have part on alle swiche rekenynges!
Ye have ynough, pardee, of Goddes sonde;
220 Com doun to-day, and lat youre bagges stonde.
Ne be ye nat ashamed that daun John
Shal fasting al this day alenge goon?
What! lat us heere a messe, and go we dyne."
"Wyf," quod this man, "litel kanstow devyne
225 The curious bisynesse that we have.
For of us chapman, also God me save,
And by that lord that cleped is Seint Yve,
Scarsly amonges twelve tweye shul thryve
Continuelly, lastynge unto oure age.
230 We may wel make chiere and good visage,
And dryve forth the world as it may be,
And kepen oure estaat in pryvetee,
Til we be deed, or elles that we pleye
A pilgrymage, or goon out of the weye.
235 And therfore have I greet necessitee
Upon this queynte world t'avyse me;
For everemoore we moote stonde in drede
Of hap and fortune in oure chapmanhede.
To Flaundres wol I go to-morwe at day,
240 And come agayn, as soone as evere I may.
For which, my deere wyf, I thee biseke,
As be to every wight buxom and meke,
And for to kepe oure good be curious,
And honestly governe wel oure hous.
245 Thou hast ynough, in every maner wise,
That to a thrifty houshold may suffise.
Thee lakketh noon array ne no vitaille;
Of silver in thy purs shaltow nat faille."
And with that word his contour-dore he shette,
250 And doun he gooth, no lenger wolde he lette.
But hastily a messe was ther seyd,
And spedily the tables were yleyd,
And to the dyner faste they hem spedde,
And richely this monk the chapman fedde.
255 At after-dyner daun John sobrely
This chapman took apart, and prively
He seyde hym thus: "Cosyn, it standeth so,
That wel I se to Brugges wol ye go.
God and seint Austyn spede yow and gyde!
260 I prey yow, cosyn, wisely that ye ryde.
Governeth yow also of youre diete
Atemprely, and namely in this hete.
Bitwix us two nedeth no strange fare;
Farewel, cosyn; God shilde yow fro care!
265 And if that any thyng by day or nyght,
If it lye in my power and my myghte,
That ye me wol comande in any wyse,
It shal be doon, right as ye wol devyse.
O thyng, er that ye goon, if it may be,
270 I wolde prey yow; for to lene me
An hundred frankes, for a wyke or tweye,
For certein beestes that I moste beye,
To stoore with a place that is oures.
God helpe me so, I wolde it were youres!
275 I shal nat faille surely of my day,
Nat for a thousand frankes, a mile way.
But lat this thyng be secree, I yow preye,
For yet to-nyght thise beestes moot I beye.
And fare now wel, myn owene cosyn deere;
280 Graunt mercy of youre cost and of youre cheere."
This noble marchant gentilly anon
Answerde and seyde, "O cosyn myn, daun John,
Now sikerly this is a smal requeste.
My gold is youres, whan that it yow leste,
285 And nat oonly my gold, but my chaffare.
Take what yow list, God shilde that ye spare.
But o thyng is, ye knowe it wel ynogh,
Of chapmen, that hir moneie is hir plogh.
We may creaunce whil we have a name.
290 But goldlees for to be, it is no game.
Paye it agayn whan it lith in youre ese;
After my myght ful fayn wolde I yow plese."
Thise hundred frankes he fette forth anon,
And prively he took hem to daun John.
295 No wight in al this world wiste of this loone,
Savynge this marchant and daun John allone.
They drynke, and speke, and rome a while and pleye,
Til that daun John rideth to his abbeye.
The morwe cam, and forth this marchant rideth
300 To Flaundres-ward; his prentys wel hym gydeth,
Til he cam into Brugges murily.
Now gooth this marchant faste and bisily
Aboute his nede, and byeth and creaunceth.
He neither pleyeth at the dees ne daunceth,
305 But as a marchaunt, shortly for to telle,
He let his lyf, and there I lete hym dwelle.
The Sonday next the marchant was agon,
To Seint-Denys ycomen is daun John,
With crowne and berd al fressh and newe yshave,
310 In al the hous ther nas so litel a knave,
Ne no wight elles, that he nas ful fyn
That my lord daun John was come agayn.
And shortly to the point right for to gon
This faire wyf acorded with daun John
315 That for thise hundred frankes he sholde al nyght
Have hire in his armes bolt upright;
And this acord parfourned was in dede.
In myrthe al nyght a bisy lyf they lede
Til it was day, that daun John wente his way,
320 And bad the meynee "Farewel, have good day!"
For noon of hem, ne no wight in the toun,
Hath of daun John right no suspecioun.
And forth he rydeth hoom to his abbeye,
Or where hym list; namoore of hym I seye.
325 This marchant, whan that ended was the faire,
To Seint-Denys he gan for to repaire,
And with his wyf he maketh feeste and cheere,
And telleth hire that chaffare is so deere
That nedes moste he make a chevyssaunce;
330 For he was bounden in a reconyssaunce
To paye twenty thousand sheeld anon.
For which this marchant is to Parys gon
To borwe of certeine freendes that he hadde
A certeyn frankes; and somme with him he ladde.
335 And whan that he was come into the toun,
For greet chiertee and greet affeccioun,
Unto daun John he first gooth hym to pleye;
Nat for to axe or borwe of hym moneye,
But for to wite and seen of his welfare,
340 And for to tellen hym of his chaffare,
As freendes doon whan they met yfeere.
Daun John hym maketh feeste and murye cheere,
And he hym tolde agayn, ful specially,
How he hadde wel yboght and graciously,
345 Thanked be God, al hool his marchandise;
Save that he moste, in alle maner wise,
Maken a chevyssaunce, as for his beste,
And thanne he sholde been in joye and reste.
Daun John answerde, "Certes, I am fayn
350 That ye in heele ar comen hom agayn.
And if that were riche, as have I blisse,
Of twenty thousand sheeld sholde ye nat mysse,
For ye so kyndely this oother day
Lente me gold; and as I kan and may,
355 I thanke yow, by God and by Seint Jame!
But natheless, I took unto oure dame,
Youre wyf, at hom, the same gold ageyn
Upon youre bench; she woot wel, certeyn,
By certeun tokenes that I kan hire telle.
360 Now, by youre leve, I may no longer dwelle;
Oure abbot wole out of this toun anon,
And in his compaignye moot I goon.
Grete wel oure dame, myn owene nece sweete,
And fare wel, deere cosyn, til we meete!"
365 This marchant, which that was ful war and wys,
Creanced hat, and payd eek in Parys
To certeyn Lumbardes, redy in hir hond,
The somme of gold, and gat of hem his bond;
And hoom he gooth, murie as a papejay,
370 For wel he knew he stood in swich array
That nedes moste he wynne in that viage
A thousand frankes aboven al his costage.
His wyf ful redy mette hym atte gate,
As she was wont of oold usage algate,
375 And al that nyght in myrthe they bisette;
For he was riche and cleerly out of dette.
Whan it was day, this marchant gan embrace
His wyf al newe, and kiste hire on hir face,
And up he gooth and maketh it ful tough.
380 "Namoore," quod she, "by God, ye have ynough!"
And wantownly agayn with hym she pleyde,
Til atte laste thus this marchant seyde:
"By God," quod he, "I am a litel wrooth
With yow my wyf, although it be me looth.
385 And woot ye why? by God, as that I gesse
That ye han maad a manere straungenesse
Bitwixen me and my cosyn daun John.
Ye sholde han warned me, er I had gon,
That he yow hadde an hundred frankes payed
390 By redy token; and heeld hym yvele apayed
For that I to hym spak of chevyssaunce;
Me semed so, as by his countenaunce.
But nathelees, by God, oure hevene kyng,
I thoughte nat to axen hym no thyng.
395 I prey thee, wyf, ne do namoore so;
Telle me alwey, er that I fro thee go,
If any dettour hath in myn absence
Ypayed thee, lest thurgh thy necligence
I myghte hym axe a thing that he hath payed."
400 This wyf was nat afered nor affrayed,
But boldely she seyde, and that anon:
"Marie, I deffie the false monk, daun John!
I kepe nat of his tokenes never a deel;
He took me certeyn gold, that woot I weel, -
405 What! Yvel thedam on his monkes snowte!
For, God it woot, I wende, withouten doute,
That he hadde yeve it me bycause of yow,
To doon therwith myn honour and my prow,
For cosynage, and eek for beele cheere
410 That he hath had ful ofte tymes heere.
But sith I se I stonde in his disjoynt,
I wol answere yow shortly to the poynt.
Ye han mo slakkere dettours than am I!
For I wol paye yow wel and redily
415 Fro day to day, and if so be I faille,
I am youre wyf; score it upon my taille,
And I shal paye as soone as ever I may.
For by my trouthe, I have on my array,
And nat on wast, bistowed every deel;
420 And for I have bistowed it so weel
For youre honour, for Goddes sake, I seye,
As be nat wrooth, but lat us laughe and pleye.
Ye shal my joly body have to wedde;
By God, I wol nat paye yow but abedde!
425 Forgyve it me, myn owene spouse deere;
Turne hiderward, and maketh bettre cheere."
This marchant saugh ther was no remedie,
And for to chide it nere but folie,
Sith that the thyng may nat amended be.
430 "Now wyf," he seyde, "and foryeve it thee;
But, by thy lyf, ne be namoore so large.
Keep bet thy good, this yeve I thee incharge."
Thus endeth my tale, and God us sende
Taillynge ynough unto oure lyves ende. Amen.Heere endeth the Shipmannes Tale
Bihoold the murie wordes of the Hoost
to the Shipman and to the lady Prioresse.435 "Wel seyd, by corpus dominus," quod our Hoost,
"Now longe moote thou saille by the cost,
Sir gentil maister, gentil maryneer.
God yeve this monk a thousand last quade yeer!
A ha! felawes, beth ware of swich a jape.
440 The monk putte in the mannes hood an ape,
And in his wyves eek, by Seint Austyn;
Draweth no monkes moore unto your in.
But now passe over, and lat us seke aboute
Who shal now telle first of al this route
445 Another tale?" and with that word he sayde,
As curteisly as it had ben a mayde,
"My lady Prioresse, by youre leve,
So that I wiste I sholde yow nat greve,
I wolde demen that ye tellen sholde
450 A tale next, if so were that ye wolde.
Now wol ye vouche sauf, my lady deere?"
"Gladly," quod she, and seyde as ye shal heere.Here begins the Sailor's Tale A merchant, dwelling, once, at Saint Denis,
Was rich, for which men held him wise, and he
Had got a wife of excellent beauty,
And very sociable and gay was she,
Which is a thing that causes more expense
Than all the good cheer and the deference
That men observe at festivals and dances;
Such salutations and masked countenances
Pass by as does a shadow on the wall;
But woe to him that must pay for it all.
The foolish husband, always he must pay;
He must buy clothes and other fine array,
And all for his own worship, wealthily,
In which, indeed, women dance jollily.
And if he cannot thus, peradventure,
Or cares not such expenses to endure,
But thinks his money wasted or quite lost,
Why then another man must pay the cost,
Or else lend gold, and that is dangerous.
This noble merchant had a worthy house,
To which, each day, so many did repair,
Since he was generous and his wife was fair,
'Twas to be wondered at; but hear my tale.
Among his many guests of great and small
There was a monk, a handsome man and bold,
I think that he was thirty winters old,
Who was for ever coming to that place.
This youthful monk, who was so fair of face,
Was so far intimate with the worthy man,
And had been since their friendship first began.
That in the house familiar was he
As it is possible for friend to be.
And in as much as this same goodly man
And too, this monk of whom I first began,
Were both born in the village they'd lived in,
The monk claimed him for cousin, or such kin;
And he again, he never said him nay,
But was as glad thereof as bird of day;
For to his heart it was a great pleasance.
Thus they were knit by endless alliance,
And each of them did other one assure
Of brotherhood the while their lives endure.
Free was Dan John with money and expense
When in that house; and full of diligence
To please all there, whatever be his age.
He ne'er forgot to tip the humblest page
In all that house; according to degree
He gave the master, then the company,
Whene'er he came, some kind of honest thing;
For which they were as glad of his coming
As bird is glad when the new sun up-rises.
No more of all this now, for it suffices.
It so befell, this merchant, on a day,
Prepared to make all ready his array,
Since to the town of Bruges he was to fare
To purchase there a quantity of ware;
To which end he'd to Paris sent someone
With messages, and he had prayed Dan John
That he should come to Saint-Denis to pay
Him and his wife a visit for a day,
Said 'twas a thing he certainly must do.
This noble monk, whereof I'm telling you.
Had from his abbot, when he wished, license,
Because he was a man of great prudence,
An officer, indeed, who out did ride
To see to barns and granges, far and wide;
And now to Saint-Denis he came anon.
Who was so welcome as my lord Dan John,
Our cousin dear, so full of courtesy?
With him he brought a jug of rare malmsey,
And still another full of fine vernage,
And wild fowls, too, as was his long usage.
And so I let them eat and drink and play,
This monk and merchant, for a night and day.
Upon the third day this good trader rises,
And on his needs discreetly he advises;
And up into his counting-house goes he
To reckon up his books, as well may be,
For the past year, to learn how matters stood
And what he'd spent, and whether it were good,
And whether he were wealthier than before.
His books and bags, all that he had in store,
He put before him on his counting-board;
He was right rich in goods and rich in hoard,
For the which cause he bolted fast his door;
He'd have no one disturb him while before
Him stood his books and monies at that time;
And thus he sat till it was well past prime.
Dan John had risen with the dawn, also,
And in the garden wandered to and fro,
Having said all his prayers full reverently.
Then came this goodwife, walking secretly
Into the garden, walking slow and soft.
And kissed him in salute, as she'd done oft.
A little girl came walking at her side,
Was in her charge to govern and to guide,
For yet beneath the rod was this small maid.
"O my dear cousin, O Dan John," she said,
"What ails you that so early you arise?"
"Dear niece," said he, "surely it should suffice
To sleep for five full hours of any night,
Unless 'twere for some old and languid wight,
As are these married men, who doze and dare
About as in the form the weary hare,
Worn all distraught by hounds both great and small.
But, my dear niece, just why are you so pale?
I must suppose of course that our good man
Has you belaboured since the night began,
And you were forced to sleep but scantily."
And with that word he laughed right merrily,
And, what of his own thoughts, he blushed all red.
This pretty wife began to shake her head,
And answered thus: "Aye, God knows all!" said she:
"Nay, cousin mine, it stands not so with me.
For by that God Who gave me soul and life,
In all the realm of France there is no wife
Who has less lust for that same sorry play.
For I may sing 'Alas!' and 'Welaway
That I was born!' but to no man," said she,
"Dare I to tell how this thing stands with me.
Wherefore I'm thinking from this land to wend,
Or else of my own life to make an end,
I am so fearful and so full of care."
This monk began, then, at the wife to stare,
And said: "Alas, my niece, may God forbid
That you, for any care or fear morbid,
Destroy yourself! But tell me of your grief;
Perhaps I may, whatever the mischief,
Counsel or help, and therefore do tell me
All the annoyance, for 'twill secret be;
For on my breviary I make oath
That never in my life, though lief or loath,
Shall I your secret whisper or betray."
"The same to you again," said she, "I say;
By God and by this breviary, I swear,
Though men this body of mine a-pieces tear,
No I will never, though I go to Hell,
Betray a single word that you may tell,
And this, not for our kinship and alliance,
But verily for love and true reliance."
Thus are they sworn, and thereupon they kissed,
And each told other such things as they list.
"Cousin," said she, "if I had time and space,
As I have not, and specially in this place,
Then would I tell a legend of my life,
What I have suffered since I've been a wife,
From my husband, though he is your cousin."
"Nay," quoth the monk, "by God and Saint Martin,
He is no more a cousin unto me
Than is this leaf a-hanging on the tree!
I call him so, by Saint-Denis of France,
To have but better reason to advance
With you, whom I have loved especially
Above all other women, and truly;
I swear this to you on the faith I own.
Tell me your grief before your man comes down,
Come, hasten now, and go your way anon."
"My dearest love," said she, "O my Dan John,
Right glad I were this counsel for to hide,
But it must out, I can't it more abide.
To me my husband is the poorest man
That ever was, since first the world began.
But since I am a wife, becomes not me
To tell a living soul our privity,
Either abed or in some other place;
God guard that I should tell it, of His grace!
For wife must never talk of her husband,
Save to his honour, as I understand.
But now to you thus much I can and shall:
So help me God, he is not worth, at all,
In any wise, the value of a fly.
But yet this grieves me most- he's niggardly;
And well you know that women naturally
Desire six things, and even so do I.
For women all would have their husbands be
Hardy, and wise, and rich, and therewith free,
Obedient to the wife, and fresh in bed.
But by that very Lord Who for us bled,
Though in his honour, myself to array
On Sunday next, I must yet go and pay
A hundred francs, or else be but forlorn.
Yet would I rather never have been born
Than have a scandal or disgrace, say I.
And if my husband such a thing should spy,
I were but lost, and therefore do I pray,
Lend me this sum, or else I perish, yea!
Dan John, I say, lend me these hundred francs;
By gad, I will not fail to give you thanks,
If only you will do the thing I pray.
For on a certain day I will repay,
And give to you what pleasure and service
I can give, aye, just as you may devise.
And if I don't, God take on me vengeance
As foul as once on Ganelon of France!"
This gentle monk replied as you shall hear.
"Now truthfully, my own sweet lady dear,
I have," said he, "on you so great a ruth
That I do swear and promise you, in truth,
That when your husband goes to Flanders there,
I will deliver you from all this care;
For I will bring to you a hundred francs.
And with that word he caught her by the flanks
And hugged her to him hard and kissed her oft.
"Go now your way," he said, "all still and soft,
And let us dine as soon as ever we may,
For by my dial it's the prime of day.
Go now, and be as true as I shall be."
"Now all else God forbid, sir," then said she.
And in she went as jolly as a pie,
And bade the cooks that they to kitchen hie,
So that her men might dine, and that anon.
Up to her husband is this wife then gone,
And knocked upon his counting-room boldly.
"Qui est la?" asked he. "Peter! It is I,"
Said she; "What, sir, and how long will you fast?
How long time will you reckon up and cast
Your sums and books and other tiresome things?
The devil take away such reckonings!
You have enough, by gad, of God's mercy;
Come down today, and let your gold-bags be.
Why, are you not ashamed that our Dan John
Has fasted miserably all morning gone?
What! Let us hear a Mass and then go dine."
"Wife," said this man, "little can you divine
The curious businesses that merchants have.
As for us traders, as may God me save,
And by that lord that all we call Saint Yve,
Among twelve merchants scarcely two shall thrive
Continually, and lasting into age.
We must keep open house and blithe visage,
While goes the world as it may chance to be,
And hold all our affairs in secrecy
Till we are dead; or else we must go play
At pilgrimage, or else go clean away.
And therefore have I great necessity
That on this curious world advised I be;
For evermore we merchants stand in dread
Of chance and mishap as our ways we tread.
"To Flanders go I at the break of day,
And I'll come back as soon as ever I may.
For which, my dearest wife, your aid I seek
To be, to all, both courteous and meek,
And to maintain our wealth be studious,
And govern honourably and well our house.
You have enough in every sort of wise
That, to a thrifty, household, should suffice.
You've clothes and food, I've seen to each detail,
And silver in your purse shall never fail."
And with that word his counting-door he shut
And down he went, no longer tarrying, but
Right hastily a Mass for them was said,
And speedily the tables there were spread,
And to the dinner swiftly all they sped;
And richly then the monk this merchant fed
After the dinner Dan John soberly
This merchant took aside, and privately
He said to him, "Cousin, it stands just so,
For I see well that you to Bruges will go.
God and good Saint Augustine speed and guide!
I pray you, cousin, that you'll wisely ride;
Guard your health well, and govern your diet
Temperately, especially in this heat.
Neither of us requires outlandish fare;
Farewell, dear cousin; God shield you from care.
If anything there be, by day or night,
If it lie in my power and my might,
That you would have me do, in any wise,
It shall be done, just as you may devise.
"One thing, before you go, if it may be,
I pray you do, and that is, to lend me
A hundred francs, for but a week or two,
For certain cattle I must buy, to do
The stocking of a little place of ours.
So help me God, I would that it were yours!
I will not fail you, come next settling day,
Not for a thousand francs, a mile away.
But let this thing be secret, pray, for I,
Even tonight, must go these beasts to buy;
And farewell now, my own good cousin dear.
And many thanks for entertainment here."
This noble merchant, civilly, anon,
Answered and said: "O cousin mine, Dan John,
Now surely this is but a small request;
My gold is yours and aye at your behest.
And not gold only, no but all my ware;
Take what you like, God shield that you should spare.
"There's but one thing, which you know well enow
Of traders, for their money is their plow.
We may on credit trade, while we've a name,
But to be goldless is to lose the game.
Pay it again when you are at your ease;
In all I can, full fain am I to please."
These hundred francs he went and got anon,
And privately he gave them to Dan John.
No one in all the world knew of this loan,
Saving this merchant and Dan John alone.
They drink, and talk, and walk awhile, and play,
Until Dan John sets out for his abbey.
The morrow came and forth this merchant rides
Toward Flanders; and his apprentice guides
Until he came to Bruges all happily.
Now went this merchant fast and busily
About his trade, and bought, and borrowed gold;
He neither played at dice nor danced, I'm told,
But like a merchant, briefly here to tell,
He led his life, and there I let him dwell.
On the first Sunday after he was gone,
To Saint-Denis is come again Dan John,
With face and tonsure shining from a shave.
In all the house was not so small a knave,
Nor any other, but was right glad, then,
Because my lord Dan John was come again.
And coming briefly to point, anon
This lovely wife agreed with her Dan John
That for these hundred francs he should, all night,
Have her within his arms and bolt upright;
And this agreement was performed in bed.
In mirth all night a busy life they led
Till it was dawn, when Dan John went his way,
Bidding the household "Farewell!" and "Good-day!"
For none of them, nor any in the town,
Had of Dan John the least suspicion shown.
So forth he rode, home to his own abbey,
Or where he wished; no more of him I say.
This merchant, when all ended was the fair,
To Saint-Denis made ready to repair;
And with his wife he feasted and made cheer,
And told her that, since goods were very dear,
He needs must get more cash at his command,
For he was bound by his own note of hand
To pay some twenty thousand crowns anon.
For which this merchant is to Paris gone
To borrow there, from certain friends he had,
Some certain francs unto his own to add.
And when he'd come at length into the town,
Out of great friendship never yet outgrown,
Unto Dan John he went first, there to play,
Not to talk business, nor ask money, nay,
But to inquire and see to his welfare,
And, too, to tell about his Flemish ware,
As friends are wont when come from far or near.
Dan John made him a feast and merry cheer;
And he told him again, and specially,
How he had purchased well and luckily-
Thanks be to God!- all of his merchandise.
Save that he must, nor fail in any wise,
Obtain a loan, at least it would be best,
And then he'd have some time for joy and rest.
Dan John replied: "No gladness do I feign
That sound in health you are come home again.
And if I were but rich, as I have bliss,
These twenty thousand crowns you should not miss,
Since you so kindly, but the other day,
Lent me some gold; and as I can and may,
I thank you, by the Lord and by Saint James!
Nevertheless, to no hand but our dame's,
Your wife at home, I gave the gold again
Upon your counter; she'll remember when
By certain tokens that I gave to her.
Now, by your leave, I must get up and stir,
Our abbot will be leaving town anon;
And in his company I must be gone.
Greet well our dame, your wife and my niece sweet,
And farewell, cousin dear, until we meet."
This merchant, being a man full wary-wise,
Has got his loan and paid there in Paris,
To certain Lombards, ready in their hand,
The sum of gold, and got his note back, and
Now home he goes as merry as a jay.
For well he knew he stood in such array
That now he needs must make, with nothing lost,
A thousand francs above his total cost.
His wife, all ready, met him at the gate,
As she was wont, though he came soon or late,
And all that night with pleasure did they pet,
For he was rich and cleanly out of debt.
When it was day, this merchant did embrace
His wife anew, and kissed her on her face,
And up he goes and makes it rather tough.
"No more," cried she, "by God, you've had enough!"
And wantonly again with him she played,
Till, at the last, this merchant sighed and said:
"By God," said he, "I am a little wroth
With you, my wife, though to be so I'm loath.
And know you why? By God, and as I guess,
You've been the causing of some small strangeness
Between me and my cousin, dear Dan John.
You should have warned me, really, ere I'd gone,
That he to you a hundred francs had paid
In cash; he was put out, I am afraid,
Because I spoke to him of loans, by chance,
At least I judged so by his countenance.
Nevertheless, by God our Heavenly King,
I never thought to ask him such a thing.
I pray you, wife, never again do so;
But always tell me, ere away I go,
If any debtor has, in my absence,
Repaid to you, lest through your negligence
I might demand a sum already paid."
This wife was not astounded nor afraid,
But boldly she spoke up and that anon:
"Marry, I challenge that false monk, Dan John!
I kept, of all his coins, not one to tell.
He brought me certain gold- that know I well
What! Ill success upon his friar's snout!
For God knows that I thought, with never a doubt.
That he had given it me because of you,
To advance thus my honour, and yours too,
In cousinhood, and for the merry cheer
That he has found so many a time right here.
But since I see our peace is thus disjoint,
I'll answer you but briefly, to the point.
You have far slacker debtors than am I!
For I will pay you well and readily
From day to day; and if it be I fail
I am your wife, tally it on my tail,
And I will pay as soon as ever I may.
For by my truth I have, on new array,
And not on rubbish, spent it, every sou.
And since so well I've spent it, all for you,
All for your honour, for God's sake, I say,
Do not be angry, but let's laugh and play.
My jolly body's yours in pledge," she said,
"By God, I will not pay you, save in bed!
Forgive me, then, my own sweet husband dear;
Let us be happy now- turn over here!"
This merchant saw there was no remedy,
And, thought he, chiding were but great folly,
Since that the thing might not amended be.
"Now wife," he said, "I do forgive, you see;
But on your life, don't run so far at large;
Conserve our wealth hereafter, so I charge."
Thus ends my tale, and may the good God send
Tales fair enough until our lives shall end! Amen.Here ends the Sailor's Tale
The Merry Words of the Host to the Sailor and to My Lady Prioress
Well said, by corpus dominus," said our host,
"Now long time may you sail along the coast,
Sir gentle master, gentle mariner!
God give this monk a thousand years bitter!
Aha, comrades, beware of such a jape!
The monk put into that man's hood an ape,
And in the wife's too, by Saint Augustine!
Invite no more monks to your house or inn.
"But let that pass, and let us look about
To see who shall be next, of all this rout,
To tell a tale." And after that he said,
As courteously as it had been a maid:
"My lady prioress, and by your leave,
So that I knew I should in no way grieve,
I would opine that tell a tale you should,
The one that follows next if you but would.
Now will you please vouchsafe it, lady dear?"
"Gladly," said she, and spoke as you shall hear.
Continue on to the Prioress's Tale
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