To fhewen hem thus muche of my science;
For here fhul ye fee by experience
That this quiksilver I wol mortifie
Right in your fight anon withouten lie,
And make it as good filver and as fine
As ther is any in your purse or mine
Or elles wher, and make it malliable,
And elles holdeth me falfe and unable
Amonges folk for ever to appere.

I have a prouder here, that coft me dere,
Shal make all good, for it is caufe of all
My conning which that I you fhewen shall.
Voideth your man, and let him be therout,
And fhet the dore, while we ben about
Our privitee, that no man us efpie
While that we werke in this philofophie.

All as he bade fulfilled was in dede:
This ilke fervant anon right out yede,
And his maifter fhette the dore anon,
And to hir labour fpedily they gon.

This preeft at this curfed chanons bidding Upon the fire anon he fet this thing, And blew the fire, and befied him ful faft; And this chanon into the croffelet caft A pouder, n'ot I never wherof it was Ymade, other of chalk, other of glas, Or fomwhat elles, was not worth a flie, To blinden with this preeft, and bade him hie 'The coles for to couchen all above The croffelet, for in tokening I thee love (Quod this chanon) thine owen hondes two Shal werken all thing which that here is do. Grand mercy, quod the precft, and was ful glad, And couched the coles as the chanon bad; And while he befy was this fendly wretch, This falfe chanon, (the foule fend him fetch) Out of his bofom toke a bechen cole, In which ful fubtilly was made an hole, And therin put was of filver limaile An unce, and ftopped was withouten faile The hole with wax to keep the limaile in.

And understandeth that this falfe gin Was not made ther, bur it was made before; And other thinges I fhall tell you more Hereafterward which that he with him brought; Er he came ther him to begile he thought, And fo he did or that they went atwin; Til he had torned him coud he not blin. It dulleth me whan that I of him speke; On his falfhede fain wold I me awreke If I wift how; but he is here and ther: He is fo variaunt he abit no wher.

But taketh hede, Sires, now, for Goddes love.
He toke his cole, of which I fpake above,
And in his hond he bare it prively,
And whiles the preeft couched befily
The coles, as I tolde you er this,

This Chanon fayde; Frend, ye don amis;
This is not couched as it ought to be,
But fone I fhal amenden it, quod he.
Now let me meddle therwith but a while,
For of you have I pitee by Seint Gile.
Ye ben right hot; I fee wel how ye fwete;
Have here a cloth and wipe away the wete.
And whiles that the preeft wiped his face
This chanon toke his cole with fory grace,

And laied it above on the midward
Of the croffelet, and blew wel afterward,
Til that the coles gonnen fast to bren.

Now yeve us drinke, quod this chanon, then,
As fwithe all fhall be wel I undertake :
Sitte we doun, and let us mery make.
And whanne that this chanones bechen cole
Wes brent all the limaile out of the hole
Into the croffelet anon fell adoun;
And fo it mufte nedes by refoun,
Sin it above fo even couched was,
But therof wift the preeft nothing, alas!
He demed all the coles ylike good,
For of the fleight he nothing understood.
And whan this alkymiftre faw his time,
Rifeth up,

Sire Preeft, quod he, and ftondeth by me
And for I wote wel ingot have ye non,
Goth, walketh forth, and bringeth a chalk fton,
For I wol make it of the fame fhap
That is an ingot, if I may have hap:
Bring eke with you a bolle or elles a panne
Ful of water, and ye fhul wel fee thanne
How that our befinesse shal thrive and preve:
And yet, for ye fhul have no mifbeleve
Ne wrong conceit of me in your abfence,
I ne wol not ben out of your prefence,
But go with you, and come with you again.

The chambre door, fhortly for to sain,
They opened and fhet, and went hir wey,
And forth with hem they caried the key,
And camen again withouten any delay.
What fhuld I tarien all the longe day?
He toke the chalk, and fhope it in the wife
Of an ingor, as I fhal you devife;

I fay he toke out of his owen fleve
A teine of filver (yvel mote he cheve)
Which that ne was but a juft unce of weight:
And taketh heed now of his curfed fleight;
He fhop his ingat in length and in brede
Of thilke teine, withouten any drede,
So flily that the preeft it not efpide,
And in his leve again he gan it hide,
And from the fire he toke up his matere,
And in the ingot it put with mery chere,
And in the water-veffel he it caft
Whan that him lift, and bad the preeût as fast
Loke what ther is; put in thin hond and grope;
Thou shalt ther finden filver, as I hope.
What, divel of helle! fhuld it elles be?
Shaving of filver, filver is parde.

He put his hond in and toke up a toine
Of filver fine, and glad in every veine
Was this preeft whan he faw that it was fo.
Goddes blefling, and his mothers also,
And alle Halwes, have ye, Sire Chanon!
Sayde this preeft, and I hir malifon,
But and ye vouchefauf to techen me
This noble craft and this fubtilitee
I wol be your in alle that ever I may.

Quod the chanon, Yet wol I make affay
The fecond time, that ye mow taken hede,
And ben expert of this, and in your nede
Another day affay in min abfence
This difcipline and this crafty science.
Let take another unce, quod he tho,
Of quiksilver, without en wordes mo,

Of this receit, farewel! it n'old not be.
Lo, thus bejaped and begiled was he;
Thus maketh he his introduction
To bringen folk to hir deftruction.

Confidereth, Sires, how that in eche estat
Betwixen men and gold ther is debat,
So ferforth that unnethes is ther non.
This multiplying so blint many on
That in good faith I trowe that it be
The caufe greteft of fwiche scarfitee.
Thife philofophres fpeke fo miftily
In this craft that men cannot come therby
For any wit that men have now adayes:
They mow wel chateren as don thise jayes,
And in hir termes fet hir luft and peine,
But to hir purpos fhul they never atteine.
A man may lightly lerne, if he have ought,
To multiplie and bring his good to nought.
Lo, fwiche a lucre is in this lufty game
A mannes mirth it wol turne al to grame,
And emptien alfo gret and hevy purses,
And maken folk for to purchafen curfes
Of hem that han therto hir good ylent.
O, fy for fhame! they that han be brent,”
Alas! can they not flee the fires hete?
Ye that it use I rede that ye it lete,
Left ye lefe all; for bet than never is late:
Never to thriven were to long a date:
Though ye proll ay ye fhul it never find;
Ye ben as bold as is Bayard the blind,
That blondereth forth, and peril cafteth non;
He is as bold to renne agains a fton
As for to go befides in the way:
So faren ye that inultiplien I fay.
If that your eyen cannot feen aright
Loketh that youre mind lacke not his fight,
For though ye loke never fo brode, and itare,
Ye fhuln not win a mite on that chaffare,
But waften all that ye may rape and renne.
Withdraw the fire left it to faite brenne;
Medleth no more with that art I mene,
For if ye don your thrift is gon ful clene :
And right as fwithe I wol you tellen here
What philofophres fain in this matere.

Lo, thus faith Arnolde of the newe toun,
As his Rofarie maketh mentioun ;
He faith right thus, withouten any lie,
Ther may no man Mercurie mortifie
But it be with his brothers knowleching.

Lo, how that he which firste said this thing

Of philofophres father was, Hermesį
He faith how that the dragon douteles
Ne dieth not but if that he be flain
With his brother; and this is for to fain
By the dragon Mercury and non other
He understood, and Brimstone by his brother,
That out of Sole and Luna were ydrawe.

And therfor, faid he, Take heed to my fawe:
Let no man befie him this art to feche
But if that he the entention and speche
Of philofophres understonden can,
And if he do he is a lewed man;

For this fcience and this conning (quod he)
Is of the fecree of fecrees parde.

Also ther was a difciple of Plato
That on a time faid his maister to,
As his book Senior wol bere witnesse,
And this was his demand in sothfastnesse,
Telle me the name of thilke privee ston.

And Plato answerd unto him anon;
Take the fton that Titanos men name.
Which is that? quod he. Magnetia is the fame
Saide Plato. Ye, Sire, and is it thus ?
This is ignotum per ignotius,

What is magnetia, good Sire, I pray?

It is a water that is made, I fay,
Of the elementes foure, quod Plato.
Tell me the rote, good Sire, quod he tho,
Of that water, if that it be your will.

Nay, nay, quod Plato, certain that I n'ill:
The philofophres were fworne everich on
That they ne fhuld difcover it unto non,
Ne in no book it write in no manere,
For unto God it is fo lefe and dere
That he wol not that it discovered be
But wher it liketh to his deitee
Man for to enfpire, and eke for to defende
Whom that him liketh; lo, this is the ende.

Than thus conclude I; fin that God of heven Ne wol not that the philofophres neven How that a man fhal come unto this fton, I rede as for the best to let it gon; For who fo maketh God his adversary, As for to werken any thing in contrary Of his will, certes never fhal he thrive, Though that he multiply terme of his live, And ther a point, for ended is my Tale. God fend every good man bote of his bale!

WETE ye not wher stondeth a litel toun
Which that ycleped is Bob-up-and-doun,
Under the Blee in Canterbury way?
Ther gan our hofte to jape and to play,
And fayde; Sires, what? Dun is in the mire;
Is ther no man for praiere ne for hire
That wol awaken our felaw behind?
A thefe him might ful lightly rob and bind :
See how he nappeth, fee, for cockes bones,
As he wold fallen from his hors atones.
Is that a coke of London, with meschance?
Do him come forth, he knoweth his penance,
For he shal tell a Tale by my fey,
Although it be not worth a botel hey.
Awake, thou coke, quod he; God yeve the forwe,
What aileth thee to flepen by the morwe?
Haft thou had fleen al night, or art thou dronke?
Or haft thou with fom quene al night yfwonke
So that thou mayft not holden up thin hed?

This coke, that was ful pale and nothing red,
Sayd to our Hofte; So God my foule bieffe,
As ther is falle on me fwiche hevineffe,
Not I nat why, that me were lever to flepe
Than the best gallon wine that is in Chepe.
Wel, quod the Manciple, if it may don efe
To thee, Sire Coke, and to no wight difplefe
Which that hire rideth in this compagnie,
And that our Hofte wcl of his curtefie;
I wol as now excufe thee of thy Tale,
For in good faith thy vifage is ful pale:
Thin eyen dafen, fothly as me thinketh,
And wel I wot thy breth ful foure ftinketh,
That fheweth wel thou art not wel difpofed :
Of me certain thou shalt not ben yglofed.
See how he galpeth, lo, this dronken wight,
As though he wold us fwalow anon right!
Hold clofe thy mouth, man, by thy father kin;
The devil of helle fet his foot therin,
Thy curfed breth enfecten wol us alle:
Fy, ftinking fwine! fy, foul mote thee bafalle!
A! taketh heed, Sires, of this lufty man.
Now, fwete Sire! wol ye juft at the fan?
Therto me thinketh ye be wel yfhape:
I trow that ye have dronken win of ape,
And that is whan men playen with a straw.
And with this fpeche the coke waxed all wraw,
And on the Manciple he gan not fast
For lacke of fpeche, and doun his hors him caft,

Wher as he lay til that men him up toke:
This was a faire chivachee of a coke :
Alas that he ne had hold him by his ladel!
And er that he agen were in the fadel
Ther was gret fhoving bothe to and fro
To lift him up, and mochel care and wo,
So unweldy was this fely palled goft;
And to the Manciple then spake our Hoft.
Because that drinke hath domination
Upon this man, by my falvation

I trowe he lewedly wol tell his Tale;
For wer it win or old or moifty ale
That he hath dronke he fpeketh in his nose,
And fnefeth faft, and eke he hath the pofe;
He also hath to don more than ynough
To keep him on his capel out of the flough
And if he felle from of his capel eftfone
Than fhul we alle have ynough to done
In lifting up his hevy dronken cors.
Tell on thy Tale, of him make I no force.

But yet, Manciple, in faith thou art to nice
Thus openly to repreve him of his vice;
Another day he wol paraventure
Recleimen thee, and bring thee to the lure;
I mene he speken wol of fmale thinges,
As for to pinchen at thy rekeninges,
That were not honeft if it came to prefe.

Quod the Manciple, That were a gret meschefe;
So might he lightly bring me in the fnare;
Yet had I lever payen for the mare

Which he writ on than he fhuld with me ftrive:
I wol not wrathen him, fo mote I thrive :
That that I fpake I fayd it in my bourd
And wete ye what? I have here in my gourd
A draught of win, ye of a ripe grape,
And right anon ye fhul feen a good jape;
This coke fhal drinke therof if that I may;
Up peine of my lif he wol not fay nay.

And certainly, to tellen as it was,
Of this veffell the coke dranke faft, (alas!
What nedeth it? he dranke ynough beforne)
And whan he hadde pouped in his horne
To the Manciple he toke the gourd again;
And of that drinke the coke was wonder fain,
And thonked him in swiche wife as he coude.

Than gan our Hofte to laughen wonder loude And fayd; I fee wel it is neceffary Wher that we gon good drinke with us to cary,

For that wol turnen rancour and difefe
To accord and love, and many a wrong apefe
O Bacchus, Bacchus ! bleffed be thy name,
That fo canft turnen erneft into game ;

Worship and thonke be to thy deitee.
Of that matere ye get no more of me.
Tale on thy Fale, Manciple, I thee pray.
Wel, Sire, quod he, now herkeneth what I fay

WHAN Phebus dwelled here in erth adoun,

As olde bookes maken mentioun,
He was the mofte lufty bacheler

Of all this world, and eke the best archer :
He flow Phiton the ferpent as he lay
Sleping agains the fonne upon a day,
And many another noble worthy dede

He with his bow wrought, as men mowen rede.
Playen be coude on every minftrakcie,
And fingen that it was a melodie
'To heren of his clere vois the foun:
Certes the King of Thebes Amphioun,
That with his finging walled the citee,
Coud never fingen half fe wel as he.
'Therto he was the femeliefte man
That is or was fithen the world began.
What nedeth it his feture to defcrive?
For in this world n'is non so faire on live;
He was therwith fulfilled of gentilleffe,
Of honour, and of parfite worthineffe.

This Phebus, that was floure of bachelerie,
As wel in fredom as in chivalrie,
For his difport, in figne eke of victorie
Of Phiton, fo as telleth us the ftorie,
Was wont to beren in his hond a bowe.
Now had this Phebus in his hous a crowe,
Which in a cage he foftred many a day,
And taught it fpeken, as men teche a jay.
Whit was this crowe, as is a fnow-whit fwan,
And contrefete the fpeche of every man
He coude whan he fhulde tell a tale :
Therwith in all this world no nightingale
Ne coude by an hundred thousand del
Singen fo wonder merily and wel.

Now had this Phebus in his hous a wif
Which that he loved more than his lif,
And night and day did ever his diligence
Hire for to plefs and don hire reverence;
Save only, if that I the foth fhal fain,
Jelous he was, and world have kept hire fain,

Phoebus kepeth a white crow which can fpeak as a jay. The crow accufeth his wife, of whom he was too jealoufe, to have played falfe in his abfence; hereupon with an

For him were loth yjaped for to be,
And fo is every wight in swiche degree:
But all for nought, for it availeth nought.
A good wif, that is clene of werk and thought,
Shuld not be kept in non await certain;
And trewely the labour is in vain
To kepe a fhrewe, for it wol not be.
This hold I for a veray nicetee
To fpillen labour for to kepen wives;
Thus writen olde clerkes in hir lives.

But now to purpos as I first began.
This worthy Phebus doth all that he can
To plesen hire, wening thurgh swiche plesance,
And for his manhood and his governance,
That no man fhulde put him from hire grace;
But God it wote ther may no man embrace
As to deftreine a thing which that Nature
Hath naturelly fet in a creature.

Take any brid and put it in a cage, And do all thin entente and thy corage To fofter it tendrely with mete and drinke Of alle deintees that thou canst bethinke, And kepe it al fo clenely as thou may, Although the cage of gold be never so gay, Yet had this brid by twenty thousand fold Lever in a foreft that is wilde and cold Gon eten wormes and fwiche wretchedneffe: For ever this brid will don his befineffe To escape out of his cage whan that he may : His libertee the brid defireth ay.

Let take a cat, and fofter hire with milke
And tendre flesh, and make hire couche of filke,
And let hire fee a mous go by the wall,
Anon fhe weiveth milke and flesh and all,
And every deintee that is in that hous,
Swiche appetit hath the to ete the mous.
Lo, here hath kind hire domination,
And appetit flemeth difcretion.

A fhe-wolf hath also a vilains kind;
The lewedefte wolf that she may find,
Or left of reputation, wol fhe take
In time whan hire loft to have a make.
All thife enfamples fpeke I by thise men