⚫ther is nothing so commendable in a gret lord, as whan he is debonaire and meke, and appeseth him Eghtly.' And I pray you, that ye wol now forbere to do vengeaunce, in swiche a manere, that your good name may be kept and conserved, and that men mown have cause and matere to preise you of pitec and of mercy; and that ye have no cause to repente you of thing that ye don. For Seneke saieth: 'He overcometh in an evil manere, that repenteth him of his victorie.' Wherfore I pray you let mercy be in youre herte, to the effect and entente, that God Almighty have mercy upon you in his last jugement: for Seint James saith in his Epistle: Jugement withoute mercy shal he do to him, that bath no mercy of another wight.'" Whan Melibee had herd the grete skilles and resons of dame Prudence, and hire wise informations and techinges, his herte gan encline to the will of his wif, considering hire trewe entente, enforced him anon and assented fully to werken after hire conseil, and thanked God, of whom procedeth all goodnesse and all vertue, that him sent a wif of so gret discretion. And whan the day came that his adversaries shulde appere in his presence, he spake to hem ful goodly, and saide in this wise. "Al be it so, that of youre pride and high presumption and folie, and of youre negligence and unconning, ye have misborne you, and trespased unto me, yet for as muchel as I see and behold youre grete humilitee, and that ye ben sory and repentant of youre giltes, it constreineth me to do you grace and mercy: wherfore I receive you into my grace, and foryeve you outrely alle the offences, injuries, and wronges, that ye have don agein me and mine, to this effect and to this ende, that God of his endeles mercie wol at the time of oure dying foryeve us oure giltes, that we han trespased to him in this wretched world: for douteles, if we be sory and repentant of the sinnes and giltes, which we han trespased in the sight of oure Lord God, he is so free and so merciable, that he wol foryeven us oure giltes, and bringen us to the blisse that never hath ende. Amen."

THE MONKES PROLOGUE.
WHAN ended was the tale of Melibee,
And of Prudence and hire benignitee,
Our Hoste saide; "As I am faithful man,
And by the precious corpus Madrian,
I hadde lever than a barell of ale,
That goode lefe my wif had herde this tale:
For she n'is no thing of swiche patience,
As was this Melibeus wif Prudence.

By Goddes bones, whan I bete my knaves,
She bringeth me the grete clobbed staves,
And cryeth; Slee the dogges everich on,
And breke hem bothe bak and every bon.?
"And if that any neighebour of mine
Wol not in chirche to my wif encline,
Or be so hardy to hire to trespace,

Whan she cometh home she rampeth in my face,
And cryeth; False coward, wreke thy wif:
By corpus Domini, I wol have thy knif,

And thou shalt have my distaf, and go spinne.'
Fro day til night right thus she wol beginne.
"Alas,' she saith, that ever I was yshape
To wed a milksop, or a coward ape,

·

That wol ben overladde with every wight!
Thou darst not stonden by thy wives right.'
"This is my lif, but if that I wol fight,
And out at dore anon I mote me dight,
Or elles I am lost, but if that I
Be like a wilde leon, fool-bardy.

"I wote wel she wol do me slee som day
Som neighebour, and thanne go my way,
For I am perilous with knif in honde,
Al be it that I dare not hire withstonde:
For she is bigge in armes by my faith,
That shal he finde, that hire misdoth or saith.
But let us passe away fro this matere.

"My lord the Monk," quod he, "be mery of chere,
For ye shul telle a tale trewely.
Lo, Rouchester stondeth here faste by.
Ride forth, min owen lord, breke not our game.
But by my trouthe I can not telle youre name;
Whether shal I call you my lord Dan John,
Or Dan Thomas, or elles Dan Albon?
Of what hous be ye, by your fader kin?
I vow to God, thou hast a ful faire skin;
It is a gentil pasture ther thou gost;
Thou art not like a penaunt or a gost.

"Upon my faith thou art som officer,
Som worthy sextein, or som celerer.
For by my fadres soule, as to my dome,
Thou art a maister, whan thou art at home;
No poure cloisterer, ne non novice,
But a governour both ware and wise,
And therwithal of braunes and of bones
A right wel faring persone for the nones.
I pray to God yeve him confusion,
That first thee brought into religion.
Thou woldest han ben a trede-foul a right,
Haddest thou as grete leve, as thou hast might,
To parfourme all thy lust in engendrure,
Thou haddest begeten many a creature,
Alas! why werest thou so wide a cope?
God yeve me sorwe, but, and I were pope,
Not only thou but every mighty man,
Though he were shore ful high upon his pan,
Shuld have a wif, for al this world is lorn;
Religion hath take up all the corn

Of treding, and we borel men ben shrimpes:
Of feble trees ther comen wretched impes.
This maketh that our heires ben so selendre
And feble, that they moun not wel engendre.
This maketh that our wives wol assaye
Religious folk, for they moun better paye
Of Venus payementes than mowen we:
God wote, no lussheberghes payen ye.
But be not wroth, my lord, though that I play;
Ful oft in game a sothe have 1 herd say."

This worthy Monke toke all in patience,
And saide; "I wol don all my diligence,
As fer as souneth into honestee,
To tellen you a tale, or two or three.
And if you list to herken hiderward,
I wol you sayn the lif of Seint Edward;
Or elles tragedies first I wol telle,
Of which I have an hundred in my celle.
"Tragedie is to sayn a certain storie,
As olde bookes maken us memorie,
Of him that stood in gret prosperitee,
And is yfallen out of high degree
In to miserie, and endeth wretchedly.
And they ben versified communly
Of six feet, which men clepen exametron;
In prose eke ben endited many on,

And eke in metre, in many a sondry wise.
Lo, this declaring ought ynough suffice.
"Now herkeneth, if you liketh for to here.
But first I you beseche in this matere,
Though I by ordre telle not thise thinges,
Be it of popes, emperoures, or kinges,
After bir ages, as men written finde,

But telle hem som before and som behinde,
As it now cometh to my remembrance,
Have me excused of min ignorance."

THE MONKES TALE.

I wot bewaile in manere of tragedie
The harm of hem, that stode in high degree,
And fellen so, that ther n'as no remedie
To bring hem out of hir adversitee.
For certain whan that fortune list to flee,
Ther may no man of hire the cours withholde:
Let no man trust on blinde prosperitee;
Beth ware by thise ensamples trewe and olde.

LUCIFER.

At Lucifer, though he an angel were
And not a man, at him I wol beginne.
For though fortune may non angel dere,
From high degree yet fell he for his sinne
Doon into Helle, wheras he yet is inne.
O Lucifer, brightest of angels alle,

Now art thou Sathanas, that maist not twiune
Out of miserie, in which that thou art falle.

ADAM.

Lo Adam, in the feld of Damascene

With Goddes owen finger wrought was he,
And not begeten of mannes sperme unclene,
And welte all Paradis saving o tree:
Had never worldly man so high degree
As Adam, til he for misgovernance
Was driven out of his prosperitee

To labour, and to Helle, and to meschance.

SAMPSON.

Lo Sampson, which that was annunciat
By the angel, long or his nativitee:
And was to God Almighty consecrat,
And stode in noblesse while he mighte see:
Was never swiche another as was he,

To speke of strength, and therto hardinesse :
But to his wives tolde he his secree,
Thurgh which he slow himself for wretchednesse.

Sampson, this noble and mighty champion,
Withouten wepen, save his handes twey,
He slow and all to-rente the leon,
Toward his wedding walking by the wey:
His false wife conde him so plese, and pray,
Til she his conseil knewe; and she untrewe
Unto his foos his conseil gan bewray,
And him forsoke, and toke another newe.
Three hundred foxes toke Sampson for ire,
And all bir tayles he togeder bond:
And set the foxes tayles all on fire,
For he in every tayl had knit a brond.
And they brent all the cornes in that lond,
And all hir oliveres, and vines eke.

A thousand men he slow eke with his hond,
And had no wepen, but an asses cheke.

Whan they were slain, so thursted him, that he
Was wel nie lorne, for which he gan to preye,
That God wold on his peine han som pitee,
And send him drinke, or elles moste he deye:
And of this asses cheke, that was so dreye,
Out of a wang toth sprang anon a welle,
Of which he dranke ynough, shortly to seye.
Thus halp him God, as Judicum can telle.

By veray force at Gasa on a night,
Maugre the Philistins of that citee,
The gates of the toun he hath up plight,
And on his bak ycaried hem hath he
High on an hill, wher as men might hem se.
O noble mighty Sampson, lefe and dere,
Haddest thou not told to women thy secree,
In all this world ne had ther ben thy pere.

This Sampson never sider drank ne wine,
Ne on his hed came rasour non ne shere,
By precept of the messager divine,
For all his strengthes in his heres were:
And fully twenty winter yere by yere
He hadde of Israel the governance:
But sone shal he wepen many a tere,
For women shuln him bringen to meschance.

Unto his lemman Dalida he told,
That in bis beres all his strengthe lay,
And falsely to his fomen she him sold;
And sleping in hire barme upon a day
She made to clip or shere his here away,
And made his fomen all his craft espien;
And whan that they him fond in this array,
They bond him fast, and putten out his eyen.

But or his here was clipped or yshave,

Ther was no bond, with which men might him bind,
But now is he in prison in a cave,
Wheras they made him at the querne grinde.
noble Sampson, strongest of mankind,

O whilom juge in glory and richesse,
Now mayest thou wepen with thin eyen blind,
Sith thou fro wele art falle in wretchednesse.
The ende of this caitif was, as I shal seye:
His fomen made a feste upon a day,
And made him as hir fool before hem pleye:
And this was in a temple of gret array.
But at the last he made a foul affray,
For he two pillers shoke, and made hem falle,
And doun fell temple and all, and ther it lay,
And slow himself, and eke his fomen alle.

This is to sayn, the princes everich on,
And eke three thousand bodies were ther slain
With falling of the gret temple of ston.
Of Sampson now wol I no more sain :
Beth ware by this ensample old and plain,
That no men tell hir conseil to hir wives
Of swiche thing, as they wold han secree fain,
If that it touch hir limmes or hir lives.

HERCULES.

Of Hercules the soveraine conquerour
Singen his werkes laude, and high renoun;
For in his time of strength he was the flour.
He slow and raft the skinne of the leon;
He of Centaures laid the bost adoun;
He Harpies slow, the cruel briddes felle;
He golden apples raft fro the dragon;
He drow out Cerberus the bound of Helle.

He slow the cruel tirant Busirus,

And made his hors to fret him flesh and bon;
He slow the firy serpent venemous;
Of Achelous two hornes brake he on.
And he slow Cacus in a cave of ston;
He slow the geaunt Anteus the strong;
He slow the grisely bore, and that anon;
And bare the Hevene on his nekke long.

Was never wight sith that the world began,
That slow so many monstres, as did he;
Thurghout the wide world his name ran,
What for his strength, and for his high bountee;
And every reaume went he for to see,

He was so strong that no man might him let;
At bothe the worldes endes, saith Trophee,
In stede of boundes he a piller set.

A lemman had this noble champion,
That highte Deianire, as fresh as May;
And as thise clerkes maken mention,

She hath him sent a sherte fresh and gay:
Alas! this sherte, alas and wala wa!
Evenimed was sotilly withalle,

That or that he had wered it half a day,
It made his flesh all from his bones falle.

But natheles som clerkes hire excusen
By on, that highte Nessus, that it maked;
Be as may be, I wol hire not accusen;
But on his bak this sherte he wered al naked,
Til that his flesh was for the venim blaked:
And whan he saw non other remedie;
In hote coles he hath himselven raked,
For with no venime deigned him to die.
Thus starf this worthy mighty Hercules.
Lo, who may trust on fortune any throw ?
For him that folweth all this world of pres,
Or he be ware, is oft ylaid ful lowe:
Ful wise is he, that can himselven knowe.
Beth ware, for whan that fortune list to glose,
Than waiteth she hire man to overthrowe
By swiche a way, as he wold lest suppose.

NABUCHODONOSOR.

The mighty trone, the precious tresor,
The glorious sceptre, and real majestee,
That hadde the king Nabuchodonosor,
With tonge unnethes may descrived be.
He twies wan Jerusalem the citee,

The vessell of the temple he with him ladde;
At Babiloine was bis soveraine see,
In which his glorie and his delit he hadde.

The fayrest children of the blood real
Of Israel he did do gelde anon,
And maked eche of hem to ben his thral.
Amonges other Daniel was on,

That was the wisest child of everich on;
For he the dremes of the king expouned,
Wher as in Caldee clerk ne was ther non,
That wiste to what fin his dremes souned.
This proude klng let make a statue of gold
Sixty cubites long, and seven in brede,
To which image bothe yonge and old
Commanded he to loute, and have in drede,
Or in a fourneis, ful of flames rede,
He shuld be brent, that wolde not obeye:
But never wold assenten to that dede
Daniel, ne his yonge felawes tweye.

This king of kinges proud was and elat;
He wend that God, that sit in majestee,
Ne might him nat bereve of his estat:
But sodenly he lost his dignitee,
And like a best him semed for to be,
And ete hey as an oxe, and lay therout:
In rain with wilde bestes walked he,
Til certain time was ycome about.

And like an egles fethers wex his heres,
His neyles like a briddes clawes were,
Til God relesed him at certain yeres,
And yaf him wit, and than with many a tere
He thanked God, and ever his lif in fere
Was he to don amis, or more trespace :
And til that time he laid was on his bere,
He knew that God was ful of might and grace.

BALTHASAR.

His sone, which that highte Balthasar,
That held the regne after his fadres day,

He by his fader coude not beware,

For proude he was of herte, and of array:
And eke an ydolaster was he ay.

His high estat assured him in pride;

But fortune cast him doun (and ther he lay)
And sodenly his regne gan devide.

A feste he made unto his lordes alle
Upon a time, and made hem blithe be,
And than his officeres gan he calle;
"Goth, bringeth forth the vessels," quod he,
"Which that my fader in his prosperitee
Out of the temple of Jerusalem beraft,
And to our highe goddes thanke we
Of honour, that our eldres with us laft."

His wif, his lordes, and his concubines
Ay dronken, while hir appetites last,
Out of thise noble vessels sondry wines.
And on a wall this king his eyen cast,
And saw an hand armles, that wrote ful fast,
For fere of whiche he quoke, and siked sore.
This hand, that Balthasar so sore agast.
Wrote Mane techel phares, and no more.
In al that lond magicien was non,
That coud expounen what this lettre ment,
But Daniel expounded it anon,

And said; "O king, God to thy fader lent
Glorie and honour, regne, tresour, and rent;
And he was proud, and nothing God ne dradde;
And therfore God gret wretche upon him sent,
And him beraft the regne that he hadde.

"He was out cast of mannes compagnie,
With asses was his habitation;

And ete hey, as a best, in wete and drie,
Til that he knew by grace and by reson,
That God of Heven hath domination
Over every regne, and every creature:
And than had God of him compassion,
And him restored his regne and his figure.
"Eke thou, that art his sone, art proud also,
And knowest all thise thinges veraily;
And art rebel to God, and art his fo.
Thou dranke eke of his vessels boldely,
Thy wif eke, and thy wenches sinfully
Dranke of the same vessels sondry wines,
And heried false goddes cursedly,
Therfore to thee yshapen ful gret pine is.

"This hand was sent fro God, that on the wall
Wrote Mane techel phares, trusteth me;
Thy regne is don, thou weyest nought at all;
Divided is thy regne, and it shal be

To Medes and to Perses yeven," quod he.
And thilke same night this king was slawe;
And Darius occupied his degree,
Though he therto had neither right ne lawe.

Lordinges, ensample hereby moun ye take,
How that in lordship is no sikernesse :
For whan that fortune wol a man forsake,
She bereth away his regne and his richesse,
And eke his frendes, bothe more and lesse.
For what man that hath frendes thurgh fortune,
Mishap wol make hem enemies, I gesse.
This proverbe is ful soth, and ful commune.

ZENOBIA.

Zenobia, of Palmerie the quene,
(As writen Persiens of hire noblesse)
So worthy was in armes, and so kene,
That no wight passed hire in hardinesse,
Ne in linage, ne in other gentillesse.
Of kinges blood of Perse is she descended;
I say not that she hadde most fairenesse,
But of hire shape she might not ben amended.
From hire childhode I finde that she fledde
Office of woman, and to wode she went;
Aud many a wilde hartes blood she shedde
With arwes brode that she to hem sent;
She was so swift, that she anon hem bent.
And whan that she was elder, she wold kille
Leons, lepards, and beres al to-rent,

And in hire armes weld hem at hire wille.

She dorst the wilde bestes dennes seke, And rennen in the mountaignes all the night, And slepe under the bush; and she coud eke Wrastlen by veray force and veray might With any yong man, were he never so wight; Ther mighte nothing in hire armes stonde; She kept hire maidenhode from every wight, To no man deigned hire for to be bonde. But at the last hire frendes han hire maried To Odenate, a prince of that contree; Al were it so, that she hem long taried. And ye shul understonden, how that he Hadde swiche fantasies as hadde she; But natheles, whan they were knit in fere, They lived in joye, and in felicitee, For eche of hem had other lefe and dere. Save o thing, that she n'olde never assente, By no way, that he shulde by hire lie But ones, for it was hire plaine entente To have a childe, the world to multiplie : And al so sone as that she might espie, That she was not with childe with that dede, Than would she suffer him don his fantasie Eftsone, and not but ones out of drede. And if she were with child at thilke cast, No more shuld he playen thilke game Till fully fourty dayes weren past: Than wold she ones suffre him do the same. Al were this Odenate wild or tame, He gate no more of hire, for thus she sayde, It was to wives lecherie and shame, In other cas if that men with hem playde.

Two sones by this Odenate had she,
The which she kept in vertue and lettrure.
But now unto our tale turne we:

I say, so worshipful a creature,

And wise therwith, and large with mesure,
So penible in the werre, and curteis eke,
Ne more labour might in werre endure,
Was non, though al this world men shulden seke.

Hire riche array ne mighte not be told,
As wel in vessel as in hire clothing:
She was al clad in pierrie and in gold,
And eke she lefte not for non hunting
To have of sondry tonges ful knowing,
Whan that she leiser had, and for to entend
To lernen bookes was all hire liking,
How she in vertue might hire lif dispend.

And shortly of this storie for to trete,
So doughty was hire busbond and eke she,
That they conquered many regnes grete
In the orient, with many a faire citee,
Appertenaunt unto the majestee

Of Rome, and with strong hand held hem ful fast
Ne never might hir fomen don hem flee,
Ay while that Odenates dayes last.

Hire batailles, who so list hem for to rede,
Againe Sapor the king, and other mo,
And how that all this processe fell in dede,
Why she conquered, and what title therto,
And after of hire mischefe and hire wo,
How that she was beseged, and ytake,
Let him unto my maister Petrark go,
That writeth ynough of this, I undertake.

Whan Odenate was ded, she mightily
The regnes held, and with hire propre hond
Agains hire fos she fought so cruelly,
That ther n'as king ne prince in all that lond,
That he n'as glad, if he that grace fond
That she ne wolde upon his lond werreye:
With hire they maden alliaunce by bond
To ben in pees, and let hire ride and pleye.

The emperour of Rome Claudius,
Ne, him beforn, the Romain Galien
Ne dorste never be so corageous,
Ne non Ermin, ne non Egiptien,
Ne Surrien, ne non Arabien
Within the feld ne dorste with hire fight,
Lest that she wold hem with hire hondes slen,
Or with hire meinie putten hem to flight.

In kinges habite wente hire sones two,
As heires of hir fadres regnes alle,
And Heremanno and Timolao
Hir names were, as Persiens hem calle.
But ay fortune hath in hire honey galle:
This mighty quene may no while endure,
Fortune out of hire regne made hire falle
To wretchednesse, and to misaventure.

Aurelian, whan that the governance
Of Rome came into his hondes twey,
He shope upon this quene to do vengeance,
And with his legions he toke his way
Toward Zenobie, and shortly for to say,
He made bire flee, and atte last hire hent,
And fettred hire, and eke hire children tway,
Ann wan the lond, and home to Rome he went.

To Rome again repaireth Julius With his triumphe laureat ful hie, But on a time Brutus and Cassius, That ever had of his high estat envie, Ful prively had made conspiracie Ageins this Julius in sotil wise:

And cast the place, in which he shulde die
With bodekins, as I shal you devise.

This Julius to the capitolie wente
Upon a day, as he was wont to gon,
And in the capitolie auon him hente
This false Brutus, and his other foon,
And stiked him with bodekins anon

With many a wound, and thus they let him lie:
But never gront he at no stroke but on,
Or elles at two, but if his storie lie.

So manly was this Julius of herte,
And so wel loved estatly honestee,
That though his dedly woundes sore smerte,
His mantel over his hippes caste he,
For no man shulde seen his privetee:
And as he lay of dying in a trance,
And wiste veraily that ded was he,
Of honestee yet had he remembrance.

Lucan, to thee this storie I recommende,
And to Sueton, and Valerie also,

That of this storie writen word and ende:
How that to thise gret conqueroures two
Fortune was first a frend, and sith a fo.
No man ne trust upon hire favour long,
But have hire in await for evermo;
Witnesse on all thise conqueroures strong.

CRESUS.

The riche Cresus, whilom king of Lide,
Of whiche Cresus, Cirus sore him dradde,
Yet was he caught amiddes all his pride,
And to be brent men to the fire him ladde:
But swiche a rain doun from the welken shadde,
That slow the fire, and made to him escape:
But to beware no grace yet he hadde,
Til fortune on the galwes made him gape.

Whan he escaped was, he can not stint
For to beginne a newe werre again:
He wened wel, for that fortune him sent
Swiche hap, that he escaped thurgh the rain,
That of his foos he mighte not be slain;
And eke a sweven upon a night he mette,
Of which he was so proud, and eke so fain,
That in vengeance he all his herte sette.

Upon a tree he was, as that him thought,
Ther Jupiter him weshe, both bak and side;
And Phebus eke a faire towail him brought
To drie him with, and therfore wex his pride.
And to his doughter that stood him beside,
Which that he knew in high science habound,
He bad hire tell him what it signified,
And she his dreme began right thus expound.
"The tree" (quod she) " the galwes is to mene,
And Jupiter betokeneth snow and rain,
And Phebus with his towail clere and clene,
Tho ben the Sonnes stremes, soth to sain:
Thou shalt anhanged be, fader, certain;
Rain shal thee wash, and Sonne shal thee dric."
Thus warned him ful plat and eke ful plain
His doughter, which that called was Phanie.

Anhanged was Cresus the proude king,
His real trone might him not availle:
Tragedie is non other maner thing,
Ne can in singing crien ne bewaile,
But for that fortune all day wol assaille
With unware stroke the regnes that ben proude:
For whan men trusten hire, than wol she faille,
And cover hire bright face with a cloude.

PETER OF SPAINE.

O noble, o worthy Petro, glorie of Spaine,
Whom fortune held so high in majestee,
Wel oughten men thy pitous deth complaine.
Out of thy lond thy brother made thee flee,
And after at a sege by sotiltee

Thou were betraied, and lad unto his tent,
Wher as he with his owen hond slow thee,
Succeeding in thy regne and in thy rent.

The feld of snow, with th' egle of blak therin,
Caught with the limerod, coloured as the glede,
He brewed this curseduesse, and all this sinne;
The wicked neste was werker of this dede;
Not Charles Oliver, that toke ay hede
Of trouthe and honour, but of Armorike
Geniton Oliver, corrupt for mede,
Brought this worthy king in swiche a brike.

PETRO, KING OF CYPRE.

O worthy Petro king of Cypre also,
That Alexandrie wan by high maistrie,
Ful many an hethen wroughtest thou ful wo,
Of which thin owen lieges had envie:
And for no thing but for thy chivalrie,
They in thy bed han slain thee by the morwe;
Thus can fortune hire whele governe and gie,
And out of joye bringen men to sorwe.

BARNABO VISCOUNT.

Of Milane grete Barnabo Viscount,
God of delit, and scourge of Lumbardie,
Why shuld I not thin infortune account,
Sith in estat thou clomben were so high?
Thy brothers sone, that was thy double allie,
For he thy nevew was, and sone in lawe,
Within his prison made he thee to die,
But why, ne how, n'ot I that thou were slawe.

HUGELIN OF PISE.

Of the erl Hugelin of Pise the langour
Ther may no tonge tellen for pitee.
But litel out of Pise stant a tour,
In whiche tour in prison yput was he,
And with him ben his litel children three,
The eldest scarsely five yere was of age:
Alas! fortune, it was gret crueltee
Swiche briddes for to put in swiche a cage.

Dampned was he to die in that prison,
For Roger, which that bishop was of Pise,
Had on him made a false suggestion,
Thurgh which the peple gan upon him rise,
And put him in prison, in swiche a wise,
As ye ban herd; and mete and drinke he had
So smale, that wel unnethe it may suffise,
And therwithal it was ful poure and bad.