Or Cecile is to fayn, The way to Llinde,
For the enfample was by good teching,
Or elles Cecilie, as I writen finde,
Is joined by a maner conjoining
Of heven and Lia, and here in figuring
The heven is fet for thought of holineffe,
And Lia for hire lafting befineffe.
Cecilie may eke be fayd in this manere,
Wanting of blindneffe, for hire grete light
Of fapience, and for hire thewes clere;
Or elles lo this maidens name bright
Of heven and Lees cometh, for which by right
Men might hire wel the heven of peple calle,
Infample of good and wife werkes alle.
For Leas peple in English is to say:
And right as men may in the heven fee
The fonne and mone, and terres, every way,
Right fo men goftly, in this maiden free
Sawen of faith the magnanimitee,
And eke the clereneffe hole of fapience,
And fondry werkes bright of excellence.
And right fo as thise pholofophres write,
That heven is swift and round, and eke brenning,
Right fo was faire Cecilie the white
Ful fwift and befy in every good werking,
And round and hole in good perfevering,
And brenning ever in charitiee ful bright.
Now have I you delcared what the hight.
This maiden bright Cecile, as hire life faith,
Was come of Romaines and noble kind,
And from hire cradle foftred in the faith
Of Crift, and bare his gospel in hire mind:
She never cefed, as I writen find,
Of hire prayere, and God to love and drede,
Befeching him to kepe hire maidenhede.
And whan this maiden fhuld until a man
Ywedded be that was ful yonge of age,
Which that ycleped was Valerian,
And day was comen of hire marriage,
She ful devout and humble in hire corage,
Under hire robe of gold, that fat ful faire
Had next hire flesh yclad hire in an haire.
And while that the organs maden melodie
To God alone thus in hire hert fong the;
O Lord! my foule and eke my bodie gie
Unwemmed, left that I confounded be.
And for his love that died upon the tree
Every fecond or thridde day fhe fast,
Ay bidding in hire orifons ful faft.
The night came, and to bed must she gon
With hire hufbond, as it is the manere,
And prively the faid to him anon;
O fwete and wel beloved fpoufe dere!
Ther is a confeil, and ye wol it here,
Which that right sayn I wold unto you faie,
So that ye fwere ye wol it not bewraie.
Valerian gan faft unto hire swere
That for no cas ne thing that mighte be
He fhulde never to non bewraien here;
And than at erft thus to him saide she;
I have an angel which that loveth me,
That with gret love wher fo I wake or slepe
Is redy ay my body for to kepe:
And if that he may felen out of drede
That ye me touch or love in vilanie,
8
He right anon wol fleen you with the dede,
And in your youthe thus ye fhulden die ;
And if that ye in clene love me gie,
He wol you love as me for your cleneneffe,
And fhew to you his joye and his brightnesse.
This Valerian, corrected as God wold,
Answered again; If I fhal truften thee
Let me that angel feen and him behold,
And if that it a veray angel be,
Than wol I don as thou haft prayed me;
And if thou love another man, forfothe
Right with this fwerd then wol I flee you bothe
Cecile anfwerd anon right in this wife :
If that you lift the angel fhul you see,
So that ye trowe on Crift, and you baptife :
Go forth to Via Apia, (quod fhe)
That fro this toun ne ftant but miles three,
And to the poure folkes that ther dwellen
Say hem right thus as that I fhal you tellen.
Tell hem that I Cecile you to hem fent
To fhewen you the good Urban the old,
For fecree nedes and for good entent;
And whan that ye Seint Urban han behold,
Tell him the wordes whiche I to you told:
And whan that he hath purged you fro finne
Than fhal ye feen that angel ere ye twinne.
Valerian is to the place gon,
And right as he was taught by hire lerning
He fond this holy old Urban anon
Among the feintes buriels louting;
And he anon withouten tarying
Did his meffage, and whan that he it tolde
Urban for joye his hondes gan upholde.
The teres from his eyen let he falle;
Almighty Lord, o Jefu Crift quod he,
Sower of chaft confeil, hierde of us alle,
The fruit of thilk feede of chastitee
That thou haft fow in Cecile take to thee:
Lo, like a befy bee withouten gile
Thee ferveth ay thin owen thral Cecile.
For thilk fpoufe that she toke but newe,
Ful like a fiers leon, the fendeth here
As meke as ever was any lamb or ewe.
And with that word anon ther gan apere
An old man clad in white clothes clere,
That had a book with letters of gold in hond,
And gan beforne Valerian to ftond.
Valerian as ded fell doun for drede
Whan he him faw, and he up hent him thɔ,
And on his book right thus he gan to rede:
On Lord, on faith, on God withouten mo,
On Cristendom, and fader of all alfo
Aboven all, and over all every wher.
Thise wordes all with gold ywriten were.
Whan this was red, than faid this olde man,
Leveft thou this thing or no? fay ye or nay.
I leve all this thing, quod Valerian,
For fother thing than this I dare wel fay
Under the heven no wight thinken may.
Tho vanished the olde man he n'ifte wher,
And Pope Urban him cristened right ther.
Valerian goth home, and fint Cecilie
Within his chambre with an angel ftonde :
This angel had of rofes and of lilie
Corones two, the which he bare in honde,
And firft to Cecile, as I understonde,
He yaf that on, and after gan he take
That other to Valerian hire make,
With body clene and with unwemmed thought
Kepeth ay wel thife corones two, quod he,
From Paradis to you I have hem brought,
Ne never mo ne fhul they roten be,
Ne lefe hir fwete favour, trusteth me,
Ne never wight fhal feen hem with his eye,
But he be chafte and hate vilanie.
And thou, Valerian, for thou so fone
Affentedeft to good confeil, alfo
Say what thee lift and thou shalt han thy bone.
I have a brother, quod Valerian tho,
That in this world I love no man fo,
I pray you that my brother may have grace
To know the trouth, as I do in this place.
The angel fayd, God liketh thy request,
And bothe with the palme of martirdome
Ye fhullen come unto this blissful reft;
And with that word Tiburce his brother come.
And whan that he the favour undernome,
Which that the rofes and the lilies caft,
Within his herte he gan to wonder fast,
And faid; I wonder this time of the yere
Whenes that fwete favour cometh fo
Of rofes and lilies that I fmelle here,
For though I had hem min hondes two
'The favour might in me no deper go!
'The fwete fmel that in min herte I find
Hath changed me all in another kind.
Valerian faid, Two corones han we
Snow-white and rofe-red, that shinen clere,
Which that thin eyen han no might to fee,
And as thou fmelleft hem thurgh my praiere,
So fhalt thou feen hem, leve brother dere,
If it fo be thou wolt withouten flouthe
Beleve aright, and know the veray trouthe.
Tiburce anfwered; Saieft thou this to me
In fothneffe, or in dreme herken I this?
In dremes, quod Valerian, han we be
Unto this time, brother min, ywis;
But now at erft in trouthe our dwelling is.
How woft thou this, quod Tiburce, in what wife?
Quod Valerian, That fhal I thee devife.
The angel of God hath me the trouth ytaught,
Which thou fhalt feen, if that thou wilt rency
The idoles, and be clene, and elles naught.
And of the miracle of thife corones twey
Seint Ambrofe in his preface lift to fey;
Solempnely this noble doctour dere
Commendeth it, and faith in this manere:
The palme of martirdome for to receive
Seint Cecilie, fulfilled of Goddes yeft,
The world and eke hire chambre gan fhe weive,
Witneffe Tiburces and Ceciles fhrift,
To which God of his bountee wolde fhift
Corones two, of floures wel fmelling,
And made his angel hem the corones bring.
The maid hath brought thise men to bliffe
above;
For they ben dombe, and therto they ben dove;
And charged him his idoles for to leve.
Who fo that troweth not this, a best he is,
Quod this Tiburce, if that I fhal not lie.
And the gan kiffe his breft whan fhe herd this,
And was ful glad he coude trouthe espie:
This day I take thee for min allie,
Saide this blifsful faire maiden dere;
And after that the faid as ye may here:
Lo, right fo as the love of Crift (quod fhe)
Made me thy brothers wif, right in that wife
Anon for min allie here take I thee,
Sithen that thou wolt thin idoles defpife.
Goth with thy brother now and thee baptife,
And make thee clene, fo that thou maift behold
The angels face of which thy brother told.
Tiburce answered, and faide, Brother dere,
First tell me whither I fhal, and to what man.
To whom, quod he, Come for with goode chere,
I wol thee lede unto the Pope Urban.
To Urban?, brother min, Valerian,
Quod tho Tiburce, wilt thou me thider lede?
Me thinketh that it were a wonder dede.
Ne menest thou not Urban (quod he tho)
That is fo often damned to be ded,
And woneth in halkes alway to and fro,
And dare not ones putten forth his hed?
Men fhold him brennen in a fire fo red
If he were found, or that men might him fpie,
And we alfo, to bere him compagnie.
And while we feken thilke divinitee
That is yhid in heven prively,
Algate ybrent in this world fhuld we be.
To whom Cecile anfwered boldel7;
Men mighten dreden wel and skilfully
This lif to lefe, min owen dere brother!
If this were living only and non other.
But ther is better lif in other place
That never fhal be loft, ne drede thee nought,
Which Goddes fone us tolde thurgh his grace,
That fadres fone which alle thinges wrought;
And all that wrought is with a skilful thought,
The goft that from the fader gan procede
Hath fouled hem withouten any drede.
By word and by miracle he Goddes fone,
Whan he was in this world, declared here
That ther is other lif ther men may wone.
To whom anfwerd Tiburce; O fufter dere!
Ne faideft thou right now in this manere,
Ther n'is but o God Lord in fothfaftnesse,
And now of three how mayft thou bere witneffe!
That fhal I tell, quod fhe, or that I go.
Right as a man hath fapiences three,
Memorie, engine, and intellect alfo,
So in o being of divinitee
Three perfones mowen ther righte wel be.
Tho gan fhe him ful befily to preche
Of Criftes fonde, and of his peines teche,
And many pointes of his paflion,
How Goddes fone in this world was withhold
The world hath wift what it is worth certain, To don mankinde pleine remiffion,
Devotion of chastitee to love.
Though fhewed him Cecile all open and plain
That all idoles n'is but a thing in vain,
That was ybound in finne and kares cold.
All this thing the unto Tiburce told,
And after this Tiburce in good entent
With Valerian to Pope Urban he went,
That thanked God, and with glad herte and
light
He criftened him, and made him in that place
Parfite in his lerning, and Goddes knight:
And after this Tiburce gat fwiche grace
That every day he faw in time and space
The angel of God and every maner bone
That he God axed it was fped ful fone.
It were ful hard by ordre for to fain
How many wonders Jefus for hem wrought:
But at the laft, to tellen short and plain,
The fergeaunts of the toun of Rome hem fought,
And hem before Almache the Prefect brought,
Which hem appofed, and knew all hir entent,
And to the image of Jupiter hem fent.
And faid, Who fo wol nought do facrifice
Swap of his hed; this is my fentence here.
Anon thife martyrs that I you devise
On Maximus, that was an officere
Of the Prefectes, and his Corniculere
Hem hent, and whan he forth the feintes lad
Himfelf he wept for pitee that he had.
Whan Maximus had herd the feintes lore
He gate him of the turmentoures leve,
And lad hem to his hous withouten more;
And with hir preching or that it were eve
They gonnen fro the turmentours to reve,
And fro Maxime, and fro his folk eche on,
The falfe faith, to trowe in God alone.
Cecilie came, whan it was waxen night,
With preeftes that hem criftened all yfere;
And afterward whan day was waxen light
Cecilie hem faid with a ful ftedfast chere,
Now, Criftes owen knightes leve and dere,
Cafe all away the werkes of derkeneffe,
And armeth you in armes of brightneffe,
Ye han forfoth ydon a gret bataille; Your cours is don; your faith hath you conferved; Goth to the croune of lif that may not faille; The rightful juge, which that ye han ferved, Shal yeve it you, as ye han it deferved. And whan this thing was faid as I devise Men ledde hem forth to don the facrifice. But whan they weren to the place ybrought, To tellen fhortly the conclufioun, They n'olde encenfe ne facrifice right nought, But on hir knees they fetten hem adoun, With humble herte and fad devotioun, And loften both hir hedes in the place : Hir foules wenten to the King of grace. This Maximus, that faw this thing betide, With pitous teres told it anon right That he hit foules faw to heven glide With angels, ful of clereneffe and of light, And with his word converted many a wight, For which Almachins did him to-bete With whip of led til he his lif gan lete. Cecile him toke and buried him anon By Tiburce and Valerian foftely, Within hir burying place, under the fton; And after this Almachius hastily Bad his miniftres fetchen openly VOL. I.
Cecile, fo that the might in his prefence
Don facrifice, and Jupiter encense.
But they, converted at hire wife lore,
Wepten ful fore, and yaven ful credence
Unto hire word, and crieden more and more
Crift, Goddes fone, withouten difference,
Is veray God, this is all our fentence,
That hath fo good a servant him to serve :
Thus with o vois we trowen though we serve.
Almachius, that herd of this doing,
Bad fetchen Cecile, that he might hire fee :
And alderfirst, lo, this was his axing;
What maner woman art thou? quod he.
I am a gentilwoman borne, quod fhe.
I axe thee, quod he, though it thee greve,
Of thy religion and of thy beleve.
Why than began your question folily,
Quod fhe, that woldeft two anfwers conclude
In o demand? Ye axen lewedly.
Almache answered to that fimilitude,
Of whennes cometh thin answering fo rude?
Of whennes? (quod fhe, whan that she was friened)
Of confcience, and of good faith unfeined.
Almachius faid; Ne takeft thou non hede
Of my power? And the him anfwerd this;
Your might (quod fhe) ful litel is to drede,
For every mortal manncs power n'is
But like a bladder ful of wind ywis,
For with a nedles point whan it is blow
May all the boft of it be laid ful low.
Ful wrongfully begonneft thou, (quod he)
And yet in wrong is all thy perfeverance:
Woft thou not how our mighty princes free
Have thus commanded and made ordinance
That every Criften wight fhal han penance
But if that he his Cristendome withfeye,
And gon al quite if he wol it reneye?
Your princes erren, as your nobley doth,
Quod tho Cecile, and with a wood fentence
Ye make us gilty, and it is not foth;
For ye, that knowen wel our innocence,
For as moche as we don ay reverence
To Crift, and for we bere a Criften rame,
Ye put on us a crime and eke a blame.
But we, that knowen thilke name fo
For vertuous, we may it not withfeye.
Almache answered; Chefe on of thise two,
Do facrifice, or Criftendom reneye,
That thou mow now escapen by that wey.
At which this holy blisful fayre maid
Gan for to laughe, and to the juge said;
O juge! confufe in thy nicetee,
Woldest thou that I reneye innocence?
To maken me a wicked wight (quod fhe)
Lo, he diffimuleth here in audience,
He ftareth and wodeth in his advertence.
To whom Almachius faid, Unfely wretch!'
Ne woft thou not how far my might may stretch?
Han not our mighty princes to me yeven
Ya bothe power and cke auctoritee
To maken folk to dein or to liven?
Why spekeft thou so proudly than to me?
I ne fpeke nought but stedfastly, quod fhe,
Not proudely, for I fay, as for my fide
We haten dedly thilke vice of pride.
And if thou drede not a foth for to here
Than wol I fhewe al openly by right
That thou haft made a ful gret lefing here.
Thou faift thy princes han thee yeven might
Both for to flee and for to quicken a wight.
Thou that ne maist but only lif bereve
Thou haft non other power ne no leve.
But thou maist fayn thy princes han thee maked
Miniftre of Deth, for if thou speke of mo
Thou lieft, for thy power is ful naked.
Do way thy boldneffe, faid Almachius tho,
And facrifice to our goddes er thou go.
I recke not what wrong that thou me proffre,
For I can fuffre it as a philofophre.
But thilke wronges may I not endure
That thou fpekeft of our goddes here, quod he.
Cecile anfwerd; O nice creature!
Thou faideft no word fin thou fpake to me
That I ne knew therwith thy nicetee,
And that thou were in every maner wife
A lewed officer, a vain juftice.
Ther lacketh nothing to thin utter eyen
Home til hire hous, and in hire hous (quod he)
Brenne hire right in a bath with flames rede.
And as he bade right fo was don the dede,
For in a bathe they gonne hire faste shetten,
And night and day gret fire they under betten.
The longe night, and eke a day also,
For all the fire, and eke the bathes hete,
She fate al cold, and felt of it no wo;
It made hire not a drope for to fwete;
But in that bath hire lif she muste lete,
For he Almache with a ful wicke entent
To fleen hire in the bath his fonde fent.
Three ftrokes in the nekke he smote hire tho
The turmentour, but for no maner chance
He mighte not fmite all hire nekke atwo:
And for ther was that time an ordinance
That no man fhulde don man fwiche penance
The fourthe ftroke to fmiten foft or fore,
'This turmentour ne dorfte do no more;
But half ded, with hire nekke ycorven ther
He left hire lie, and on his way is went :
The Criften folk which that about hire were
With fhetes han the blood ful faire yhent:
Three dayes lived fhe in this turment,
That thou n'art blind; for thing that we feen alle, And never cefed hem the faith to teche,
That is a fton, that men may wel espien,
That ilke fton a god thou wolt it calle:
I rede thee let thin hond upon it falle,
And taft it wel, and fton thou shalt it find,
Sin that thou feeft not with thin cyen
It is a fhame that the peple fhal
So fcornen thee, and laugh at thy folic,
For comunly men wot it wel over al
That mighty God is in his hevens hie;
And thile images, wel maift thou efpie,
To thee ne to nemfelf may not profite,
For in effect they be not worth a mite.
Thife and wiche other wordes faid fhe,
That she had foftred hem fhe gan to preche.
And hem fhe yaf hire mebles and hire thing
And to the Pope Urban betoke hem tho,
And faid, I axed this of heven King
To have refpit three dayes and no mo,
To recommend to you or that I go
Thife foules, lo, and that I might do werche
Here of min houfe perpetuellich a cherce.
Seint Urban with his dekenes prively
The body fette, and buried it by night
Among his other feintes honeftly.
Hire hous The Cherche of Seint Cecile hight;
Scint Urban halowed it as he wel might,
And he wex wroth, and bade men fhulde hire lede In which unto this day in noble wife
Men don to Crift and to his feinte fervise.
THE CHANONES YEMANNES PROLOGUE.
WHAN that tolde was the lif of Seinte Cecile,
Er we had ridden fully five mile,
At Boughton-under-Blee us gan atake
A man that clothed was in clothes blake,
And undernethe he wered a white furplis.
His hakeney, which that was al pomelee gris,
So fwatte that it wonder was to fee;
It femed as he had priked miles three.
The horse eke that his Yeman rode upon
So fwatte that unnethes might he gon:
About the peytrel ftood the fome ful hie
He was of fome as flecked as a pie.
A male tweifold on his croper lay,
It femed that he caried litel array;
Al light for fommer rode this worthy man.
And in my herte wondren I began
What that he was, til that I understode
How that his cloke was fowed to his hode,
For which whan I had long avifed me
Idemed him fome chanon for to be.
Eshit heng at his back doun by a las,
For he had ridden more than trot or pas;
He had ay priked like as he were wode.
A clote lefe he had laid under his hode
For fwete, and for to kepe his hed fro hete:
But it was joye for to feen him fwete;
Harched dropped as a ftillatorie
Were ful of plantaine or of paritorie.
And whan that he was come he gan to crie,
God fave (quod he) this joly compagnie!
Fat have I priked (quod he) for your sake,
Becaufe that I wolde you atake,
To riden in this mery compagnie.
His Yeman was cke ful of curtefie,
And faide, Sires, now in the morwe tide
Out of your hoftelrie I faw you ride,
And warned here my lord and foverain,
Which that to riden with you is ful fain
For his difport; he loveth daliance.
Frend, for thy warning God yeve the good chance.
Than faid our Hofte: certain it wolde feme
Thy lord were wife, and fo I may wel deme;
He is ful joconde alfo dare I leye :
Can he ought tell a mery tale or tweie,
With which he gladen may this compagnie?
Who, Sire? my lord? Ye, Sire, withouten lie,
He can of mirth and eke of jolitee
Not but ynough; alfo, Sire, trufteth me
And ye him knew al fo wel as do I
Ye wolden wondre how wel and craftily
He coude werke, and that in fondry wife;
He hath take on him many a gret emprise,
Which were ful harde for any that is here
To bring about but they of him it lere.
As homely as he rideth amonges you
If ye him knew it wold be for your prow
Ye wolden not forgon his acquaintance
For mochel good, I dare lay in balance
All that I have in my poffeffion.
He is a man of high difcreffion;
I warne you wel he is a paffing man.
Wel, quod our Hofte, I pray thee tell me than
Is he a clerk or non? Tell what he is.
Nay, he is greter than a clerk ywis,
Saide this Yeman, and in wordes fewe,
Hofte, of his craft fomwhat I wol you fhewe.
I fay my lord can fwiche a fubtiltee,
(But all his craft ye moun not wete of me,
And fomwhat help I yet to his werking)
That all the ground on which we ben riding,
Til that we come to Canterbury toun,
He coud al clene turnen up fo doun,
And pave it all of filver and of gold.
And whan this Yeman had this tale ytolde
Unto our Hofte, he faid Benedicite!
This thing is wonder mervaillous to me,
Sin that thy lord is of fo high prudence,
Because of which men fhulde him reverence,
That of his worship rekketh he fo lite;
His overeft floppe it is not worth a mite,
As in effect, to him, so mote I go;
It is all baudy and to-tore alfo.
Why is thy lord fo fluttish I thee preye,
And is of power better cloth to beye,
If that his dede acorded with thy fpeche!
Telle me that, and that I thee befeche.
Why? quod this Yeman, wherto axe ye me?
God helpe me fo, for he fhal never the:
(But I wol not avowen that I fay,
And therfore kepe it fecree I you pray)
He is to wife in faith, as I beleve:
Thing that is overdon it wol not preve
Aright, as clerkes fain; it is a vice;
Wherfore in that I hold him lewed and nice;
For whan a man hath overgret a wit
Ful oft him happeth to misusen it:
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