Some leap into the roof. Without doubt,
Though the fiend not to our sight himself reveals,
I believe he was with us, that same devil!
In hell, where he is lord and sire,
There is no more woe, nor rancor nor ire.
When our pot is broken, as I have said,
Every man himself holds paid badly.
Some said it was too long on the fire heating;
Some said no, it was the blowing—
Then was I afraid, for that was my chore.
“Straw!” said the third, “you be simple and unlearned,
It was not blended as it ought to have been.”
“Nay,” said the fourth, “shut up and listen:
Because our fire was not made of beechwood,
That is the cause and no other, so help me God!”
I cannot tell why it went wrong,
But well I know the strife was among us.
“What,” said my lord, “there is no more to be done;
Of these perils I will be wary from now on.
I am right siker that the pot was crased.
Be as be may, be ye no-thing amased;
As usage is, lat swepe the floor as swythe,
Plukke up your hertes, and beth gladde and blythe.”
The mullok on an hepe y-sweped was,
And on the floor y-cast a canevas,
And al this mullok in a sive y-throwe,
And sifted, and y-piked many a throwe.
“Pardee,” quod oon, “somwhat of our metal
That we concluden evermore amis.
But, be it hoot or cold, I dar seye this,
Yet is ther heer, though that we han nat al.
Al-though this thing mishapped have as now,
Another tyme it may be wel y-now,
Us moste putte our good in aventure;
A marchant, parde! may nat ay endure
Trusteth me wel, in his prosperitee;
Somtyme his good is drenched in the see,
And somtym comth it sauf un-to the londe.”
“Pees!” quod my lord, “the next tyme I wol fonde
To bringe our craft al in another plyte;
And but I do, sirs, lat me han the wyte;
Ther was defaute in som-what, wel I woot.”
Another seyde, the fyr was over hoot:—
We fayle of that which that we wolden have,
And in our madnesse evermore we rave.
And whan we been togidres everichoon,
Every man semeth a Salomon.
But al thing which that shyneth as the gold
Nis nat gold, as that I have herd it told;
Ne every appel that is fair at ye
Ne is nat good, what-so men clappe or crye.
Right-so, lo! fareth it amonges us;
He that semeth the wysest, by Jesus!
Is most fool, whan it cometh to the preef;
And he that semeth trewest is a theef;
That shul ye knowe, er that I fro yow wende,
But that I of my tale have maad an ende.
I am right sure the pot was cracked.
Be it as it may, by no means be dismayed;
As customary, sweep the floor without delay,
Pluck up your spirits and make a blithe face.”
The rubbish into a heap was swept,
And on the floor was cast a canvas,
And all this mess in a sieve thrown,
And sifted, and thoroughly picked through.
“By God,” said one, “some of our metal
Yet is here, though we have not all.
And though this thing went wrong for now,
Another time it may go well enough,
We must trust to luck.
A merchant, by God, may not ever endure,
Trust me well, in his prosperity.
Sometimes his cargo is drowned in the sea,
And sometimes it safely reaches land.”
“Peace!” said my lord, “the next time I will try
To bring our craft to another ending,
And if I do not, sires, let me have the blame.
There was fault in it somewhat, well I know.”
Another said the fire was over-hot—
But, be it hot or cold, I dare say this,
That we always ended up amiss.
We failed to get what we tried to have,
And in our madness evermore we raved.
And when we were together everyone,
Every man seemed a Solomon.
But every thing that shines as gold
Is not gold, as I have heard told;
Nor every apple that is fair to the eye
Is good, whatsoever men chatter or cry.
Right so, look, fared it among us;
He who seemed the wisest, by Jesus,
Was most the foolish, when it came to the test;
And he was a thief who seemed most true.
That shall you know, before I from you wend,
By when I of my tale have made an end.
PART TWO
Ther is a chanoun of religioun
Amonges us, wolde infecte al a toun,
Though it as greet were as was Ninivee,
Rome, Alisaundre, Troye, and othere three.
His sleightes and his infinit falsnesse
Ther coude no man wryten, as I gesse,
Thogh that he mighte liven a thousand yeer.
In al this world of falshede nis his peer;
For in his termes so he wolde him winde,
And speke his wordes in so sly a kinde,
Whan he commune shal with any wight,
That he wol make him doten anon right,
But it a feend be, as him-selven is.
Ful many a man hath he bigyled er this,
And wol, if that he live may a whyle;
And yet men ryde and goon ful many a myle
Him for to seke and have his aqueyntaunce,
Noght knowinge of his false governaunce.
And if yow list to yeve me audience,
I wol it tellen heer in your presence.
But worshipful chanouns religious,
Ne demeth nat that I sclaundre your hous,
Al-though my tale of a chanoun be.
Of every ordre som shrewe is, parde,
And god forbede that al a companye
Sholde rewe a singuler mannes folye.
To sclaundre yow is no-thing myn entente,
But to correcten that is mis I mente.
This tale was nat only told for yow,
But eek for othere mo; ye woot wel how
That, among Cristes apostelles twelve,
Ther nas no traytour but Judas him-selve.
Than why sholde al the remenant have blame
That giltlees were? by yow I seye the same.
Save only this, if ye wol herkne me,
If any Judas in your covent be,
Remeveth him bitymes, I yow rede,
PART TWO
There is a canon of religion
Among us, who would infect all a town,
Though it as great were as Nineveh,7
Rome, Alexandria, Troy, and others three.
His deceptions and his infinite falseness
There could no man write, as I guess,
Though he might live a thousand year.
In all this world of falsehood none is his peer,
For in his terminology he will so him wind,
And speak his words in so sly a kind,
When he communes with any person,
Then he will make him act dumb,
Unless the man a fiend is, as he himself is.
Full many a man has he beguiled before this,
And will, if he lives longer for awhile;
And yet men ride and go full many a mile
Him to seek and have his acquaintance,
Not knowing of his false intentions.
And if you wish to give me audience
,
I will it tell here in your presence.
But worshipful canons religious,
Deem not that I slander your house,
Although my tale of a canon be.
In every house some wretch is, by God,
And God forbid that all a company
Should rue a single man’s folly.
To slander you is in no way my intent,
But to correct what is amiss I mention.
This tale is not only told for you,
But also for others more; you know well how
That among Christ’s apostles twelve
There was no traitor but Judas himself.
Then why should all the others have a blemish
Who guiltless were? To you I say the same,
Save only this, if you will harken to me:
If any Judas in your house be,
Remove him soon, I advise you,
If shame or loss may causen any drede.
And beth no-thing displesed, I yow preye,
But in this cas herkneth what I shal seye.
In London was a preest, an annueleer,
That therein dwelled hadde many a yeer,
Which was so pleasaunt and so servisable
Unto the wyf, wher-as he was at table,
That she wolde suffre him no-thing for to paye
For bord ne clothing, wente he never so gaye;
And spending-silver hadde he right y-now.
Therof no fors; I wol procede as now,
And telle forth my tale of the chanoun,
That broghte this preest to confusioun.
This false chanoun cam up-on a day
Unto this preestes chambre, wher he lay,
Biseching him to lene him a certeyn
Of gold, and he wolde quyte it him ageyn.
“Lene me a mark,” quod he, “but dayes three,
And at my day I wol it quyten thee.
And if so be that thou me finde fals,
Another day do hange me by the hals!”
This preest him took a mark, and that as swythe,
And this chanoun him thanked ofte sythe,
And took his leve, and wente forth his weye,
And at the thridde day broghte his moneye,
And to the preest he took his gold agayn,
Wherof this preest was wonder glad and fayn.
“Certes,” quod he, “no-thing anoyeth me
To lene a man a noble, or two or three,
Or what thing were in my possessioun,
Whan he so trewe is of condicioun,
That in no wyse he broke wol his day;
To swich a man I can never seye nay.”
“What!” quod this chanoun, “sholde I be untrewe?
Nay, that were thing y-fallen al of-newe.
Trouthe is a thing that I wol ever kepe
Un-to that day in which that I shal crepe
In-to my grave, and elles god forbede;
Bileveth this as siker as is your crede.
If shame or loss cause any fear.
And be in no way displeased, I pray you,
But in this case listen to what I shall say.
In London was a chantry priest,8
Who there had dwelt many a year,
And who was so pleasant and attentive
Unto the wife, when he was at table,
That she would not allow him to pay
For board nor clothing, though he was well dressed,
And spending silver had he right enough.
No matter; I will proceed as now,
And tell forth my tale of the canon
Who brought this priest to ruin.
This false canon came upon a day
Unto this priest’s chamber, where he lay,
Beseeching him to lend him of gold a certain
Amount, and he would pay him back again.
“Lend me a mark,” said he, “for but days three,
And at my day I will repay you.
And if it so be that you find me untrue,
Another day hang me by the neck!”
This priest he took a mark, right then,
And this canon thanked him again and again,
And took his leave, and went forth his way,
And at the third day brought his money,
And to the priest he repaid his gold he him owed,
Whereof this priest was wondrous eager and glad.
“Certainly,” said he, “in no way does it annoy me
To lend a man a noble, or two, or three,
Or something in my possession,
When he so true is of disposition
That in no way he misses his due day;
To such a man I can never say nay.”
“What!” said this canon, “should I be untrue?
Nay, that would be something new.
Truth is a thing that I will ever keep
Unto that day in which that I shall creep
Into my grave, and otherwise God forbid.
Believe this as surely as your Creed.
God thanke I, and in good tyme be it sayd,
That ther was never man yet yvel apayd
For gold ne silver that he to me lente,
Ne never falshede in myn herte I mente.
And sir,” quod he, “now of my privetee,
Sin ye so goodlich han been un-to me,
And kythed to me so greet gentillesse,
Somwhat to quyte with your kindenesse,
I wol yow shewe, and, if yow list to lere,
I wol yow teche pleynly the manere,
How I can werken in philosophye.
Taketh good heed, ye shul wel seen as ye,
That I wol doon a maistrie er I go.”
“Ye,” quod the preest, “ye, sir, and wol ye so?
Marie! ther-of I pray yow hertely!”
“At your comandement, sir, trewely,”
Quod the chanoun, “and elles god forbede!”
Lo, how this theef coude his servyse bede!
Ful sooth it is, that swich profred servyse
Stinketh, as witnessen thise olde wyse;
And that ful sone I wol it verifye
In this chanoun, rote of al trecherye,
That ever-more delyt hath and gladnesse—
Swich freendly thoughtes in his herte impresse—
How Cristes peple he may to meschief bringe;
God kepe us from his fals dissimulinge!
Noght wiste this preest with whom that he delte,
Ne of his harm cominge he no-thing felte.
O sely preest! O sely innocent!
With coveityse anon thou shalt be blent!
O gracelees, ful blind is thy conceit,
No-thing ne artow war of the deceit
Which that this fox y-shapen hath to thee!
His wyly wrenches thou ne mayst nat flee.
Wherfor, to go to the conclusioun
That refereth to thy confusioun,
Unhappy man! anon I wol me hye
To tellen thyn unwit and thy folye,
And eek the falsnesse of that other wrecche,
I thank God, fortunately it may be said,
That there was never yet man evilly repaid
For gold or silver that he to me lent,
Nor ever falsehood in my heart I meant.
And sire,” said he, ”now confidentially,
Since you so good have been to me,
And shown to me such great gentleness,
Somewhat to repay you for your kindness
I will show you, and if you wish to learn,
I will you teach plainly the manner
How I can work in alchemy.
Take good heed; you will see with your own eyes
That masterfully will I perform before I go.”
“Yea,” said the priest, “yea, sire, and will you so?
By Saint Mary, thereof I pray you heartily.”
“At your commandment, sir, truly,”
Sai
d the canon, “and anything else may God forbid!”
Look, how this thief could his service proffer!
For truth it is such favors unasked for
Stink, so say the wise,
And that full soon will I verify
In this canon, root of all treachery,
Who evermore found delight and cheer—
Such fiendish thoughts his heart held near—
Of how to Christ’s people he might destruction bring.
God keep us from his false dissembling!
Not knew this priest with whom he dealt,
Nor of his harm coming he any thing felt.
Oh nice priest! Oh innocent naive!
By covetousness soon will you be fleeced!
Oh unfortunate one, full blind is your mind
In no way are you aware of the deceit
Which this fox has for you prepared!
His wily tricks you may not flee.
Wherefore, to go to the conclusion,
That refers to your ruin,
Unlucky man, anon I will me hie
To tell your unwit and your folly,
And also the falseness of that other wretch,
As ferforth as that my conning may strecche.
This chanoun was my lord, ye wolden wene?
Sir host, in feith, and by the hevenes quene,
It was another chanoun, and nat he,
That can an hundred fold more subtiltee!
He hath bitrayed folkes many tyme;
Of his falshede it dulleth me to ryme.
Ever whan that I speke of his falshede,
For shame of him my chekes wexen rede;
Algates, they biginnen for to glowe,
For reednesse have I noon, right wel I knowe,
In my visage; for fumes dyverse
Of metals, which ye han herd me reherce,
Consumed and wasted han my reednesse.
Now tak heed of this chanouns cursednesse!
“Sir,” quod he to the preest, “lat your man gon
For quik-silver, that we it hadde anon;
And lat him bringen ounces two or three;
And whan he comth, as faste shul ye see
A wonder thing, which ye saugh never er this.”
“Sir,” quod the preest, “it shal be doon, y-wis.”
He bad his servant fecchen him this thing,
And he al redy was at his bidding,
And wente him forth, and cam anon agayn
With this quik-silver, soothly for to sayn,
And took thise ounces three to the chanoun;
And he hem leyde fayre and wel adoun,
And bad the servant coles for to bringe,
That he anon mighte go to his werkinge.
The coles right anon weren y-fet,
And this chanoun took out a crosselet
Of his bosom, and shewed it the preest.
“This instrument,” quod he, “which that thou seest,
Canterbury Tales (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) Page 67