Canterbury Tales (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

by Geoffrey Chaucer

  And these are drawn from Silver and from Gold.

  And therefore,” said he—”take heed to my screed13—

  Let no man busy him this art to seek,

  Unless he the intention and speech

  Of alchemists understands;

  And if he does, he is a wretched man.

  For this science and this cunning,“ he said,

  ”Is of the secret of the secrets, by God.”

  Also there was a disciple of Plato,14

  Who once upon a time told his master so,

  As in his book Senior Zadith will bear witness,

  And this was his request in truthfulness:

  “Tell me the name of the secret stone.”

  And Plato answered him anon,

  “Take the stone that Titanos men name.”

  “Which is that?” said he. “Magnasia is the same,”

  Said Plato. “Yea, sire, and is it thus?

  This is ignotum per ignocius.15

  What is Magnasia, good sire, I you pray?”

  “It is water that is made, I say,

  Of elements four,” said Plato.

  “Tell me the root, good sire,” said he then.

  “Of that water, if it be your will.”

  “Nay, nay,” said Plato, “certainly, I will not.

  The alchemists swear every one

  That they should tell it unto no one,

  Neither in a book nor write it in any way.

  For unto Christ is it so near and dear

  Who would not that it discovered be,

  Except where it pleases his deity

  Men to enlighten, and also to defend

  Those whom he likes; look, this is the end.”

  Then I conclude this, since God of heaven

  Wills not that the philosophers name

  How a man shall come unto this stone,

  I advise, as for the best, let it go.

  For whoso makes God his adversary,

  As for to werken any thing in contrarie

  Of his wil, certes, never shal he thryve,

  Thogh that he multiplye terme of his lyve.

  And ther a poynt; for ended is my tale;

  God sende every trewe man bote of his bale!—Amen

  By working anything in contrary

  To his will, certainly, never shall he thrive,

  Though all his life he alchemize.

  And there a stop, for ended is my tale.

  God send every true man a cure for what him ails!—Amen

  The Freres Tale

  The Prologue

  THIS WORTHY LIMITOUR, THIS noble Frere,

  He made alwey a maner louring chere

  Upon the Somnour, but for honestee

  No vileyns word as yet to him spak he.

  But atte laste he seyde un-to the Wyf,

  “Dame,” quod he, “god yeve yow right good lyf!

  Ye han heer touched, al-so mote I thee,

  In scole-matere greet difficultee;

  Ye han seyd muchel thing right wel, I seye;

  But dame, here as we ryden by the weye,

  Us nedeth nat to speken but of game,

  And lete auctoritees, on goddes name,

  To preching and to scole eek of clergye.

  But if it lyke to this companye,

  I wol yow of a somnour telle a game.

  Pardee, ye may wel knowe by the name,

  That of a somnour may no good be sayd;

  I praye that noon of you be yvel apayd.

  A somnour is a renner up and doun

  With mandements for fornicacioun,

  And is y-bet at every tounes ende.”

  Our host tho spak, “al sire, ye sholde be hende

  And curteys, as a man of your estaat;

  In companye we wol have no debaat.

  Telleth your tale, and lat the Somnour be”

  “Nay,” quod the Somnour, “lat him seye to me

  What so him list; whan it comth to my lot,

  By god, I shal him quyten every grot.

  I shal him tellen which a greet honour

  It is to be a flateringe limitour;

  And eek of many another manere cryme

  Which nedeth nat rehercen at this tyme;

  And his offyce I shal him telle, y-wis.”

  Our host answerde, “pees, na-more of this.”

  The Friar’s Tale

  The Prologue

  THIS WORTHY LIMITOUR,1 THIS noble Friar,

  He looked always with a sort of scowl

  Upon the Summoner, but for politeness’ sake

  No unpleasant words to him yet spoke he.

  But at last he said unto the wife,

  “Dame,” said he, “God give you right good life!

  You have here touched upon, as I swear to thee,

  Questions difficult for scholars worthy.

  You have said many things right well, I say;

  But dame, here as we ride right by the way,

  We need not speak but in play,

  And leave citing authorities, in God’s name,

  To preaching and to schools of clergy.2

  But if it is pleasing to this company,

  I will you of a summoner tell a story.

  By God, you may well know by the name

  That of a summoner no good may be said;

  I pray that none of you be displeased.

  A summoner is a runner up and down

  With summonses for fornication,

  And is beaten at every town’s end.”

  Our Host then spoke, “Ah, sir, you should be pleasant

  And courteous, as a man of your estate;

  In company we will have no debate.

  Tell your tale, and let the Summoner be.”

  “Nay,” said the Summoner, “let him say to me

  What he wishes; when it comes to my lot,

  By God, I shall get even to the last grot.

  I shall tell him what a great honor

  It is to be a flattering limitour,

  And of many other crimes

  That we need not mention at this time;

  And I shall surely tell how he does his job.”

  Our Host answered, “Peace, no more of this!”

  And after this he seyde un-to the Frere,

  “Tel forth your tale, leve maister deere.”

  The Tale

  Whilom ther was dwellinge in my contree

  An erchedeken, a man of heigh degree,

  That boldely dide execucioun

  In punisshinge of fornicacioun,

  Of wicchecraft, and eek of bauderye,

  Of diffamacioun, and avoutrye,

  Of chirche-reves, and of testaments,

  Of contractes, and of lakke of sacraments,

  And eek of many another maner cryme

  Which nedeth nat rehercen at this tyme;

  Of usure, and of symonye also.

  But certes, lechours dide he grettest wo;

  They sholde singen, if that they were hent;

  And smale tytheres weren foule y-shent.

  If any persone wolde up-on hem pleyne,

  Ther mighte asterte him no pecunial peyne.

  For smale tythes and for smal offringe

  He made the peple pitously to singe.

  For er the bisshop caughte hem with his hook,

  They weren in the erchedeknes book.

  Thanne hadde he, thurgh his jurisdiccioun,

  Power to doon on hem correccioun.

  He hadde a Somnour redy to his hond,

  A slyer boy was noon in Engelond;

  For subtilly he hadde his espiaille,

  That taughte him, wher that him mighte availle.

  He coude spare of lechours oon or two,

  To techen him to foure and twenty mo.

  For thogh this Somnour wood were as an hare,

  To tell his harlotrye I wol nat spare;

  For we been out of his correccioun;

  They han of us no jurisdiccioun,

>   Ne never shullen, terme of alle hir lyves.

  “Peter! so been the wommen of the styves,”

  Quod the Somnour, “y-put out of my cure!”

  And after this he said unto the Friar,

  “Tell forth your tale, my master dear.”

  The Tale

  Once there was dwelling in my territory

  An archdeacon, a man of high degree,3

  Who boldly did execution

  In punishing of fornication,

  Of witchcraft, and also of solicitation,

  Of defamation, and of embezzlement, and adultery,

  And of violation of wills and contracts for marriage,

  Of failure to observe the sacraments,

  And also of many another crime

  Which we need not rehearse at this time;

  Of usury and of simony4 too.

  But certainly, to lechers did he greatest woe;

  They had to plead if they were seized;

  And unpaid tithes5 and offerings were punished severely,

  If any parson would of them complain.

  They would escape no pecuniary pain.

  For unpaid tithes and short offerings

  He made the people piteously to beg,

  For before the bishop caught them with his crook,

  They were in the archdeacon’s book.

  Then had he, through his jurisdiction,

  Power to do on them correction.

  He had a summoner ready to his hand;

  A slyer boyo was none in England;

  Full subtly he made use of a ring of spies,

  Who let him know where profit might reside.

  He could spare of lechers one or two,

  To lead him to four and twenty more.

  For though this Summoner may go mad as a March hare,

  To tell his whoring I will not spare;

  For we be exempt from his power.

  They have over us no jurisdiction,

  Nor ever shall, long as they live.

  “By Saint Peter! so be women of the brothels,”

  Said the Summoner, “put beyond our power!”

  “Pees, with mischance and with misaventure,”

  Thus seyde our host, “and lat him telle his tale.

  Now telleth forth, thogh that the Somnour gale,

  Ne spareth nat, myn owene maister dere.”

  This false theef, this Somnour, quod the Frere,

  Hadde alwey baudes redy to his hond,

  As any hauk to lure in Engelond,

  That tolde him al the secree that they knewe:

  For hir acqueyntance was nat come of-newe.

  They weren hise approwours prively;

  He took him-self a greet profit therby;

  His maister knew nat alwey what he wan.

  With-outen mandement, a lewed man

  He coude somne, on peyne of Cristes curs,

  And they were gladde for to fille his purs,

  And make him grete festes atte nale.

  And right as Judas hadde purses smale,

  And was a theef, right swich a theef was he;

  His maister hadde but half his duëtee.

  He was, if I shal yeven him his laude,

  A theef, and eek a Somnour, and a baude.

  He hadde eek wenches at his retenue,

  That, whether that sir Robert or sir Huwe,

  Or Jakke, or Rauf, or who-so that it were,

  That lay by hem, they tolde it in his ere;

  Thus was the wenche and he of oon assent.

  And he wolde fecche a feyned mandement,

  And somne hem to the chapitre bothe two,

  And pile the man, and lete the wenche go.

  Thanne wolde he seye, “frend, I shal for thy sake

  Do stryken hir out of our lettres blake;

  Thee thar na-more as in this cas travaille;

  I am thy freend, ther I thee may availle.”

  Certeyn he knew of bryberyes mo

  Than possible is to telle in yeres two.

  For in this world nis dogge for the bowe,

  That can an hurt deer from an hool y-knowe,

  Bet than this Somnour knew a sly lechour,

  Or an avouter, or a paramour.

  “Peace! for you mischance and misadventure!”

  Thus said our Host, “and let him tell his tale,

  Now tell forth, though the Summoner blows a gale;

  Nothing spare, my own master dear!”

  This false thief, this summoner, said the Friar,

  Had always pimps ready to his hand,

  As any hawk to lure in England,

  They told him all the secrets that they knew,

  For their acquaintance did not come of new.

  They were full secretly his agents.

  He took himself thereby a great profit.

  His master knew not ever what he took from it.

  Without a true summons a lewd6 man

  He could summon, on pain of Christ’s curse,

  And they were glad to fill his purse

  And make him great feasts at the alehouse.

  And right as Judas he had small sums to him entrusted,

  And was a thief, right such a thief was he;

  His master received but half what was to him due.

  He was, if I shall give him fair credit,

  A thief, and a summoner, and a pimp.

  He had also wenches in his service,

  Who, whether sir Hugh or sir Robert,

  Or Jack, or Ralph, or whoso it was

  Who lay by them, they told it in his ear.

  Thus were the wench and he in league,

  And he would fetch a feigned summons,

  And summon them to archdeacon’s court the two,

  And rob the man, and let the wench go.

  Then would he say, “Friend, I shall for your sake

  Do strike her out of our letters black;

  You thereby will no more be troubled by this case.

  I am your friend, thereby I may you assist.”

  Certainly he knew of briberies more

  Than is possible to tell in years four.

  For certainly there is no hunting hound

  That a wounded deer from an unhurt deer can tell

  Better than this summoner knew a sly lecher,

  Or an adulterer, or a paramour.

  And, for that was the fruit of al his rente,

  Therfore on it he sette al his entente.

  And so bifel, that ones on a day

  This Somnour, ever waiting on his pray,

  Rood for to somne a widwe, an old ribybe,

  Feyninge a cause, for he wolde brybe.

  And happed that he saugh bifore him ryde

  A gay yeman, under a forest-syde.

  A bowe he bar, and arwes brighte and kene;

  He hadde up-on a courtepy of grene;

  An hat up-on his heed with frenges blake.

  “Sir,” quod this Somnour, “hayl! and wel-a-take!”

  “Wel-come,” quod he, “and every good felawe!

  Wher rydestow under this grene shawe?”

  Seyde this yeman, “wiltow fer to day?”

  This Somnour him answerde, and seyde, “nay;

  Heer faste by,” quod he, “is myn entente

  To ryden, for to reysen up a rente

  That longeth to my lordes duëtee.”

  “Artow thanne a bailly?” “Ye!” quod he.

  He dorste nat, for verray filthe and shame,

  Seye that he was a somnour, for the name.

  “Depardieux,” quod this yeman, “dere brother,

  Thou art a bailly, and I am another.

  I am unknowen as in this contree;

  Of thyn aqueyntance I wolde praye thee,

  And eek of brotherhede, if that yow leste.

  I have gold and silver in my cheste;

  If that thee happe to comen in our shyre,

  Al shal be thyn, right as thou wolt desyre.”

  “Grantmer
cy,” quod this Somnour, “by my feith!”

  Everich in otheres hand his trouthe leith,

  For to be sworne bretheren til they deye.

  In daliance they ryden forth hir weye.

  This Somnour, which that was as ful of jangles,

  As ful of venim been thise wariangles,

  And ever enquering up-on every thing,

  “Brother,” quod he, “where is now your dwelling,

  Another day if that I sholde yow seche?”

  And in that was the fruit of his rent,

  Therefore on it was all his intent.

  And so it befell that once upon a day

  This summoner, ever waiting on his prey,

  Rode for to summon an old widow, an old lady,

  Feigning a charge, he would extort.

  And it so happened that he saw before him

  A gay yeoman, under a forest side.

  A bow he bore, and arrows bright and keen;

  He wore a jacket of green,7

  And a hat upon his head with fringes black.

  “Sire,” said this summoner, “hail, and well met!”

  “Welcome,” said he, “and every good fellow!

  Where ride you, under this forest greenwood?”

  Said this yeoman. “Do you go far today?”

  This summoner him answered and said, “Nay;

  Here nearby,” said he, “is my intent

  To ride, for to obtain a payment

  That has long been due my lord.”

  “Are you then a bailiff?” “Yes,” said he.

  He dared not, for the shame and obliquy,

  Say that he was a summoner, so bad was the name.

  “Depardieux,”8 said this yeoman, “dear brother,

  You are a bailiff, and I am another.

  I am unknown in this country;

  Your acquaintance I would pray make,

  And also brotherhood, if you wish.

  I have gold and silver in my chest;

  If you happen to come in our shire,

  All shall be yours, right as you desire.”

  “Thank you,” said this summoner, “by my faith!”

  And each the other’s hand he clasped,

  To be sworn brothers till each breathed his last.

  With pleasant talk they rode on their way.

  This summoner, who was as full of gossip

  As full of venom is a shrike,

  And ever inquiring upon everything,

  “Brother,” said he, “where is now your dwelling

  Another day if I should you seek?”

  This yeman him answerde in softe speche,

  “Brother,” quod he, “fer in the north contree,

  Wher, as I hope, som-tyme I shal thee see.

  Er we departe, I shal thee so wel wisse,

  That of myn hous ne shaltow never misse.”