by Homer
And to him gave I all the land and fee
That ever was me given therebefore:
But afterward repented me full sore.
He woulde suffer nothing of my list.1 1pleasure
By God, he smote me ones with his fist,
For that I rent out of his book a leaf,
That of the stroke mine eare wax’d all deaf.
Stubborn I was, as is a lioness,
And of my tongue a very jangleress,1 1prater
And walk I would, as I had done beforn,
From house to house, although he had it sworn:1 1had sworn to
For which he oftentimes woulde preach prevent it
And me of olde Roman gestes1 teach 1stories
How that Sulpitius Gallus left his wife
And her forsook for term of all his
For nought but open-headed1 he her say2 1bare-headed 2saw
Looking out at his door upon a day.
Another Roman told he me by name,
That, for his wife was at a summer game
Without his knowing, he forsook her eke.
And then would he upon his Bible seek
That ilke1 proverb of Ecclesiast, 1same
Where he commandeth, and forbiddeth fast,
Man shall not suffer his wife go roll about.
Then would he say right thus withoute doubt:
“Whoso that buildeth his house all of sallows,1 1willows
And pricketh his blind horse over the fallows,
And suff’reth his wife to 1go seeke hallows,1 1make pilgrimages1
Is worthy to be hanged on the gallows.”
But all for nought; I 1sette not a haw1 1cared nothing for1
Of his proverbs, nor of his olde saw;
Nor would I not of him corrected be.
I hate them that my vices telle me,
And so do more of us (God wot) than I.
This made him wood1 with me all utterly; 1furious
I woulde not forbear1 him in no case. 1endure
Now will I say you sooth, by Saint Thomas,
Why that I rent out of his book a leaf,
For which he smote me, so that I was deaf.
He had a book, that gladly night and day
For his disport he would it read alway;
He call’d it Valerie, and Theophrast,
And with that book he laugh’d alway full fast.
And eke there was a clerk sometime at Rome,
A cardinal, that highte Saint Jerome,
That made a book against Jovinian,
Which book was there; and eke Tertullian,
Chrysippus, Trotula, and Heloise,
That was an abbess not far from Paris;
And eke the Parables1 of Solomon, 1Proverbs
Ovide’s Art, and bourdes1 many one; 1jests
And alle these were bound in one volume.
And every night and day was his custume
(When he had leisure and vacation
From other worldly occupation)
To readen in this book of wicked wives.
He knew of them more legends and more lives
Than be of goodde wives in the Bible.
For, trust me well, it is an impossible
That any clerk will speake good of wives,
(1But if1 it be of holy saintes’ lives) 1unless
Nor of none other woman never the mo’.
Who painted the lion, tell it me, who?
By God, if women haddde written stories,
As clerkes have within their oratories,
They would have writ of men more wickedness
Than all the mark of Adam may redress
The children of Mercury and of Venus,
Be in their working full contrarious.
Mercury loveth wisdom and science,
And Venus loveth riot and dispence.1 1extravagance
And for their diverse disposition,
Each falls in other’s exaltation.
As thus, God wot, Mercury is desolate
In Pisces, where Venus is exaltate,
And Venus falls where Mercury is raised.
Therefore no woman by no clerk is praised.
The clerk, when he is old, and may not do
Of Venus’ works not worth his olde shoe,
Then sits he down, and writes in his dotage,
That women cannot keep their marriage.
But now to purpose, why I tolde thee
That I was beaten for a book, pardie.
Upon a night Jenkin, that was our sire,1 1goodman
Read on his book, as he sat by the fire,
Of Eva first, that for her wickedness
Was all mankind brought into wretchedness,
For which that Jesus Christ himself was slain,
That bought us with his hearte-blood again.
Lo here express of women may ye find
That woman was the loss of all mankind.
Then read he me how Samson lost his hairs
Sleeping, his leman cut them with her shears,
Through whiche treason lost he both his eyen.
Then read he me, if that I shall not lien,
Of Hercules, and of his Dejanire,
That caused him to set himself on fire.
Nothing forgot he of the care and woe
That Socrates had with his wives two;
How Xantippe cast piss upon his head.
This silly man sat still, as he were dead,
He wip’d his head, and no more durst he sayn,
But, “Ere the thunder stint1 there cometh rain.” 1ceases
Of Phasiphae, that was queen of Crete,
For shrewedness1 he thought the tale sweet. 1wickedness
Fy, speak no more, it is a grisly thing,
Of her horrible lust and her liking.
Of Clytemnestra, for her lechery
That falsely made her husband for to die,
He read it with full good devotion.
He told me eke, for what occasion
Amphiorax at Thebes lost his life:
My husband had a legend of his wife
Eryphile, that for an ouche1 of gold 1clasp, collar
Had privily unto the Greekes told,
Where that her husband hid him in a place,
For which he had at Thebes sorry grace.
Of Luna told he me, and of Lucie;
They bothe made their husbands for to die,
That one for love, that other was for hate.
Luna her husband on an ev’ning late
Empoison’d had, for that she was his foe:
Lucia liquorish lov’d her husband so,
That, for he should always upon her think,
She gave him such a manner1 love-drink, 1sort of
That he was dead before it were the morrow:
And thus algates1 husbands hadde sorrow. 1always
Then told he me how one Latumeus
Complained to his fellow Arius
That in his garden growed such a tree,
On which he said how that his wives three
Hanged themselves for heart dispiteous.
“O leve1 brother,” quoth this Arius, 1dear
“Give me a plant of thilke1 blessed tree, 1that
And in my garden planted shall it be.”
Of later date of wives hath he read,
That some have slain their husbands in their bed,
And let their 1lechour dight them1 all the night, 1lover ride them1
While that the corpse lay on the floor upright:
And some have driven nails into their brain,
While that they slept, and thus they have them slain:
Some have them given poison in their drink:
He spake more harm than hearte may bethink.
And therewithal he knew of more proverbs,
Than in this world there groweth grass or herbs.
“Better (quoth he) thine habitation
Be with a lion, or a foul dragon,
Than with a woma
n using for to chide.
Better (quoth he) high in the roof abide,
Than with an angry woman in the house,
They be so wicked and contrarious:
They hate that their husbands loven aye.”
He said, “A woman cast her shame away
When she cast off her smock;” and farthermo’,
“A fair woman, but1 she be chaste also, 1except
Is like a gold ring in a sowe’s nose.
Who coulde ween,1 or who coulde suppose 1think
The woe that in mine heart was, and the pine?1 1pain
And when I saw that he would never fine1 1finish
To readen on this cursed book all night,
All suddenly three leaves have I plight1 1plucked
Out of his book, right as he read, and eke
I with my fist so took him on the cheek,
That in our fire he backward fell adown.
And he up start, as doth a wood1 lion, 1furious
And with his fist he smote me on the head,
That on the floor I lay as I were dead.
And when he saw how still that there I lay,
He was aghast, and would have fled away,
Till at the last out of my swoon I braid,1 1woke
“Oh, hast thou slain me, thou false thief?” I said
“And for my land thus hast thou murder’d me?
Ere I be dead, yet will I kisse thee.”
And near he came, and kneeled fair adown,
And saide”, “Deare sister Alisoun,
As help me God, I shall thee never smite:
That I have done it is thyself to wite,1 1blame
Forgive it me, and that I thee beseek.”1 1beseech
And yet eftsoons1 I hit him on the cheek, 1immediately; again
And saidde, “Thief, thus much am I awreak.1 1avenged
Now will I die, I may no longer speak.”
But at the last, with muche care and woe
We fell accorded1 by ourselves two: 1agreed
He gave me all the bridle in mine hand
To have the governance of house and land,
And of his tongue, and of his hand also.
I made him burn his book anon right tho.1 1then
And when that I had gotten unto me
By mast’ry all the sovereignety,
And that he said, “Mine owen true wife,
Do 1as thee list,1 the term of all thy life, 1as pleases thee1
Keep thine honour, and eke keep mine estate;
After that day we never had debate.
God help me so, I was to him as kind
As any wife from Denmark unto Ind,
And also true, and so was he to me:
I pray to God that sits in majesty
So bless his soule, for his mercy dear.
Now will I say my tale, if ye will hear. —
The Friar laugh’d when he had heard all this:
“Now, Dame,” quoth he, “so have I joy and bliss,
This is a long preamble of a tale.”
And when the Sompnour heard the Friar gale,1 1speak
“Lo,” quoth this Sompnour, “Godde’s armes two,
A friar will intermete1 him evermo’: 1interpose
Lo, goode men, a fly and eke a frere
Will fall in ev’ry dish and eke mattere.
What speak’st thou of perambulation?1 1preamble
What? amble or trot; or peace, or go sit down:
Thou lettest1 our disport in this mattere.” 1hinderesst
“Yea, wilt thou so, Sir Sompnour?” quoth the Frere;
“Now by my faith I shall, ere that I go,
Tell of a Sompnour such a tale or two,
That all the folk shall laughen in this place.”
“Now do, else, Friar, I beshrew1 thy face,” 1curse
Quoth this Sompnour; “and I beshrewe me,
But if1 I telle tales two or three 1unless
Of friars, ere I come to Sittingbourne,
That I shall make thine hearte for to mourn:
For well I wot thy patience is gone.”
Our Hoste cried, “Peace, and that anon;”
And saide, “Let the woman tell her tale.
Ye fare1 as folk that drunken be of ale. 1behave
Do, Dame, tell forth your tale, and that is best.”
“All ready, sir,” quoth she, “right as you lest,1 1please
If I have licence of this worthy Frere.”
“Yes, Dame,” quoth he, “tell forth, and I will hear.”
THE TALE.
In olde dayes of the king Arthour,
Of which that Britons speake great honour,
All was this land full fill’d of faerie;1 1fairies
The Elf-queen, with her jolly company,
Danced full oft in many a green mead
This was the old opinion, as I read;
I speak of many hundred years ago;
But now can no man see none elves mo’,
For now the great charity and prayeres
Of limitours,1 and other holy freres, 1begging friars
That search every land and ev’ry stream
As thick as motes in the sunne-beam,
Blessing halls, chambers, kitchenes, and bowers,
Cities and burghes, castles high and towers,
Thorpes1 and barnes, shepens2 and dairies, 1villages 2stables
This makes that there be now no faeries:
For 1there as1 wont to walke was an elf, 1where1
There walketh now the limitour himself,
In undermeles1 and in morrowings2, 1evenings 2mornings
And saith his matins and his holy things,
As he goes in his limitatioun.1 1begging district
Women may now go safely up and down,
In every bush, and under every tree;
There is none other incubus but he;
And he will do to them no dishonour.
And so befell it, that this king Arthour
Had in his house a lusty bacheler,
That on a day came riding from river:
And happen’d, that, alone as she was born,
He saw a maiden walking him beforn,
Of which maiden anon, maugre1 her head, 1in spite of
By very force he reft her maidenhead:
For which oppression was such clamour,
And such pursuit unto the king Arthour,
That damned1 was this knight for to be dead 1condemned
By course of law, and should have lost his head;
(Paraventure such was the statute tho),1 1then
But that the queen and other ladies mo’
So long they prayed the king of his grace,
Till he his life him granted in the place,
And gave him to the queen, all at her will
To choose whether she would him save or spill1 1destroy
The queen thanked the king with all her might;
And, after this, thus spake she to the knight,
When that she saw her time upon a day.
“Thou standest yet,” quoth she, “in such array,1 1a position
That of thy life yet hast thou no surety;
I grant thee life, if thou canst tell to me
What thing is it that women most desiren:
Beware, and keep thy neck-bone from the iron1 1executioner’s axe
And if thou canst not tell it me anon,
Yet will I give thee leave for to gon
A twelvemonth and a day, to seek and lear1 1learn
An answer suffisant1 in this mattere. 1satisfactory
And surety will I have, ere that thou pace,1 1go
Thy body for to yielden in this place.”
Woe was the knight, and sorrowfully siked;1 1sighed
But what? he might not do all as him liked.
And at the last he chose him for to wend,1 1depart
And come again, right at the yeare’s end,
With such answer as God would him pu
rvey:1 1provide
And took his leave, and wended forth his way.
He sought in ev’ry house and ev’ry place,
Where as he hoped for to finde grace,
To learne what thing women love the most:
But he could not arrive in any coast,
Where as he mighte find in this mattere
Two creatures 1according in fere.1 1agreeing together1
Some said that women loved best richess,
Some said honour, and some said jolliness,
Some rich array, and some said lust1 a-bed, 1pleasure
And oft time to be widow and be wed.
Some said, that we are in our heart most eased
When that we are y-flatter’d and y-praised.
He 1went full nigh the sooth,1 I will not lie; 1came very near
A man shall win us best with flattery; the truth1
And with attendance, and with business
Be we y-limed,1 bothe more and less. 1caught with bird-lime
And some men said that we do love the best
For to be free, and do 1right as us lest,1 1whatever we please1
And that no man reprove us of our vice,
But say that we are wise, and nothing nice,1 1foolish
For truly there is none among us all,
If any wight will 1claw us on the gall,1 1see note 1
That will not kick, for that he saith us sooth:
Assay,1 and he shall find it, that so do’th. 1try
For be we never so vicious within,
We will be held both wise and clean of sin.
And some men said, that great delight have we
For to be held stable and eke secre,1 1discreet
And in one purpose steadfastly to dwell,
And not bewray1 a thing that men us tell. 1give away
But that tale is not worth a rake-stele.1 1rake-handle
Pardie, we women canne nothing hele,1 1hide
Witness on Midas; will ye hear the tale?
Ovid, amonges other thinges smale1 1small
Saith, Midas had, under his longe hairs,
Growing upon his head two ass’s ears;
The whiche vice he hid, as best he might,
Full subtlely from every man’s sight,
That, save his wife, there knew of it no mo’;
He lov’d her most, and trusted her also;
He prayed her, that to no creature
She woulde tellen of his disfigure.
She swore him, nay, for all the world to win,
She would not do that villainy or sin,
To make her husband have so foul a name:
She would not tell it for her owen shame.
But natheless her thoughte that she died,
That she so longe should a counsel hide;
Her thought it swell’d so sore about her heart
That needes must some word from her astart