The Canterbury Tales, and Other Poems Part 45

This naked sword, that hangeth by my side, Such virtue hath, that what man that it smite, Throughout his armour it will carve and bite, Were it as thick as is a branched oak: And what man is y-wounded with the stroke Shall ne'er be whole, till that you list, of grace, To stroke him with the flat in thilke* place *the same Where he is hurt; this is as much to sayn, Ye muste with the flatte sword again Stroke him upon the wound, and it will close.

This is the very sooth, withoute glose;* *deceit It faileth not, while it is in your hold."

And when this knight had thus his tale told, He rode out of the hall, and down he light.

His steede, which that shone as sunne bright, Stood in the court as still as any stone.

The knight is to his chamber led anon, And is unarmed, and to meat y-set.* *seated These presents be full richely y-fet,* -- *fetched This is to say, the sword and the mirrour, -- And borne anon into the highe tow'r, With certain officers ordain'd therefor; And unto Canace the ring is bore Solemnely, where she sat at the table; But sickerly, withouten any fable, The horse of bra.s.s, that may not be remued.* *removed <12> It stood as it were to the ground y-glued; There may no man out of the place it drive For no engine of windla.s.s or polive; * *pulley And cause why, for they *can not the craft;* *know not the cunning And therefore in the place they have it laft, of the mechanism*

Till that the knight hath taught them the mannere To voide* him, as ye shall after hear. *remove

Great was the press, that swarmed to and fro To gauren* on this horse that stoode so: *gaze For it so high was, and so broad and long, So well proportioned for to be strong, Right as it were a steed of Lombardy; Therewith so horsely, and so quick of eye, As it a gentle Poileis <13> courser were: For certes, from his tail unto his ear Nature nor art ne could him not amend In no degree, as all the people wend.* *weened, thought But evermore their moste wonder was How that it coulde go, and was of bra.s.s; It was of Faerie, as the people seem'd.

Diverse folk diversely they deem'd; As many heads, as many wittes been.

They murmured, as doth a swarm of been,* *bees And made skills* after their fantasies, *reasons Rehearsing of the olde poetries, And said that it was like the Pegasee,* *Pegasus The horse that hadde winges for to flee;* *fly Or else it was the Greeke's horse Sinon,<14> That broughte Troye to destruction, As men may in the olde gestes* read. *tales of adventures Mine heart," quoth one, "is evermore in dread; I trow some men of armes be therein, That shape* them this city for to win: *design, prepare It were right good that all such thing were know."

Another rowned* to his fellow low, *whispered And said, "He lies; for it is rather like An apparence made by some magic, As jugglers playen at these feastes great."

Of sundry doubts they jangle thus and treat.

As lewed* people deeme commonly *ignorant Of thinges that be made more subtilly Than they can in their lewdness comprehend; They *deeme gladly to the badder end.* *are ready to think And some of them wonder'd on the mirrour, the worst*

That borne was up into the master* tow'r, *chief <15> How men might in it suche thinges see.

Another answer'd and said, it might well be Naturally by compositions Of angles, and of sly reflections; And saide that in Rome was such a one.

They speak of Alhazen and Vitellon,<16> And Aristotle, that wrote in their lives Of quainte* mirrors, and of prospectives, *curious As knowe they that have their bookes heard.

And other folk have wonder'd on the swerd,* *sword That woulde pierce throughout every thing; And fell in speech of Telephus the king, And of Achilles for his quainte spear, <17> For he could with it bothe heal and dere,* *wound Right in such wise as men may with the swerd Of which right now ye have yourselves heard.

They spake of sundry hard'ning of metal, And spake of medicines therewithal, And how, and when, it shoulde harden'd be, Which is unknowen algate* unto me. *however Then spake they of Canacee's ring, And saiden all, that such a wondrous thing Of craft of rings heard they never none, Save that he, Moses, and King Solomon, Hadden *a name of conning* in such art. *a reputation for Thus said the people, and drew them apart. knowledge*

Put natheless some saide that it was Wonder to maken of fern ashes gla.s.s, And yet is gla.s.s nought like ashes of fern; *But for* they have y-knowen it so ferne** *because **before <18> Therefore ceaseth their jangling and their wonder.

As sore wonder some on cause of thunder, On ebb and flood, on gossamer and mist, And on all things, till that the cause is wist.* *known Thus jangle they, and deemen and devise, Till that the king gan from his board arise.

Phoebus had left the angle meridional, And yet ascending was the beast royal, The gentle Lion, with his Aldrian, <19> When that this Tartar king, this Cambuscan, Rose from the board, there as he sat full high Before him went the loude minstrelsy, Till he came to his chamber of parements,<20> There as they sounded diverse instruments, That it was like a heaven for to hear.

Now danced l.u.s.ty Venus' children dear: For in the Fish* their lady sat full *Pisces And looked on them with a friendly eye. <21> This n.o.ble king is set upon his throne; This strange knight is fetched to him full sone,* *soon And on the dance he goes with Canace.

Here is the revel and the jollity, That is not able a dull man to devise:* *describe He must have knowen love and his service, And been a feastly* man, as fresh as May, *merry, gay That shoulde you devise such array.

Who coulde telle you the form of dances So uncouth,* and so freshe countenances** *unfamliar **gestures Such subtle lookings and dissimulances, For dread of jealous men's apperceivings?

No man but Launcelot,<22> and he is dead.

Therefore I pa.s.s o'er all this l.u.s.tihead* *pleasantness I say no more, but in this jolliness I leave them, till to supper men them dress.

The steward bids the spices for to hie* *haste And eke the wine, in all this melody; The ushers and the squiers be y-gone, The spices and the wine is come anon; They eat and drink, and when this hath an end, Unto the temple, as reason was, they wend; The service done, they suppen all by day What needeth you rehea.r.s.e their array?

Each man wot well, that at a kinge's feast Is plenty, to the most*, and to the least, *highest And dainties more than be in my knowing.

At after supper went this n.o.ble king To see the horse of bra.s.s, with all a rout Of lordes and of ladies him about.

Such wond'ring was there on this horse of bra.s.s, That, since the great siege of Troye was, There as men wonder'd on a horse also, Ne'er was there such a wond'ring as was tho.* *there But finally the king asked the knight The virtue of this courser, and the might, And prayed him to tell his governance.* *mode of managing him The horse anon began to trip and dance, When that the knight laid hand upon his rein, And saide, "Sir, there is no more to sayn, But when you list to riden anywhere, Ye muste trill* a pin, stands in his ear, *turn <23> Which I shall telle you betwixt us two; Ye muste name him to what place also, Or to what country that you list to ride.

And when ye come where you list abide, Bid him descend, and trill another pin (For therein lies th' effect of all the gin*), *contrivance <10> And he will down descend and do your will, And in that place he will abide still; Though all the world had the contrary swore, He shall not thence be throwen nor be bore.

Or, if you list to bid him thennes gon, Trill this pin, and he will vanish anon Out of the sight of every manner wight, And come again, be it by day or night, When that you list to clepe* him again *call In such a guise, as I shall to you sayn Betwixte you and me, and that full soon.

Ride <24> when you list, there is no more to do'n.'

Informed when the king was of the knight, And had conceived in his wit aright The manner and the form of all this thing, Full glad and blithe, this n.o.ble doughty king Repaired to his revel as beforn.

The bridle is into the tower borne, And kept among his jewels lefe* and dear; *cherished The horse vanish'd, I n'ot* in what mannere, *know not Out of their sight; ye get no more of me: But thus I leave in l.u.s.t and jollity This Cambuscan his lordes feastying,* *entertaining <25> Until well nigh the day began to spring.

*Pars Secunda.* *Second Part*

The norice* of digestion, the sleep, *nurse Gan on them wink, and bade them take keep,* *heed That muche mirth and labour will have rest.

And with a gaping* mouth he all them kest,** *yawning **kissed And said, that it was time to lie down, For blood was in his dominatioun: <26> "Cherish the blood, nature's friend," quoth he.

They thanked him gaping, by two and three; And every wight gan draw him to his rest; As sleep them bade, they took it for the best.

Their dreames shall not now be told for me; Full are their heades of fumosity,<27> That caused dreams *of which there is no charge:* *of no significance*

They slepte; till that, it was *prime large,* *late morning*

The moste part, but* it was Canace; *except She was full measurable,* as women be: *moderate For of her father had she ta'en her leave To go to rest, soon after it was eve; Her liste not appalled* for to be; *to look pale Nor on the morrow *unfeastly for to see;* *to look sad, depressed*

And slept her firste sleep; and then awoke.

For such a joy she in her hearte took Both of her quainte a ring and her mirrour,.

That twenty times she changed her colour; And in her sleep, right for th' impression Of her mirror, she had a vision.

Wherefore, ere that the sunne gan up glide, She call'd upon her mistress'* her beside, *governesses And saide, that her liste for to rise.

These olde women, that be gladly wise As are her mistresses answer'd anon, And said; "Madame, whither will ye gon Thus early? for the folk be all in rest."

"I will," quoth she, "arise; for me lest No longer for to sleep, and walk about."

Her mistresses call'd women a great rout, And up they rose, well a ten or twelve; Up rose freshe Canace herselve, As ruddy and bright as is the yonnge sun That in the Ram is four degrees y-run; No higher was he, when she ready was; And forth she walked easily a pace, Array'd after the l.u.s.ty* season swoot,** *pleasant **sweet Lightely for to play, and walk on foot, Nought but with five or six of her meinie; And in a trench* forth in the park went she. *sunken path The vapour, which up from the earthe glode,* *glided Made the sun to seem ruddy and broad: But, natheless, it was so fair a sight That it made all their heartes for to light,* *be lightened, glad What for the season and the morrowning, And for the fowles that she hearde sing.

For right anon she wiste* what they meant *knew Right by their song, and knew all their intent.

The knotte,* why that every tale is told, *nucleus, chief matter If it be tarried* till the list* be cold *delayed **inclination Of them that have it hearken'd *after yore,* *for a long time*

The savour pa.s.seth ever longer more; For fulsomness of the prolixity: And by that same reason thinketh me.

I shoulde unto the knotte condescend, And maken of her walking soon an end.

Amid a tree fordry*, as white as chalk, *thoroughly dried up There sat a falcon o'er her head full high, That with a piteous voice so gan to cry; That all the wood resounded of her cry, And beat she had herself so piteously With both her winges, till the redde blood Ran endelong* the tree, there as she stood *from top to bottom And ever-in-one* alway she cried and shright;** *incessantly **shrieked And with her beak herselfe she so pight,* *wounded That there is no tiger, nor cruel beast, That dwelleth either in wood or in forest; But would have wept, if that he weepe could, For sorrow of her; she shriek'd alway so loud.

For there was never yet no man alive, If that he could a falcon well descrive;* *describe That heard of such another of fairness As well of plumage, as of gentleness; Of shape, of all that mighte reckon'd be.

A falcon peregrine seemed she, Of fremde* land; and ever as she stood *foreign <28> She swooned now and now for lack of blood; Till well-nigh is she fallen from the tree.

This faire kinge's daughter Canace, That on her finger bare the quainte ring, Through which she understood well every thing That any fowl may in his leden* sayn, **language <29> And could him answer in his leden again; Hath understoode what this falcon said, And well-nigh for the ruth* almost she died;. *pity And to the tree she went, full hastily, And on this falcon looked piteously; And held her lap abroad; for well she wist The falcon muste falle from the twist* *twig, bough When that she swooned next, for lack of blood.

A longe while to waite her she stood; Till at the last she apake in this mannere Unto the hawk, as ye shall after hear: "What is the cause, if it be for to tell, That ye be in this furial* pain of h.e.l.l?" *raging, furious Quoth Canace unto this hawk above; "Is this for sorrow of of death; or loss of love?

For; as I trow,* these be the causes two; *believe That cause most a gentle hearte woe: Of other harm it needeth not to speak.

For ye yourself upon yourself awreak;* *inflict Which proveth well, that either ire or dread* *fear Must be occasion of your cruel deed, Since that I see none other wight you chase: For love of G.o.d, as *do yourselfe grace;* *have mercy on Or what may be your help? for, west nor east, yourself*

I never saw ere now no bird nor beast That fared with himself so piteously Ye slay me with your sorrow verily; I have of you so great compa.s.sioun.

For G.o.dde's love come from the tree adown And, as I am a kinge's daughter true, If that I verily the causes knew Of your disease,* if it lay in my might, *distress I would amend it, ere that it were night, So wisly help me the great G.o.d of kind.** *surely **nature And herbes shall I right enoughe find, To heale with your hurtes hastily."

Then shriek'd this falcon yet more piteously Than ever she did, and fell to ground anon, And lay aswoon, as dead as lies a stone, Till Canace had in her lap her take, Unto that time she gan of swoon awake: And, after that she out of swoon abraid,* *awoke Right in her hawke's leden thus she said:

"That pity runneth soon in gentle heart (Feeling his simil'tude in paines smart), Is proved every day, as men may see, As well *by work as by authority;* *by experience as by doctrine*

For gentle hearte kitheth* gentleness. *sheweth I see well, that ye have on my distress Compa.s.sion, my faire Canace, Of very womanly benignity That nature in your princples hath set.

But for no hope for to fare the bet,* *better But for t' obey unto your hearte free, And for to make others aware by me, As by the whelp chastis'd* is the lion, *instructed, corrected Right for that cause and that conclusion, While that I have a leisure and a s.p.a.ce, Mine harm I will confessen ere I pace."* *depart And ever while the one her sorrow told, The other wept, *as she to water wo'ld,* *as if she would dissolve Till that the falcon bade her to be still, into water*

And with a sigh right thus she said *her till:* *to her*

"Where I was bred (alas that ilke* day!) *same And foster'd in a rock of marble gray So tenderly, that nothing ailed me, I wiste* not what was adversity, *knew Till I could flee* full high under the sky. *fly Then dwell'd a tercelet <30> me faste by, That seem'd a well of alle gentleness; *All were he* full of treason and falseness, *although he was*

It was so wrapped *under humble cheer,* *under an aspect And under hue of truth, in such mannere, of humility*

Under pleasance, and under busy pain, That no wight weened that he coulde feign, So deep in grain he dyed his colours.

Right as a serpent hides him under flow'rs, Till he may see his time for to bite, Right so this G.o.d of love's hypocrite Did so his ceremonies and obeisances, And kept in semblance all his observances, That *sounden unto* gentleness of love. *are consonant to*

As on a tomb is all the fair above, And under is the corpse, which that ye wet, Such was this hypocrite, both cold and hot; And in this wise he served his intent, That, save the fiend, none wiste what he meant: Till he so long had weeped and complain'd, And many a year his service to me feign'd, Till that mine heart, too piteous and too nice,* *foolish, simple All innocent of his crowned malice, *Forfeared of his death,* as thoughte me, *greatly afraid lest Upon his oathes and his surety he should die*

Granted him love, on this conditioun, That evermore mine honour and renown Were saved, bothe *privy and apert;* *privately and in public*

This is to say, that, after his desert, I gave him all my heart and all my thought (G.o.d wot, and he, that *other wayes nought*), *in no other way*

And took his heart in change of mine for aye.

But sooth is said, gone since many a day, A true wight and a thiefe *think not one.* *do not think alike*

And when he saw the thing so far y-gone, That I had granted him fully my love, In such a wise as I have said above, And given him my true heart as free As he swore that he gave his heart to me, Anon this tiger, full of doubleness, Fell on his knees with so great humbleness, With so high reverence, as by his cheer,* *mien So like a gentle lover in mannere, So ravish'd, as it seemed, for the joy, That never Jason, nor Paris of Troy, -- Jason? certes, nor ever other man, Since Lamech <31> was, that alderfirst* began *first of all To love two, as write folk beforn, Nor ever since the firste man was born, Coulde no man, by twenty thousand Counterfeit the sophimes* of his art; *sophistries, beguilements Where doubleness of feigning should approach, Nor worthy were t'unbuckle his galoche,* *shoe <32> Nor could so thank a wight, as he did me.

His manner was a heaven for to see To any woman, were she ne'er so wise; So painted he and kempt,* *at point devise,* *combed, studied As well his wordes as his countenance. *with perfect precision*

And I so lov'd him for his obeisance, And for the truth I deemed in his heart, That, if so were that any thing him smart,* *pained All were it ne'er so lite,* and I it wist, *little Methought I felt death at my hearte twist.

And shortly, so farforth this thing is went,* *gone That my will was his wille's instrument; That is to say, my will obey'd his will In alle thing, as far as reason fill,* *fell; allowed Keeping the boundes of my wors.h.i.+p ever; And never had I thing *so lefe, or lever,* *so dear, or dearer*

As him, G.o.d wot, nor never shall no mo'.

"This lasted longer than a year or two, That I supposed of him naught but good.

But finally, thus at the last it stood, That fortune woulde that he muste twin* *depart, separate Out of that place which that I was in.

Whe'er* me was woe, it is no question; *whether I cannot make of it description.

For one thing dare I telle boldely, I know what is the pain of death thereby; Such harm I felt, for he might not byleve.* *stay <33> So on a day of me he took his leave, So sorrowful eke, that I ween'd verily, That he had felt as muche harm as I, When that I heard him speak, and saw his hue.

But natheless, I thought he was so true, And eke that he repaire should again Within a little while, sooth to sayn, And reason would eke that he muste go For his honour, as often happ'neth so, That I made virtue of necessity, And took it well, since that it muste be.

As I best might, I hid from him my sorrow, And took him by the hand, Saint John to borrow,* *witness, pledge And said him thus; 'Lo, I am youres all; Be such as I have been to you, and shall.'

What he answer'd, it needs not to rehea.r.s.e; Who can say bet* than he, who can do worse? *better When he had all well said, then had he done.