Part 12

And at the last I cast mine eye aside,
And was ware of a lusty company
That came roaming out of the fielde wide;
[And] hand in hand a knight and a lady;
The ladies all in surcoats, that richly
Purfiled* were with many a riche stone; *trimmed at the
borders
And ev'ry knight of green ware mantles on,

Embroider'd well, so as the surcoats were;
And ev'reach had a chaplet on her head
(Which did right well upon the shining hair),
Maked of goodly flowers, white and red.
The knightes eke, that they in hande led,
In suit of them ware chaplets ev'ry one,
And them before went minstrels many one,

As harpes, pipes, lutes, and psaltry,
All [clad] in green; and, on their heades bare,
Of divers flowers, made full craftily
All in a suit, goodly chaplets they ware;
And so dancing into the mead they fare.
In mid the which they found a tuft that was
All overspread with flowers in compass* *around, in a
circle

Whereunto they inclined ev'ry one,
With great reverence, and that full humbly
And at the last there then began anon
A lady for to sing right womanly,
A bargaret, <14> in praising the daisy.
For, as me thought, among her notes sweet,
She saide: "Si douce est la margarete."<15>

Then alle they answered her in fere*
*together
So passingly well, and so pleasantly,
That it was a [most] blissful noise to hear.
But, I n'ot* how, it happen'd suddenly
*know not
As about noon the sun so fervently
Wax'd hote, that the pretty tender flow'rs
Had lost the beauty of their fresh colours,

Forshrunk* with heat; the ladies eke to-brent,** *shrivelled
**very burnt
That they knew not where they might them bestow;
The knightes swelt,* for lack of shade nigh shent** *fainted
**destroyed
And after that, within a little throw,
The wind began so sturdily to blow,
That down went all the flowers ev'ry one,
So that in all the mead there left not one;

Save such as succour'd were among the leaves
From ev'ry storm that mighte them assail,
Growing under the hedges and thick greves;* *groves,
boughs
And after that there came a storm of hail
And rain in fere,* so that withoute fail
*together
The ladies nor the knights had not one thread
Dry on them, so dropping was [all] their weed.*
*clothing

And when the storm was passed clean away,
Those in the white, that stood under the tree,
They felt no thing of all the great affray
That they in green without *had in y-be:* *had
been in*
To them they went for ruth, and for pity,
Them to comfort after their great disease;*
*trouble
So fain* they were the helpless for to ease.
*glad, eager

Then I was ware how one of them in green
Had on a crowne, rich and well sitting;*
*becoming
Wherefore I deemed well she was a queen,
And those in green on her were awaiting.* *in
attendance
The ladies then in white that were coming
Toward them, and the knightes eke *in fere,*
*together*
Began to comfort them, and make them cheer.

The queen in white, that was of great beauty,
Took by the hand the queen that was in green,
And saide: "Sister, I have great pity
Of your annoy, and of your troublous teen,*
*injury, grief
Wherein you and your company have been
So long, alas! and if that it you please
To go with me, I shall you do the ease,

"In all the pleasure that I can or may;"
Whereof the other, humbly as she might,
Thanked her; for in right evil array
She was, with storm and heat, I you behight;*
*assure
Arid ev'ry lady then anon aright,
That were in white, one of them took in green
By the hand; which when that the knights had seen,

In like mannere each of them took a knight
Y-clad in green, and forth with them they fare
Unto a hedge, where that they anon right,
To make their joustes,<16> they would not spare
Boughes to hewe down, and eke trees square,
Wherewith they made them stately fires great,
To dry their clothes, that were wringing wet.

And after that, of herbes that there grew,
They made, for blisters of the sun's burning,
Ointmentes very good, wholesome, and new,
Wherewith they went the sick fast anointing;
And after that they went about gath'ring
Pleasant salades, which they made them eat,
For to refresh their great unkindly heat.

The Lady of the Leaf then gan to pray
Her of the Flower (for so, to my seeming,
They should be called, as by their array),
To sup with her; and eke, for anything,
That she should with her all her people bring;
And she again in right goodly mannere
Thanked her fast of her most friendly cheer;

Saying plainely, that she would obey,
With all her heart, all her commandement:
And then anon, without longer delay,
The Lady of the Leaf hath one y-sent
To bring a palfrey, *after her intent,* *according to
her wish*
Arrayed well in fair harness of gold;
For nothing lack'd, that *to him longe sho'ld.* *should belong
to him*

And, after that, to all her company
She made to purvey* horse and ev'rything
*provide
That they needed; and then full lustily,
Ev'n by the arbour where I was sitting,
They passed all, so merrily singing,
That it would have comforted any wight.
But then I saw a passing wondrous sight;

For then the nightingale, that all the day
Had in the laurel sat, and did her might
The whole service to sing longing to May,
All suddenly began to take her flight;
And to the Lady of the Leaf forthright
She flew, and set her on her hand softly;
Which was a thing I marvell'd at greatly.

The goldfinch eke, that from the medlar tree
Was fled for heat into the bushes cold,
Unto the Lady of the Flower gan flee,
And on her hand he set him as he wo'ld,
And pleasantly his winges gan to fold;
And for to sing they *pain'd them* both, as sore *made great
exertions*
As they had done *of all* the day before.
*during

And so these ladies rode forth *a great pace,*
*rapidly*
And all the rout of knightes eke in fere;
And I, that had seen all this *wonder case,* *wondrous
incident*
Thought that I would assay in some mannere
To know fully the truth of this mattere,
And what they were that rode so pleasantly;
And when they were the arbour passed by,

I *dress'd me forth,* and happ'd to meet anon *issued
forth*
A right fair lady, I do you ensure;*
*assure
And she came riding by herself alone,
All in white; [then] with semblance full demure
I her saluted, and bade good adventure*
*fortune
Might her befall, as I could most humbly;
And she answer'd: "My daughter, gramercy!"* *great
thanks <17>

"Madame," quoth I, "if that I durst enquere
Of you, I would fain, of that company,
Wit what they be that pass'd by this herbere?
And she again answered right friendly:
"My faire daughter, all that pass'd hereby
In white clothing, be servants ev'ry one
Unto the Leaf; and I myself am one.

"See ye not her that crowned is," quoth she
"[Clad] all in white?" -- "Madame," then quoth I, "yes:"
"That is Dian', goddess of chastity;
And for because that she a maiden is,
In her hande the branch she beareth this,
That agnus castus <8> men call properly;
And all the ladies in her company,

"Which ye see of that herbe chaplets wear,
Be such as have kept alway maidenhead:
And all they that of laurel chaplets bear,
Be such as hardy* were in manly deed, --
*courageous
Victorious name which never may be dead!
And all they were so *worthy of their hand* *valiant in
fight*
In their time, that no one might them withstand,

"And those that weare chaplets on their head
Of fresh woodbind, be such as never were
To love untrue in word, in thought, nor deed,
But ay steadfast; nor for pleasance, nor fear,
Though that they should their heartes all to-tear,* *rend in
pieces*
Would never flit,* but ever were steadfast,
*change
*Till that their lives there asunder brast."* *till
they died*

"Now fair Madame," quoth I, "yet would I pray
Your ladyship, if that it mighte be,
That I might knowe, by some manner way
(Since that it hath liked your beauty,
The truth of these ladies for to tell me),
What that these knightes be in rich armour,
And what those be in green and wear the flow'r?

"And why that some did rev'rence to that tree,
And some unto the plot of flowers fair?"
"With right good will, my daughter fair," quoth she,
"Since your desire is good and debonair;* *gentle,
courteous
The nine crowned be *very exemplair* *the true
examples*
Of all honour longing to chivalry;
And those certain be call'd The Nine Worthy, <18>

"Which ye may see now riding all before,
That in their time did many a noble deed,
And for their worthiness full oft have bore
The crown of laurel leaves upon their head,
As ye may in your olde bookes read;
And how that he that was a conquerour
Had by laurel alway his most honour.

"And those that beare boughes in their hand
Of the precious laurel so notable,
Be such as were, I will ye understand,
Most noble Knightes of the Rounde Table,<19>
And eke the Douceperes honourable; <20>
Whiche they bear in sign of victory,
As witness of their deedes mightily.

"Eke there be knightes old <21> of the Garter,
That in their time did right worthily;
And the honour they did to the laurer*
*laurel <22>
Is for* by it they have their laud wholly,
*because
Their triumph eke, and martial glory;
Which unto them is more perfect richess
Than any wight imagine can, or guess.

"For one leaf given of that noble tree
To any wight that hath done worthily,
An'* it be done so as it ought to be,
*if
Is more honour than any thing earthly;
Witness of Rome, that founder was truly
Of alle knighthood and deeds marvellous;
Record I take of Titus Livius." <23>

And as for her that crowned is in green,
It is Flora, of these flowers goddess;
And all that here on her awaiting be'n,
It are such folk that loved idleness,
And not delighted in no business,
But for to hunt and hawk, and play in meads,
And many other such-like idle deeds.

"And for the great delight and the pleasance
They have to the flow'r, and so rev'rently
They unto it do such obeisance
As ye may see." "Now, fair Madame,"quoth I,
"If I durst ask, what is the cause, and why,
That knightes have the ensign* of honour
*insignia
Rather by the leaf than by the flow'r?"

"Soothly, daughter," quoth she, "this is the troth:
For knights should ever be persevering,
To seek honour, without feintise* or sloth,
*dissimulation
From well to better in all manner thing:
In sign of which, with leaves aye lasting
They be rewarded after their degree,
Whose lusty green may not appaired* be, *impaired,
decayed

"But ay keeping their beauty fresh and green;
For there is no storm that may them deface,
Nor hail nor snow, nor wind nor frostes keen;
Wherefore they have this property and grace:
And for the flow'r, within a little space,
Wolle* be lost, so simple of nature
*will
They be, that they no grievance* may endure; *injury,
hardship

"And ev'ry storm will blow them soon away,
Nor they laste not but for a season;
That is the cause, the very truth to say,
That they may not, by no way of reason,
Be put to no such occupation."
"Madame," quoth I, "with all my whole service
I thank you now, in my most humble wise;

"For now I am ascertain'd thoroughly
Of ev'ry thing that I desir'd to know."
"I am right glad that I have said, soothly,
Aught to your pleasure, if ye will me trow,"*
*believe
Quoth she again; "but to whom do ye owe
Your service? and which wolle* ye honour,
*will
Tell me, I pray, this year, the Leaf or the Flow'r?"

"Madame," quoth I, "though I be least worthy,
Unto the Leaf I owe mine observance:"
"That is," quoth she, "right well done, certainly;
And I pray God, to honour you advance,
And keep you from the wicked remembrance
Of Malebouche,* and all his cruelty;
*Slander <24>
And all that good and well-condition'd be.

"For here may I no longer now abide;
I must follow the greate company,
That ye may see yonder before you ride."
And forthwith, as I coulde, most humbly
I took my leave of her, and she gan hie*
*haste
After them as fast as she ever might;
And I drew homeward, for it was nigh night,

And put all that I had seen in writing,
Under support of them that list it read. <25>
O little book! thou art so uncunning,*
*unskilful
How dar'st thou put thyself in press, <26> for dread?
It is wonder that thou waxest not red!
Since that thou know'st full lite* who shall behold
*little
Thy rude language, full *boistously unfold.* *unfolded in
homely and
unpolished
fashion*

Explicit.*
*The End

Notes to the Flower and the Leaf

1. The Bull: the sign of Taurus, which the sun enters
in May.

2. The young oak leaves are red or ashen coloured.

3. Chaucer here again refers to the superstition,
noticed in "The Cuckoo and the Nightingale," that it
was of good omen to hear the nightingale before the
cuckoo upon the advent of both with spring.

4. The arbour was furnished with seats, which had
been newly covered with turf.

5. "Yede" or "yead," is the old form of go.

6. Sote: fool -- French "sot."

7. See note 59 to The Court of Love

8. Agnus castus: the chaste-tree; a kind of willow.

9. Roundell: French, "rondeau;" a song that comes
round again to the verse with which it opened, or that
is taken up in turn by each of the singers.

10. In modern French form, "Sous la feuille, devers
moi, son et mon joli coeur est endormi" -- "Under the
foliage, towards me, his and my jolly heart is gone to
sleep."

11. Prester John: The half-mythical Eastern potentate,
who is now supposed to have been, not a Christian
monarch of Abyssinia, but the head of the Indian
empire before Zenghis Khan's conquest.

12. Oak cerrial: of the species of oak which Pliny, in
his "Natural History," calls "cerrus."

13. Tartarium: Cloth of Tars, or of Tortona.

14. Bargaret: bergerette, or pastoral song.

15. "Si douce est la margarete.": "So sweet is the
daisy" ("la marguerite").

16. To make their joustes: the meaning is not very
obvious; but in The Knight's Tale "jousts and array"
are in some editions made part of the adornment of
the Temple of Venus; and as the word "jousts" would
there carry the general meaning of "preparations" to
entertain or please a lover, in the present case it may
have a similar force.

17. Gramercy: "grand merci," French; great thanks.

18. The Nine Worthies, who at our day survive in the
Seven Champions of Christendom. The Worthies
were favourite subjects for representation at popular
festivals or in masquerades.

19. The famous Knights of King Arthur, who, being
all esteemed equal in valour and noble qualities, sat at
a round table, so that none should seem to have
precedence over the rest.

20. The twelve peers of Charlemagne (les douze
pairs), chief among whom were Roland and Oliver.

21. Chaucer speaks as if, at least for the purposes of
his poetry, he believed that Edward III. did not
establish a new, but only revived an old, chivalric
institution, when be founded the Order of the Garter.

22. Laurer: laurel-tree; French, "laurier."

23. The meaning is: "Witness the practice of Rome,
that was the founder of all knighthood and marvellous
deeds; and I refer for corroboration to Titus Livius" --
who, in several passages, has mentioned the laurel
crown as the highest military honour. For instance, in
1. vii. c. 13, Sextus Tullius, remonstrating for the
army against the inaction in which it is kept, tells the
Dictator Sulpicius, "Duce te vincere cupimus; tibi
lauream insignem deferre; tecum triumphantes urbem
inire." ("Commander, we want you to conquer; to
bring you the laurel insignia; to enter the city with you
in triumph")

24. Malebouche: Slander, personified under the title
of Evil-mouth -- Italian, "Malbocca;" French,
"Malebouche."

25. Under support of them that list it read: the phrase
means -- trusting to the goodwill of my reader.

26. In press: into a crowd, into the press of
competitors for favour; not, it need hardly be said,
"into the press" in the modern sense -- printing was
not invented for a century after this was written.

THE HOUSE OF FAME

[Thanks partly to Pope's brief and elegant paraphrase, in his
"Temple of Fame," and partly to the familiar force of the style
and the satirical significance of the allegory, "The House of
Fame" is among the best known and relished of Chaucer's minor
poems. The octosyllabic measure in which it is written -- the
same which the author of "Hudibras" used with such admirable
effect -- is excellently adapted for the vivid descriptions, the
lively sallies of humour and sarcasm, with which the poem
abounds; and when the poet actually does get to his subject, he
treats it with a zest, and a corresponding interest on the part
of
the reader, which are scarcely surpassed by the best of The
Canterbury Tales. The poet, however, tarries long on the way
to the House of Fame; as Pope says in his advertisement, the
reader who would compare his with Chaucer's poem, "may
begin with [Chaucer's] third Book of Fame, there being nothing
in the two first books that answers to their title." The first
book
opens with a kind of prologue (actually so marked and called in
earlier editions) in which the author speculates on the causes of
dreams; avers that never any man had such a dream as he had
on the tenth of December; and prays the God of Sleep to help
him to interpret the dream, and the Mover of all things to
reward or afflict those readers who take the dream well or ill.
Then he relates that, having fallen asleep, he fancied himself
within a temple of glass -- the abode of Venus -- the walls of
which were painted with the story of Aeneas. The paintings are
described at length; and then the poet tells us that, coming out
of the temple, he found himself on a vast sandy plain, and saw
high in heaven an eagle, that began to descend towards him.
With the prologue, the first book numbers 508 lines; of which
192 only -- more than are actually concerned with or directly
lead towards the real subject of the poem -- are given here. The
second book, containing 582 lines, of which 176 will be found
in this edition, is wholly devoted to the voyage from the Temple
of Venus to the House of Fame, which the dreamer
accomplishes in the eagle's claws. The bird has been sent by
Jove to do the poet some "solace" in reward of his labours for
the cause of Love; and during the transit through the air the
messenger discourses obligingly and learnedly with his human
burden on the theory of sound, by which all that is spoken must
needs reach the House of Fame; and on other matters suggested
by their errand and their observations by the way. The third
book (of 1080 lines, only a score of which, just at the outset,
have been omitted) brings us to the real pith of the poem. It
finds the poet close to the House of Fame, built on a rock of ice
engraved with names, many of which are half-melted away.
Entering the gorgeous palace, he finds all manner of minstrels
and historians; harpers, pipers, and trumpeters of fame;
magicians, jugglers, sorcerers, and many others. On a throne of
ruby sits the goddess, seeming at one moment of but a cubit's
stature, at the next touching heaven; and at either hand, on
pillars, stand the great authors who "bear up the name" of
ancient nations. Crowds of people enter the hall from all regions
of earth, praying the goddess to give them good or evil fame,
with and without their own deserts; and they receive answers
favourable, negative, or contrary, according to the caprice of
Fame. Pursuing his researches further, out of the region of
reputation or fame proper into that of tidings or rumours, the
poet is led, by a man who has entered into conversation with
him, to a vast whirling house of twigs, ever open to the arrival
of tidings, ever full of murmurings, whisperings, and
clatterings,
coming from the vast crowds that fill it -- for every rumour,
every piece of news, every false report, appears there in the
shape of the person who utters it, or passes it on, down in
earth.
Out at the windows innumerable, the tidings pass to Fame, who
gives to each report its name and duration; and in the house
travellers, pilgrims, pardoners, couriers, lovers, &c., make a
huge clamour. But here the poet meets with a man "of great
authority," and, half afraid, awakes; skilfully -- whether by
intention, fatigue, or accident -- leaving the reader
disappointed
by the nonfulfilment of what seemed to be promises of further
disclosures. The poem, not least in the passages the omission of
which has been dictated by the exigencies of the present
volume, is full of testimony to the vast acquaintance of Chaucer
with learning ancient and modern; Ovid, Virgil, Statius, are
equally at his command to illustrate his narrative or to furnish
the ground-work of his descriptions; while architecture, the
Arabic numeration, the theory of sound, and the effects of
gunpowder, are only a few among the topics of his own time of
which the poet treats with the ease of proficient knowledge.
Not least interesting are the vivid touches in which Chaucer
sketches the routine of his laborious and almost recluse daily
life; while the strength, individuality, and humour that mark the
didactic portion of the poem prove that "The House of Fame"
was one of the poet's riper productions.]

GOD turn us ev'ry dream to good!
For it is wonder thing, by the Rood,*
*Cross <1>
To my witte, what causeth swevens,*
*dreams
Either on morrows or on evens;
And why th'effect followeth of some,
And of some it shall never come;
Why this is an avision
And this a revelation;
Why this a dream, why that a sweven,
And not to ev'ry man *like even;*
*alike*
Why this a phantom, why these oracles,
I n'ot; but whoso of these miracles
The causes knoweth bet than I,
Divine* he; for I certainly
*define
*Ne can them not,* nor ever think *do not
know them*
To busy my wit for to swink*
*labour
To know of their significance
The genders, neither the distance
Of times of them, nor the causes
For why that this more than that cause is;
Or if folke's complexions
Make them dream of reflections;
Or elles thus, as others sayn,
For too great feebleness of the brain
By abstinence, or by sickness,
By prison, strife, or great distress,
Or elles by disordinance*
*derangement
Of natural accustomance;* *mode
of life
That some men be too curious
In study, or melancholious,
Or thus, so inly full of dread,
That no man may them *boote bede;* *afford them
relief*
Or elles that devotion
Of some, and contemplation,
Causeth to them such dreames oft;
Or that the cruel life unsoft
Of them that unkind loves lead,
That often hope much or dread,
That purely their impressions
Cause them to have visions;
Or if that spirits have the might
To make folk to dream a-night;
Or if the soul, of *proper kind,* *its own
nature*
Be so perfect as men find,
That it forewot* what is to come,
*foreknows
And that it warneth all and some
Of ev'reach of their adventures,
By visions, or by figures,
But that our fleshe hath no might
To understanden it aright,
For it is warned too darkly;
But why the cause is, not wot I.
Well worth of this thing greate clerks, <2>
That treat of this and other works;
For I of none opinion
Will as now make mention;
But only that the holy Rood
Turn us every dream to good.
For never since that I was born,
Nor no man elles me beforn,
Mette,* as I trowe steadfastly,
*dreamed
So wonderful a dream as I,
The tenthe day now of December;
The which, as I can it remember,
I will you tellen ev'ry deal.*
*whit

But at my beginning, truste weel,*
*well
I will make invocation,
With special devotion,
Unto the god of Sleep anon,
That dwelleth in a cave of stone, <3>
Upon a stream that comes from Lete,
That is a flood of hell unsweet,
Beside a folk men call Cimmerie;
There sleepeth ay this god unmerry,
With his sleepy thousand sones,
That alway for to sleep their won* is; *wont,
custom
And to this god, that I *of read,*
*tell of*
Pray I, that he will me speed
My sweven for to tell aright,
If ev'ry dream stands in his might.
And he that Mover is of all
That is, and was, and ever shall,
So give them joye that it hear,
Of alle that they dream to-year;*
*this year
And for to standen all in grace*
*favour
Of their loves, or in what place
That them were liefest* for to stand, *most
desired
And shield them from povert' and shand,*
*shame
And from ev'ry unhap and disease,
And send them all that may them please,
That take it well, and scorn it not,
Nor it misdeemen* in their thought,
*misjudge
Through malicious intention;
And whoso, through presumption.
Or hate, or scorn, or through envy,
Despite, or jape,* or villainy,
*jesting
Misdeem it, pray I Jesus God,
That dream he barefoot, dream he shod,
That ev'ry harm that any man
Hath had since that the world began,
Befall him thereof, ere he sterve,*
*die
And grant that he may it deserve,* *earn,
obtain
Lo! with such a conclusion
As had of his avision
Croesus, that was the king of Lyde,<4>
That high upon a gibbet died;
This prayer shall he have of me;
I am *no bet in charity.* *no more
charitable*

Now hearken, as I have you said,
What that I mette ere I abraid,*
*awoke
Of December the tenthe day;
When it was night to sleep I lay,
Right as I was wont for to do'n,
And fell asleepe wonder soon,
As he that *weary was for go*<5> *was weary from
going*
On pilgrimage miles two
To the corsaint* Leonard, *relics
of <6>
To make lithe that erst was hard.
But, as I slept, me mette I was
Within a temple made of glass;
In which there were more images
Of gold, standing in sundry stages,
And more riche tabernacles,
And with pierrie* more pinnacles,
*gems
And more curious portraitures,
And *quainte manner* of figures *strange
kinds*
Of golde work, than I saw ever.
But, certainly, I wiste* never
*knew
Where that it was, but well wist I
It was of Venus readily,
This temple; for in portraiture
I saw anon right her figure
Naked floating in a sea, <7>
And also on her head, pardie,
Her rose garland white and red,
And her comb to comb her head,
Her doves, and Dan Cupido,
Her blinde son, and Vulcano, <8>
That in his face was full brown.

As he "roamed up and down," the dreamer saw on the wall a
tablet of brass inscribed with the opening lines of the Aeneid;
while the whole story of Aeneas was told in the "portraitures"
and gold work. About three hundred and fifty lines are devoted
to the description; but they merely embody Virgil's account of
Aeneas' adventures from the destruction of Troy to his arrival in
Italy; and the only characteristic passage is the following
reflection, suggested by the death of Dido for her perfidious but
fate-compelled guest:

Lo! how a woman doth amiss,
To love him that unknowen is!
For, by Christ, lo! thus it fareth,
It is not all gold that glareth.*
*glitters
For, all so brook I well my head,
There may be under goodlihead* *fair
appearance
Cover'd many a shrewed* vice;
*cursed
Therefore let no wight be so nice*
*foolish
To take a love only for cheer,*
*looks
Or speech, or for friendly mannere;
For this shall ev'ry woman find,
That some man, *of his pure kind,* *by force of his
nature
Will showen outward the fairest,
Till he have caught that which him lest;*
*pleases
And then anon will causes find,
And sweare how she is unkind,
Or false, or privy* double was.
*secretly
All this say I by* Aeneas *with
reference to
And Dido, and her *nice lest,* *foolish
pleasure*
That loved all too soon a guest;
Therefore I will say a proverb,
That he that fully knows the herb
May safely lay it to his eye;
Withoute dread,* this is no lie.
*doubt

When the dreamer had seen all the sights in the temple, he
became desirous to know who had worked all those wonders,
and in what country he was; so he resolved to go out at the
wicket, in search of somebody who might tell him.

When I out at the doores came,
I fast aboute me beheld;
Then saw I but a large feld,* *open
country
As far as that I mighte see,
WIthoute town, or house, or tree,
Or bush, or grass, or ered* land,
*ploughed <9>
For all the field was but of sand,
As small* as men may see it lie
*fine
In the desert of Libye;
Nor no manner creature
That is formed by Nature,
There saw I, me to *rede or wiss.* *advise or
direct*
"O Christ!" thought I, "that art in bliss,
From *phantom and illusion* *vain fancy and
deception*
Me save!" and with devotion
Mine eyen to the heav'n I cast.
Then was I ware at the last
That, faste by the sun on high,
*As kennen might I* with mine eye, *as well as I might
discern*
Me thought I saw an eagle soar,
But that it seemed muche more*
*larger
Than I had any eagle seen;
This is as sooth as death, certain,
It was of gold, and shone so bright,
That never saw men such a sight,
But if* the heaven had y-won,
*unless
All new from God, another sun;
So shone the eagle's feathers bright:
And somewhat downward gan it light.* *descend,
alight

The Second Book opens with a brief invocation of Venus and
of Thought; then it proceeds:

This eagle, of which I have you told,
That shone with feathers as of gold,
Which that so high began to soar,
I gan beholde more and more,
To see her beauty and the wonder;
But never was there dint of thunder,
Nor that thing that men calle foudre,*
*thunderbolt
That smote sometimes a town to powder,
And in his swifte coming brenn'd,*
*burned
That so swithe* gan descend,
*rapidly
As this fowl, when that it beheld
That I a-roam was in the feld;
And with his grim pawes strong,
Within his sharpe nailes long,
Me, flying, at a swap* he hent,** *swoop
*seized
And with his sours <10> again up went,
Me carrying in his clawes stark*
*strong
As light as I had been a lark,
How high, I cannot telle you,
For I came up, I wist not how.

The poet faints through bewilderment and fear; but the eagle,
speaking with the voice of a man, recalls him to himself, and
comforts him by the assurance that what now befalls him is for
his instruction and profit. Answering the poet's unspoken
inquiry whether he is not to die otherwise, or whether Jove will
him stellify, the eagle says that he has been sent by Jupiter out
of his "great ruth,"

"For that thou hast so truely
So long served ententively* *with
attentive zeal
His blinde nephew* Cupido,
*grandson
And faire Venus also,
Withoute guuerdon ever yet,
And natheless hast set thy wit
(Although that in thy head full lite* is)
*little
To make bookes, songs, and ditties,
In rhyme or elles in cadence,
As thou best canst, in reverence
Of Love, and of his servants eke,
That have his service sought, and seek,
And pained thee to praise his art,
Although thou haddest never part; <11>
Wherefore, all so God me bless,
Jovis holds it great humbless,
And virtue eke, that thou wilt make
A-night full oft thy head to ache,
In thy study so thou writest,
And evermore of love enditest,
In honour of him and praisings,
And in his folke's furtherings,
And in their matter all devisest,*
*relates
And not him nor his folk despisest,
Although thou may'st go in the dance
Of them that him list not advance.
Wherefore, as I said now, y-wis,
Jupiter well considers this;
And also, beausire,* other things;
*good sir
That is, that thou hast no tidings
Of Love's folk, if they be glad,
Nor of naught elles that God made;
And not only from far country
That no tidings come to thee,
But of thy very neighebours,
That dwellen almost at thy doors,
Thou hearest neither that nor this.
For when thy labour all done is,
And hast y-made thy reckonings, <12>
Instead of rest and newe things,
Thou go'st home to thy house anon,
And, all so dumb as any stone,
Thou sittest at another book,
Till fully dazed* is thy look;
*blinded
And livest thus as a hermite
Although thine abstinence is lite."* <13>
*little

Therefore has Jove appointed the eagle to take the poet to the
House of Fame, to do him some pleasure in recompense for his
devotion to Cupid; and he will hear, says the bird,

"When we be come there as I say,
More wondrous thinges, dare I lay,*
*bet
Of Love's folke more tidings,
Both *soothe sawes and leasings;* *true sayings
and lies*
And more loves new begun,
And long y-served loves won,
And more loves casually
That be betid,* no man knows why, *happened by
chance
But as a blind man starts a hare;
And more jollity and welfare,
While that they finde *love of steel,* *love true as
steel*
As thinketh them, and over all weel;
More discords, and more jealousies,
More murmurs, and more novelties,
And more dissimulations,
And feigned reparations;
And more beardes, in two hours,
Withoute razor or scissours
Y-made, <14> than graines be of sands;
And eke more holding in hands,*
*embracings
And also more renovelances*
*renewings
Of old *forleten acquaintances;* *broken-off
acquaintanceships*
More love-days,<15> and more accords,*
*agreements
Than on instruments be chords;
And eke of love more exchanges
Than ever cornes were in granges."*
*barns

The poet can scarcely believe that, though Fame had all the pies
[magpies] and all the spies in a kingdom, she should hear so
much; but the eagle proceeds to prove that she can.

First shalt thou heare where she dwelleth;
And, so as thine own booke telleth, <16>
Her palace stands, as I shall say,
Right ev'n in middes of the way
Betweene heav'n, and earth, and sea,
That whatsoe'er in all these three
Is spoken, *privy or apert,* *secretly or
openly*
The air thereto is so overt,*
*clear
And stands eke in so just* a place,
*suitable
That ev'ry sound must to it pace,
Or whatso comes from any tongue,
Be it rowned,* read, or sung,
*whispered
Or spoken in surety or dread,*
*doubt
Certain *it must thither need."* *it must needs go
thither*

The eagle, in a long discourse, demonstrates that, as all natural
things have a natural place towards which they move by natural
inclination, and as sound is only broken air, so every sound
must come to Fame's House, "though it were piped of a mouse"
-- on the same principle by which every part of a mass of water
is affected by the casting in of a stone. The poet is all the
while
borne upward, entertained with various information by the bird;
which at last cries out --

"Hold up thy head, for all is well!
Saint Julian, lo! bon hostel! <17>
See here the House of Fame, lo
May'st thou not heare that I do?"
"What?" quoth I. "The greate soun',"
Quoth he, "that rumbleth up and down
In Fame's House, full of tidings,
Both of fair speech and of chidings,
And of false and sooth compouned;* *compounded,
mingled
Hearken well; it is not rowned.*
*whispered
Hearest thou not the greate swough?"*
*confused sound
"Yes, pardie!" quoth I, "well enough."
And what sound is it like?" quoth he
"Peter! the beating of the sea,"
Quoth I, "against the rockes hollow,
When tempests do the shippes swallow.
And let a man stand, out of doubt,
A mile thence, and hear it rout.*
*roar
Or elles like the last humbling* *dull low
distant noise
After the clap of a thund'ring,
When Jovis hath the air y-beat;
But it doth me for feare sweat."
"Nay, dread thee not thereof," quoth he;
"It is nothing will bite thee,
Thou shalt no harme have, truly."

And with that word both he and I
As nigh the place arrived were,
As men might caste with a spear.
I wist not how, but in a street
He set me fair upon my feet,
And saide: "Walke forth apace,
And take *thine adventure or case,* *thy chance
of what
That thou shalt find in Fame's place." may
befall*
"Now," quoth I, "while we have space
To speak, ere that I go from thee,
For the love of God, as telle me,
In sooth, that I will of thee lear,*
*learn
If this noise that I hear
Be, as I have heard thee tell,
Of folk that down in earthe dwell,
And cometh here in the same wise
As I thee heard, ere this, devise?
And that there living body n'is*
*is not
In all that house that yonder is,
That maketh all this loude fare?"*
*hubbub, ado
"No," answered he, "by Saint Clare,
And all *so wisly God rede me;* *so
surely god
But one thing I will warne thee,
guide me*
Of the which thou wilt have wonder.
Lo! to the House of Fame yonder,
Thou know'st how cometh ev'ry speech;
It needeth not thee eft* to teach.
*again
But understand now right well this;
When any speech y-comen is
Up to the palace, anon right
It waxeth* like the same wight** *becomes
**person
Which that the word in earthe spake,
Be he cloth'd in red or black;
And so weareth his likeness,
And speaks the word, that thou wilt guess*
*fancy
That it the same body be,
Whether man or woman, he or she.
And is not this a wondrous thing?"
"Yes," quoth I then, "by Heaven's king!"
And with this word, "Farewell," quoth he,
And here I will abide* thee,
*wait for
And God of Heaven send thee grace
Some good to learen* in this place."
*learn
And I of him took leave anon,
And gan forth to the palace go'n.

At the opening of the Third Book, Chaucer briefly invokes
Apollo's guidance, and entreats him, because "the rhyme is light
and lewd," to "make it somewhat agreeable, though some verse
fail in a syllable." If the god answers the prayer, the poet
promises to kiss the next laurel-tree <18> he sees; and he
proceeds:

When I was from this eagle gone,
I gan behold upon this place;
And certain, ere I farther pace,
I will you all the shape devise*
*describe
Of house and city; and all the wise
How I gan to this place approach,
That stood upon so high a roche,*
*rock <19>
Higher standeth none in Spain;
But up I climb'd with muche pain,
And though to climbe *grieved me,* *cost me painful
effort*
Yet I ententive* was to see,
*attentive
And for to pore* wondrous low, *gaze
closely
If I could any wise know
What manner stone this rocke was,
For it was like a thing of glass,
But that it shone full more clear
But of what congealed mattere
It was, I wist not readily,
But at the last espied I,
And found that it was *ev'ry deal*
*entirely*
A rock of ice, and not of steel.
Thought I, "By Saint Thomas of Kent, <20>
This were a feeble fundament*
*foundation
*To builden* a place so high; *on which
to build
He ought him lite* to glorify
*little
That hereon built, God so me save!"

Then saw I all the half y-grave <21>
With famous folke's names fele,*
*many
That hadde been in muche weal,* *good
fortune
And their fames wide y-blow.
But well unnethes* might I know
*scarcely
Any letters for to read
Their names by; for out of dread*
*doubt
They were almost off thawed so,
That of the letters one or two
Were molt* away of ev'ry name,
*melted
So unfamous was wox* their fame;
*become
But men say, "What may ever last?"
Then gan I in my heart to cast*
*conjecture
That they were molt away for heat,
And not away with stormes beat;
For on the other side I sey*
*saw
Of this hill, that northward lay,
How it was written full of names
Of folke that had greate fames
Of olde times, and yet they were
As fresh as men had writ them there
The selfe day, right ere that hour
That I upon them gan to pore.
But well I wiste what it made;*
*meant
It was conserved with the shade,
All the writing which I sigh,*
*saw
Of a castle that stood on high;
And stood eke on so cold a place,
That heat might it not deface.* *injure,
destroy

Then gan I on this hill to go'n,
And found upon the cop* a won,** *summit <22>
**house
That all the men that be alive
Have not the *cunning to descrive* *skill to
describe*
The beauty of that like place,
Nor coulde *caste no compass* *find no
contrivance*
Such another for to make,
That might of beauty be its make,*
*match, equal
Nor one so wondrously y-wrought,
That it astonieth yet my thought,
And maketh all my wit to swink,*
*labour
Upon this castle for to think;
So that the greate beauty,
Cast,* craft, and curiosity,
*ingenuity
Ne can I not to you devise;*
*describe
My witte may me not suffice.
But natheless all the substance
I have yet in my remembrance;
For why, me thoughte, by Saint Gile,
Alle was of stone of beryle,
Bothe the castle and the tow'r,
And eke the hall, and ev'ry bow'r,*
*chamber
Withoute pieces or joinings,
But many subtile compassings,*
*contrivances
As barbicans* and pinnacles,
*watch-towers
Imageries and tabernacles,
I saw; and eke full of windows,
As flakes fall in greate snows.
And eke in each of the pinnacles
Were sundry habitacles,* *apartments or
niches
In which stooden, all without,
Full the castle all about,
Of all manner of minstrales
And gestiours,<23> that telle tales
Both of weeping and of game,*
*mirth
Of all that longeth unto Fame.

There heard I play upon a harp,
That sounded bothe well and sharp,
Him, Orpheus, full craftily;
And on this side faste by
Satte the harper Arion,<24>
And eke Aeacides Chiron <25>
And other harpers many a one,
And the great Glasgerion; <26>
And smalle harpers, with their glees,*
*instruments
Satten under them in sees,*
*seats
And gan on them upward to gape,
And counterfeit them as an ape,
Or as *craft counterfeiteth kind.* *art counterfeits
nature*
Then saw I standing them behind,
Afar from them, all by themselve,
Many thousand times twelve,
That made loude minstrelsies
In cornmuse and eke in shawmies, <27>
And in many another pipe,
That craftily began to pipe,
Both in dulcet <28> and in reed,
That be at feastes with the bride.
And many a flute and lilting horn,
And pipes made of greene corn,
As have these little herde-grooms,*
*shepherd-boys
That keepe beastes in the brooms.
There saw I then Dan Citherus,
And of Athens Dan Pronomus, <29>
And Marsyas <30> that lost his skin,
Both in the face, body, and chin,
For that he would envyen, lo!
To pipe better than Apollo.
There saw I famous, old and young,
Pipers of alle Dutche tongue, <31>
To learne love-dances and springs,
Reyes, <32> and these strange things.
Then saw I in another place,
Standing in a large space,
Of them that make bloody* soun',
*martial
In trumpet, beam,* and clarioun;
*horn <33>
For in fight and blood-sheddings
Is used gladly clarionings.
There heard I trumpe Messenus. <34>
Of whom speaketh Virgilius.
There heard I Joab trump also, <35>
Theodamas, <36> and other mo',
And all that used clarion
In Catalogne and Aragon,
That in their times famous were
To learne, saw I trumpe there.
There saw I sit in other sees,
Playing upon sundry glees,
Whiche that I cannot neven,*
*name
More than starres be in heaven;
Of which I will not now rhyme,
For ease of you, and loss of time:
For time lost, this knowe ye,
By no way may recover'd be.

There saw I play jongelours,*
*jugglers <37>
Magicians, and tregetours,<38>
And Pythonesses, <39> charmeresses,
And old witches, and sorceresses,
That use exorcisations,
And eke subfumigations; <40>
And clerkes* eke, which knowe well
*scholars
All this magic naturel,
That craftily do their intents,
To make, in certain ascendents, <41>
Images, lo! through which magic
To make a man be whole or sick.
There saw I the queen Medea, <42>
And Circes <43> eke, and Calypsa.<44>
There saw I Hermes Ballenus, <45>
Limote, <46> and eke Simon Magus. <47>
There saw I, and knew by name,
That by such art do men have fame.
There saw I Colle Tregetour <46>
Upon a table of sycamore
Play an uncouth* thing to tell;
*strange, rare
I saw him carry a windmell
Under a walnut shell.
Why should I make longer tale
Of all the people I there say,*
*saw
From hence even to doomesday?

When I had all this folk behold,
And found me *loose, and not y-hold,* *at liberty and
unrestrained*
And I had mused longe while
Upon these walles of beryle,
That shone lighter than any glass,
And made *well more* than it was *much
greater
To seemen ev'rything, y-wis,
As kindly* thing of Fame it is; <48>
*natural
I gan forth roam until I fand*
*found
The castle-gate on my right hand,
Which all so well y-carven was,
That never such another n'as;*
*was not
And yet it was by Adventure*
*chance
Y-wrought, and not by *subtile cure.*
*careful art*
It needeth not you more to tell,
To make you too longe dwell,
Of these gates' flourishings,
Nor of compasses,* nor carvings,
*devices
Nor how they had in masonries,
As corbets, <49> full of imageries.
But, Lord! so fair it was to shew,
For it was all with gold behew.*
*coloured
But in I went, and that anon;
There met I crying many a one
"A largess! largess! <50> hold up well!
God save the Lady of this pell,*
*palace
Our owen gentle Lady Fame,
And them that will to have name
Of us!" Thus heard I cryen all,
And fast they came out of the hall,
And shooke *nobles and sterlings,*
*coins <51>
And some y-crowned were as kings,
With crownes wrought fall of lozenges;
And many ribands, and many fringes,
Were on their clothes truely
Then at the last espied I
That pursuivantes and herauds,*
*heralds
That cry riche folke's lauds,*
*praises
They weren all; and ev'ry man
Of them, as I you telle can,
Had on him throwen a vesture
Which that men call a coat-armure, <52>
Embroidered wondrously rich,
As though there were *naught y-lich;* *nothing
like it*
But naught will I, so may I thrive,
*Be aboute to descrive* *concern myself with
describing*
All these armes that there were,
That they thus on their coates bare,
For it to me were impossible;
Men might make of them a bible
Twenty foote thick, I trow.
For, certain, whoso coulde know
Might there all the armes see'n
Of famous folk that have been
In Afric', Europe, and Asie,
Since first began the chivalry.

Lo! how should I now tell all this?
Nor of the hall eke what need is
To telle you that ev'ry wall
Of it, and floor, and roof, and all,
Was plated half a foote thick
Of gold, and that was nothing wick',*
*counterfeit
But for to prove in alle wise
As fine as ducat of Venise, <53>
Of which too little in my pouch is?
And they were set as thick of nouches*
*ornaments
Fine, of the finest stones fair,
That men read in the Lapidaire, <54>
As grasses growen in a mead.
But it were all too long to read*
*declare
The names; and therefore I pass.
But in this rich and lusty place,
That Fame's Hall y-called was,
Full muche press of folk there n'as,*
*was not
Nor crowding for too muche press.
But all on high, above a dais,
Set on a see* imperial, <55>
*seat
That made was of ruby all,
Which that carbuncle is y-call'd,
I saw perpetually install'd
A feminine creature;
That never formed by Nature
Was such another thing y-sey.*
*seen
For altherfirst,* sooth to say, *first
of all
Me thoughte that she was so lite,*
*little
That the length of a cubite
Was longer than she seem'd to be;
But thus soon in a while she
Herself then wonderfully stretch'd,
That with her feet the earth she reach'd,
And with her head she touched heaven,
Where as shine the starres seven. <56>
And thereto* eke, as to my wit,
*moreover
I saw a greater wonder yet,
Upon her eyen to behold;
But certes I them never told.
For *as fele eyen* hadde she, *as
many eyes*
As feathers upon fowles be,
Or were on the beastes four
That Godde's throne gan honour,
As John writ in th'Apocalypse. <57>
Her hair, that *oundy was and crips,* *wavy <58> and
crisp*
As burnish'd gold it shone to see;
And, sooth to tellen, also she
Had all so fele* upstanding ears,
*many
And tongues, as on beasts be hairs;
And on her feet waxen saw I
Partridges' winges readily.<59>
But, Lord! the pierrie* and richess *gems,
jewellery
I saw sitting on this goddess,
And the heavenly melody
Of songes full of harmony,
I heard about her throne y-sung,
That all the palace walles rung!
(So sung the mighty Muse, she
That called is Calliope,
And her eight sisteren* eke,
*sisters
That in their faces seeme meek);
And evermore eternally
They sang of Fame as then heard I:
"Heried* be thou and thy name,
*praised
Goddess of Renown and Fame!"
Then was I ware, lo! at the last,
As I mine eyen gan upcast,
That this ilke noble queen
On her shoulders gan sustene*
*sustain
Both the armes, and the name
Of those that hadde large fame;
Alexander, and Hercules,
That with a shirt his life lese.* <60>
*lost
Thus found I sitting this goddess,
In noble honour and richess;
Of which I stint* a while now, *refrain (from
speaking)
Of other things to telle you.

Then saw I stand on either side,
Straight down unto the doores wide,
From the dais, many a pillere
Of metal, that shone not full clear;
But though they were of no richess,
Yet were they made for great nobless,
And in them greate sentence.*
*significance
And folk of digne* reverence,
*worthy, lofty
Of which *I will you telle fand,* *I will try to
tell you*
Upon the pillars saw I stand.
Altherfirst, lo! there I sigh*
*saw
Upon a pillar stand on high,
That was of lead and iron fine,
Him of the secte Saturnine, <61>
The Hebrew Josephus the old,
That of Jewes' gestes* told; *deeds of
braver
And he bare on his shoulders high
All the fame up of Jewry.
And by him stooden other seven,
Full wise and worthy for to neven,*
*name
To help him bearen up the charge,*
*burden
It was so heavy and so large.
And, for they writen of battailes,
As well as other old marvailes,
Therefore was, lo! this pillere,
Of which that I you telle here,
Of lead and iron both, y-wis;
For iron Marte's metal is, <62>
Which that god is of battaile;
And eke the lead, withoute fail,
Is, lo! the metal of Saturn,
That hath full large wheel* to turn.
*orbit
Then stoode forth, on either row,
Of them which I coulde know,
Though I them not by order tell,
To make you too longe dwell.
These, of the which I gin you read,
There saw I standen, out of dread,
Upon an iron pillar strong,
That painted was all endelong* *from top to
bottom*
With tiger's blood in ev'ry place,
The Tholosan that highte Stace, <63>
That bare of Thebes up the name
Upon his shoulders, and the fame
Also of cruel Achilles.
And by him stood, withoute lease,*
*falsehood
Full wondrous high on a pillere
Of iron, he, the great Homere;
And with him Dares and Dytus, <64>
Before, and eke he, Lollius, <65>
And Guido eke de Colempnis, <66>
And English Gaufrid <67> eke, y-wis.
And each of these, as I have joy,
Was busy for to bear up Troy;
So heavy thereof was the fame,
That for to bear it was no game.
But yet I gan full well espy,
Betwixt them was a little envy.
One said that Homer made lies,
Feigning in his poetries,
And was to the Greeks favourable;
Therefore held he it but a fable.
Then saw I stand on a pillere
That was of tinned iron clear,
Him, the Latin poet Virgile,
That borne hath up a longe while
The fame of pious Aeneas.
And next him on a pillar was
Of copper, Venus' clerk Ovide,
That hath y-sowen wondrous wide
The greate god of Love's fame.
And there he bare up well his name
Upon this pillar all so high,
As I might see it with mine eye;
For why? this hall whereof I read
Was waxen in height, and length, and bread,*
*breadth
Well more by a thousand deal*
*times
Than it was erst, that saw I weel.
Then saw I on a pillar by,
Of iron wrought full sternely,
The greate poet, Dan Lucan,
That on his shoulders bare up than,
As high as that I might it see,
The fame of Julius and Pompey; <68>
And by him stood all those clerks
That write of Rome's mighty works,
That if I would their names tell,
All too longe must I dwell.
And next him on a pillar stood
Of sulphur, like as he were wood,*
*mad
Dan Claudian, <69> the sooth to tell,
That bare up all the fame of hell,
Of Pluto, and of Proserpine,
That queen is of *the darke pine* *the dark realm
of pain*
Why should I telle more of this?
The hall was alle fulle, y-wis,
Of them that writen olde gests,* *histories of
great deeds
As be on trees rookes' nests;
But it a full confus'd mattere
Were all these gestes for to hear,
That they of write, and how they hight.* *are
called

But while that I beheld this sight,
I heard a noise approache blive,*
*quickly
That far'd* as bees do in a hive,
*went
Against their time of outflying;
Right such a manner murmuring,
For all the world, it seem'd to me.
Then gan I look about, and see
That there came entering the hall
A right great company withal,
And that of sundry regions,
Of all kinds and conditions
That dwell in earth under the moon,
Both poor and rich; and all so soon
As they were come into the hall,
They gan adown on knees to fall,
Before this ilke* noble queen,
*same
And saide, "Grant us, Lady sheen,* *bright,
lovely
Each of us of thy grace a boon."*
*favour
And some of them she granted soon,
And some she warned* well and fair,
*refused
And some she granted the contrair*
*contrary
Of their asking utterly;
But this I say you truely,
What that her cause was, I n'ist;* *wist not,
know not
For of these folk full well I wist,
They hadde good fame each deserved,
Although they were diversely served.
Right as her sister, Dame Fortune,
Is wont to serven *in commune.* *commonly,
usually*

Now hearken how she gan to pay
Them that gan of her grace to pray;
And right, lo! all this company
Saide sooth,* and not a lie.
*truth
"Madame," thus quoth they, "we be
Folk that here beseeche thee
That thou grant us now good fame,
And let our workes have good name
In full recompensatioun
Of good work, give us good renown
"I warn* it you," quoth she anon;
*refuse
"Ye get of me good fame none,
By God! and therefore go your way."
"Alas," quoth they, "and well-away!
Tell us what may your cause be."
"For that it list* me not," quoth she,
*pleases
No wight shall speak of you, y-wis,
Good nor harm, nor that nor this."

And with that word she gan to call
Her messenger, that was in hall,
And bade that he should faste go'n,
Upon pain to be blind anon,
For Aeolus, the god of wind;
"In Thrace there ye shall him find,
And bid him bring his clarioun,
That is full diverse of his soun',
And it is called Cleare Laud,
With which he wont is to heraud*
*proclaim
Them that me list y-praised be,
And also bid him how that he
Bring eke his other clarioun,
That hight* Slander in ev'ry town, *is
called
With which he wont is to diffame* *defame,
disparage
Them that me list, and do them shame."
This messenger gan faste go'n,
And found where, in a cave of stone,
In a country that highte Thrace,
This Aeolus, *with harde grace,* *Evil favour
attend him!*
Helde the windes in distress,*
*constraint
And gan them under him to press,
That they began as bears to roar,
He bound and pressed them so sore.
This messenger gan fast to cry,
"Rise up," quoth he, "and fast thee hie,
Until thou at my Lady be,
And take thy clarions eke with thee,
And speed thee forth." And he anon
Took to him one that hight Triton, <70>
His clarions to beare tho,*
*then
And let a certain winde go,
That blew so hideously and high,
That it lefte not a sky*
*cloud <71>
In all the welkin* long and broad.
*sky
This Aeolus nowhere abode*
*delayed
Till he was come to Fame's feet,
And eke the man that Triton hete,* *is
called
And there he stood as still as stone.

And therewithal there came anon
Another huge company
Of goode folk, and gan to cry,
"Lady, grant us goode fame,
And let our workes have that name,
Now in honour of gentleness;
And all so God your soule bless;
For we have well deserved it,
Therefore is right we be well quit."*
*requited
"As thrive I," quoth she, "ye shall fail;
Good workes shall you not avail
To have of me good fame as now;
But, wot ye what, I grante you.
That ye shall have a shrewde* fame, *evil,
cursed
And wicked los,* and worse name,
*reputation <72>
Though ye good los have well deserv'd;
Now go your way, for ye be serv'd.
And now, Dan Aeolus," quoth she,
"Take forth thy trump anon, let see,
That is y-called Slander light,
And blow their los, that ev'ry wight
Speak of them harm and shrewedness,* *wickedness,
malice
Instead of good and worthiness;
For thou shalt trump all the contrair
Of that they have done, well and fair."
Alas! thought I, what adventures* *(evil)
fortunes
Have these sorry creatures,
That they, amonges all the press,
Should thus be shamed guilteless?
But what! it muste needes be.
What did this Aeolus, but he
Took out his blacke trump of brass,
That fouler than the Devil was,
And gan this trumpet for to blow,
As all the world 't would overthrow.
Throughout every regioun
Went this foule trumpet's soun',
As swift as pellet out of gun
When fire is in the powder run.
And such a smoke gan out wend,*
*go
Out of this foule trumpet's end,
Black, blue, greenish, swart,* and red,
*black <73>
As doth when that men melt lead,
Lo! all on high from the tewell;*
*chimney <74>
And thereto* one thing saw I well,
*also
That the farther that it ran,
The greater waxen it began,
As doth the river from a well,*
*fountain
And it stank as the pit of hell.
Alas! thus was their shame y-rung,
And guilteless, on ev'ry tongue.

Then came the thirde company,
And gan up to the dais to hie,*
*hasten
And down on knees they fell anon,
And saide, "We be ev'ry one
Folk that have full truely
Deserved fame right fully,
And pray you that it may be know
Right as it is, and forth y-blow."
"I grante," quoth she, "for me list
That now your goode works be wist;*
*known
And yet ye shall have better los,
In despite of all your foes,
Than worthy* is, and that anon.
*merited
Let now," quoth she, "thy trumpet go'n,
Thou Aeolus, that is so black,
And out thine other trumpet take,
That highte Laud, and blow it so
That through the world their fame may go,
Easily and not too fast,
That it be knowen at the last."
"Full gladly, Lady mine," he said;
And out his trump of gold he braid*
*pulled forth
Anon, and set it to his mouth,
And blew it east, and west, and south,
And north, as loud as any thunder,
That ev'ry wight had of it wonder,
So broad it ran ere that it stent.*
*ceased
And certes all the breath that went
Out of his trumpet's mouthe smell'd
As* men a pot of balme held
*as if
Among a basket full of roses;
This favour did he to their loses.*
*reputations

And right with this I gan espy
Where came the fourthe company.
But certain they were wondrous few;
And gan to standen in a rew,*
*row
And saide, "Certes, Lady bright,
We have done well with all our might,
But we *not keep* to have fame;
*care not
Hide our workes and our name,
For Godde's love! for certes we
Have surely done it for bounty,* *goodness,
virtue
And for no manner other thing."
"I grante you all your asking,"
Quoth she; "let your workes be dead."

With that I turn'd about my head,
And saw anon the fifthe rout,*
*company
That to this Lady gan to lout,*
*bow down
And down on knees anon to fall;
And to her then besoughten all
To hide their good workes eke,
And said, they gave* not a leek
*cared
For no fame, nor such renown;
For they for contemplatioun
And Godde's love had y-wrought,
Nor of fame would they have aught.
"What!" quoth she, "and be ye wood?
And *weene ye* for to do good, *do ye
imagine*
And for to have of that no fame?
*Have ye despite* to have my name? *do ye
despise*
Nay, ye shall lie every one!
Blow thy trump, and that anon,"
Quoth she, "thou Aeolus, I hote,*
*command
And ring these folkes works by note,
That all the world may of it hear."
And he gan blow their los* so clear
*reputation
Within his golden clarioun,
That through the worlde went the soun',
All so kindly, and so soft,
That their fame was blown aloft.

And then came the sixth company,
And gunnen* fast on Fame to cry;
*began
Right verily in this mannere
They saide; "Mercy, Lady dear!
To telle certain as it is,
We have done neither that nor this,
But idle all our life hath be;*
*been
But natheless yet praye we
That we may have as good a fame,
And great renown, and knowen* name,
*well-known
As they that have done noble gests,*
*feats.
And have achieved all their quests,* *enterprises;
desires
As well of Love, as other thing;
All* was us never brooch, nor ring,
*although
Nor elles aught from women sent,
Nor ones in their hearte meant
To make us only friendly cheer,
But mighte *teem us upon bier;* *might lay us on
our bier
Yet let us to the people seem (by their adverse
demeanour)*
Such as the world may of us deem,*
*judge
That women loven us for wood.*
*madly
It shall us do as muche good,
And to our heart as much avail,
The counterpoise,* ease, and travail,
*compensation
As we had won it with labour;
For that is deare bought honour,
*At the regard of* our great ease. *in
comparison with*
*And yet* ye must us more please; *in
addition*
Let us be holden eke thereto
Worthy, and wise, and good also,
And rich, and happy unto love,
For Godde's love, that sits above;
Though we may not the body have
Of women, yet, so God you save,
Let men glue* on us the name;
*fasten
Sufficeth that we have the fame."
"I grante," quoth she, "by my troth;
Now Aeolus, withoute sloth,
Take out thy trump of gold," quoth she,
"And blow as they have asked me,
That ev'ry man ween* them at ease,
*believe
Although they go in full *bad leas."* *sorry
plight*
This Aeolus gan it so blow,
That through the world it was y-know.

Then came the seventh rout anon,
And fell on knees ev'ry one,
And saide, "Lady, grant us soon
The same thing, the same boon,
Which *this next folk* you have done." *the people just
before us*
"Fy on you," quoth she, "ev'ry one!
Ye nasty swine, ye idle wretches,
Full fill'd of rotten slowe tetches!*
*blemishes <75>
What? false thieves! ere ye would
*Be famous good,* and nothing n'ould *have
good fame*
Deserve why, nor never raught,* *recked, cared (to
do so)
Men rather you to hangen ought.
For ye be like the sleepy cat,
That would have fish; but, know'st thou what?
He woulde no thing wet his claws.
Evil thrift come to your jaws,
And eke to mine, if I it grant,
Or do favour you to avaunt.* *boast
your deeds
Thou Aeolus, thou King of Thrace,
Go, blow this folk a *sorry grace,"*
*disgrace
Quoth she, "anon; and know'st thou how?
As I shall telle thee right now,
Say, these be they that would honour
Have, and do no kind of labour,
Nor do no good, and yet have laud,
And that men ween'd that Belle Isaude <76>
*Could them not of love wern;* *could not refuse them
her love*
And yet she that grinds at the quern*
*mill <77>
Is all too good to ease their heart."
This Aeolus anon upstart,
And with his blacke clarioun
He gan to blazen out a soun'
As loud as bellows wind in hell;
And eke therewith, the sooth to tell,
This sounde was so full of japes,*
*jests
As ever were mows* in apes;
*grimaces
And that went all the world about,
That ev'ry wight gan on them shout,
And for to laugh as they were wood;*
*mad
*Such game found they in their hood.* <78> *so were they
ridiculed*

Then came another company,
That hadde done the treachery,
The harm, and the great wickedness,
That any hearte coulde guess;
And prayed her to have good fame,
And that she would do them no shame,
But give them los and good renown,
And *do it blow* in clarioun. *cause it to be
blown*
"Nay, wis!" quoth she, "it were a vice;
All be there in me no justice,
Me liste not to do it now,
Nor this will I grant to you."

Then came there leaping in a rout,*
*crowd
And gan to clappen* all about
*strike, knock
Every man upon the crown,
That all the hall began to soun';
And saide; "Lady lefe* and dear,
*loved
We be such folk as ye may hear.
To tellen all the tale aright,
We be shrewes* every wight, *wicked, impious
people
And have delight in wickedness,
As goode folk have in goodness,
And joy to be y-knowen shrews,
And full of vice and *wicked thews;* *evil
qualities*
Wherefore we pray you *on a row,* *all
together*
That our fame be such y-know
In all things right as it is."
"I grant it you," quoth she, "y-wis.
But what art thou that say'st this tale,
That wearest on thy hose a pale,* *vertical
stripe
And on thy tippet such a bell?"
"Madame," quoth he, "sooth to tell,
I am *that ilke shrew,* y-wis, *the same
wretch*
That burnt the temple of Isidis,
In Athenes, lo! that city." <79>
"And wherefore didst thou so?" quoth she.
"By my thrift!" quoth he, "Madame,
I woulde fain have had a name
As other folk had in the town;
Although they were of great renown
For their virtue and their thews,* *good
qualities
Thought I, as great fame have shrews
(Though it be naught) for shrewdeness,
As good folk have for goodeness;
And since I may not have the one,
The other will I not forgo'n.
So for to gette *fame's hire,* *the reward
of fame*
The temple set I all afire.
*Now do our los be blowen swithe,
As wisly be thou ever blithe."* *see
note <80>
"Gladly," quoth she; "thou Aeolus,
Hear'st thou what these folk prayen us?"
"Madame, I hear full well," quoth he,
"And I will trumpen it, pardie!"
And took his blacke trumpet fast,
And gan to puffen and to blast,
Till it was at the worlde's end.

With that I gan *aboute wend,*
*turn*
For one that stood right at my back
Me thought full goodly* to me spake, *courteously,
fairly
And saide, "Friend, what is thy name?
Art thou come hither to have fame?"
"Nay, *for soothe,* friend!" quoth I;
*surely*
"I came not hither, *grand mercy,* *great
thanks*
For no such cause, by my head!
Sufficeth me, as I were dead,
That no wight have my name in hand.
I wot myself best how I stand,
For what I dree,* or what I think,
*suffer
I will myself it alle drink,
Certain, for the more part,
As far forth as I know mine art."
"What doest thou here, then," quoth he.
Quoth I, "That will I telle thee;
The cause why I stande here,
Is some new tidings for to lear,*
*learn
Some newe thing, I know not what,
Tidings either this or that,
Of love, or suche thinges glad.
For, certainly, he that me made
To come hither, said to me
I shoulde bothe hear and see
In this place wondrous things;
But these be not such tidings
As I meant of." "No?" quoth he.
And I answered, "No, pardie!
For well I wot ever yet,
Since that first I hadde wit,
That some folk have desired fame
Diversely, and los, and name;
But certainly I knew not how
Nor where that Fame dwelled, ere now
Nor eke of her description,
Nor also her condition,
Nor *the order of her doom,* *the principle of her
judgments*
Knew I not till I hither come."
"Why, then, lo! be these tidings,
That thou nowe hither brings,
That thou hast heard?" quoth he to me.
"But now *no force,* for well I see *no
matter*
What thou desirest for to lear."
Come forth, and stand no longer here.
And I will thee, withoute dread,*
*doubt
Into another place lead,
Where thou shalt hear many a one."

Then gan I forth with him to go'n
Out of the castle, sooth to say.
Then saw I stand in a vally,
Under the castle faste by,
A house, that domus Daedali,
That Labyrinthus <81> called is,
N'as* made so wondrously, y-wis,
*was not
Nor half so quaintly* was y-wrought.
*strangely
And evermore, as swift as thought,
This quainte* house aboute went,
*strange
That nevermore it *stille stent;* *ceased
to move*
And thereout came so great a noise,
That had it stooden upon Oise, <82>
Men might have heard it easily
To Rome, I *trowe sickerly.* *confidently
believe*
And the noise which I heard,
For all the world right so it far'd
As doth the routing* of the stone *rushing
noise*
That from the engine<83> is let go'n.
And all this house of which I read*
*tell you
Was made of twigges sallow,* red,
*willow
And green eke, and some were white,
Such as men *to the cages twight,* *pull to make
cages*
Or maken of these panniers,
Or elles hutches or dossers;*
*back-baskets
That, for the swough* and for the twigs,
*rushing noise
This house was all so full of gigs,* *sounds
of wind
And all so full eke of chirkings,*
*creakings
And of many other workings;
And eke this house had of entries
As many as leaves be on trees,
In summer when that they be green,
And on the roof men may yet see'n
A thousand holes, and well mo',
To let the soundes oute go.
And by day *in ev'ry tide*
*continually*
Be all the doores open wide,
And by night each one unshet;*
*unshut, open
Nor porter there is none to let*
*hinder
No manner tidings in to pace;
Nor ever rest is in that place,
That it n'is* fill'd full of tidings,
*is not
Either loud, or of whisperings;
And ever all the house's angles
Are full of *rownings and of jangles,* *whisperings and
chatterings*
Of wars, of peace, of marriages,
Of rests, of labour, of voyages,
Of abode, of death, of life,
Of love, of hate, accord, of strife,
Of loss, of lore, and of winnings,
Of health, of sickness, of buildings,
Of faire weather and tempests,
Of qualm* of folkes and of beasts;
*sickness
Of divers transmutations
Of estates and of regions;
Of trust, of dread,* of jealousy,
*doubt
Of wit, of cunning, of folly,
Of plenty, and of great famine,
Of *cheap, of dearth,* and of ruin; *cheapness & dearness (of
food)*
Of good or of mis-government,
Of fire, and diverse accident.
And lo! this house of which I write,
*Sicker be ye,* it was not lite;* *be assured*
*small
For it was sixty mile of length,
All* was the timber of no strength;
*although
Yet it is founded to endure,
*While that it list to Adventure,* *while fortune
pleases*
That is the mother of tidings,
As is the sea of wells and springs;
And it was shapen like a cage.
"Certes," quoth I, "in all mine age,*
*life
Ne'er saw I such a house as this."

And as I wonder'd me, y-wis,
Upon this house, then ware was I
How that mine eagle, faste by,
Was perched high upon a stone;
And I gan straighte to him go'n,
And saide thus; "I praye thee
That thou a while abide* me,
*wait for
For Godde's love, and let me see
What wonders in this place be;
For yet parauntre* I may lear** *peradventure
**learn
Some good thereon, or somewhat hear,
That *lefe me were,* ere that I went." *were pleasing
to me*
"Peter! that is mine intent,"
Quoth he to me; "therefore I dwell;*
*tarry
But, certain, one thing I thee tell,
That, but* I bringe thee therein,
*unless
Thou shalt never *can begin*
*be able*
To come into it, out of doubt,
So fast it whirleth, lo! about.
But since that Jovis, of his grace,
As I have said, will thee solace
Finally with these ilke* things,
*same
These uncouth sightes and tidings,
To pass away thy heaviness,
Such ruth* hath he of thy distress
*compassion
That thou suff'rest debonairly,*
*gently
And know'st thyselven utterly
Desperate of alle bliss,
Since that Fortune hath made amiss
The fruit of all thy hearte's rest
Languish, and eke *in point to brest;* *on the point of
breaking*
But he, through his mighty merite,
Will do thee ease, all be it lite,*
*little
And gave express commandement,
To which I am obedient,
To further thee with all my might,
And wiss* and teache thee aright,
*direct
Where thou may'st moste tidings hear,
Shalt thou anon many one lear."

And with this word he right anon
Hent* me up betwixt his tone,** *caught
**toes
And at a window in me brought,
That in this house was, as me thought;
And therewithal me thought it stent,*
*stopped
And nothing it aboute went;
And set me in the floore down.
But such a congregatioun
Of folk, as I saw roam about,
Some within and some without,
Was never seen, nor shall be eft,* *again,
hereafter
That, certes, in the world n' is* left
*is not
So many formed by Nature,
Nor dead so many a creature,
That well unnethes* in that place
*scarcely
Had I a foote breadth of space;
And ev'ry wight that I saw there
Rown'd* evereach in other's ear
*whispered
A newe tiding privily,
Or elles told all openly
Right thus, and saide, "Know'st not thou
What is betid,* lo! righte now?"
*happened
"No," quoth he; "telle me what."
And then he told him this and that,
And swore thereto, that it was sooth;
"Thus hath he said," and "Thus he do'th,"
And "Thus shall 't be," and "Thus heard I say
"That shall be found, that dare I lay;"*
*wager
That all the folk that is alive
Have not the cunning to descrive*
*describe
The thinges that I hearde there,
What aloud, and what in th'ear.
But all the wonder most was this;
When one had heard a thing, y-wis,
He came straight to another wight,
And gan him tellen anon right
The same tale that to him was told,
Or it a furlong way was old, <84>
And gan somewhat for to eche*
*eke, add
To this tiding in his speech,
More than it ever spoken was.
And not so soon departed n'as*
*was
He from him, than that he met
With the third; and *ere he let
Any stound,* he told him als'; *without delaying a
momen*
Were the tidings true or false,
Yet would he tell it natheless,
And evermore with more increase
Than it was erst.* Thus north and south
*at first
Went ev'ry tiding from mouth to mouth,
And that increasing evermo',
As fire is wont to *quick and go* *become alive, and
spread*
From a spark y-sprung amiss,
Till all a city burnt up is.
And when that it was full up-sprung,
And waxen* more on ev'ry tongue
*increased
Than e'er it was, it went anon
Up to a window out to go'n;
Or, but it mighte thereout pass,
It gan creep out at some crevass,*
*crevice, chink
And fly forth faste for the nonce.
And sometimes saw I there at once
*A leasing, and a sad sooth saw,* *a falsehood and an
earnest
That gan *of adventure* draw true saying* *by
chance
Out at a window for to pace;
And when they metten in that place,
They were checked both the two,
And neither of them might out go;
For other so they gan *to crowd,* *push, squeeze, each
other*
Till each of them gan cryen loud,
"Let me go first!" -- "Nay, but let me!
And here I will ensure thee,
With vowes, if thou wilt do so,
That I shall never from thee go,
But be thine owen sworen brother!
We will us medle* each with other,
*mingle
That no man, be he ne'er so wroth,
Shall have one of us two, but both
At ones, as *beside his leave,* *despite his
desire*
Come we at morning or at eve,
Be we cried or *still y-rowned."* *quietly
whispered*
Thus saw I false and sooth, compouned,*
*compounded
Together fly for one tiding.
Then out at holes gan to wring* *squeeze,
struggle
Every tiding straight to Fame;
And she gan give to each his name
After her disposition,
And gave them eke duration,
Some to wax and wane soon,
As doth the faire white moon;
And let them go. There might I see
Winged wonders full fast flee,
Twenty thousand in a rout,*
*company
As Aeolus them blew about.
And, Lord! this House in alle times
Was full of shipmen and pilgrimes, <85>
With *scrippes bretfull of leasings,* *wallets brimful of
falsehoods*
Entremedled with tidings* *true
stories
And eke alone by themselve.
And many thousand times twelve
Saw I eke of these pardoners,<86>
Couriers, and eke messengers,
With boistes* crammed full of lies
*boxes
As ever vessel was with lyes.* *lees
of wine
And as I altherfaste* went *with
all speed
About, and did all mine intent
Me *for to play and for to lear,* *to amuse and instruct
myself*
And eke a tiding for to hear
That I had heard of some country,
That shall not now be told for me; --
For it no need is, readily;
Folk can sing it better than I.
For all must out, or late or rath,*
*soon
All the sheaves in the lath;*
*barn <87>
I heard a greate noise withal
In a corner of the hall,
Where men of love tidings told;
And I gan thitherward behold,
For I saw running ev'ry wight
As fast as that they hadde might,
And ev'reach cried, "What thing is that?"
And some said, "I know never what."
And when they were all on a heap,
Those behinde gan up leap,
And clomb* upon each other fast, <88>
*climbed
And up the noise on high they cast,
And trodden fast on others' heels,
And stamp'd, as men do after eels.

But at the last I saw a man,
Which that I not describe can;
But that he seemed for to be
A man of great authority.
And therewith I anon abraid*
*awoke
Out of my sleepe, half afraid;
Rememb'ring well what I had seen,
And how high and far I had been
In my ghost; and had great wonder
Of what the mighty god of thunder
Had let me know; and gan to write
Like as ye have me heard endite.
Wherefore to study and read alway
I purpose to do day by day.
And thus, in dreaming and in game,
Endeth this little book of Fame.

Here endeth the Book of Fame

Notes to The House of Fame

1. Rood: the cross on which Christ was crucified; Anglo-Saxon,
"Rode."

2. Well worth of this thing greate clerks: Great scholars set
much worth upon this thing -- that is, devote much labour,
attach much importance, to the subject of dreams.

3. The poet briefly refers to the description of the House of
Somnus, in Ovid's "Metamorphoses," 1. xi. 592, et seqq.; where
the cave of Somnus is said to be "prope Cimmerios," ("near the
Cimmerians") and "Saxo tamen exit ab imo Rivus aquae
Lethes." ("A stream of Lethe's water issues from the base of the
rock")

4. See the account of the vision of Croesus in The Monk's Tale.

5. The meaning of the allusion is not clear; but the story of the
pilgrims and the peas is perhaps suggested by the line following
-- "to make lithe [soft] what erst was hard." St Leonard was the
patron of captives.

5. Corsaint: The "corpus sanctum" -- the holy body, or relics,
preserved in the shrine.

7. So, in the Temple of Venus described in The Knight's Tale,
the Goddess is represented as "naked floating in the large sea".

8. Vulcano: Vulcan, the husband of Venus.

9. Ered: ploughed; Latin, "arare," Anglo-Saxon, "erean,"
plough.

10. Sours: Soaring ascent; a hawk was said to be "on the soar"
when he mounted, "on the sours" or "souse" when he
descended on the prey, and took it in flight.

11. This is only one among many instances in which Chaucer
disclaims the pursuits of love; and the description of his manner
of life which follows is sufficient to show that the disclaimer
was no mere mock-humble affectation of a gallant.

12. This reference, approximately fixing the date at which the
poem was composed, points clearly to Chaucer's daily work as
Comptroller of the Customs -- a post which he held from 1374
to 1386.

13. This is a frank enough admission that the poet was fond of
good cheer; and the effect of his "little abstinence" on his
corporeal appearance is humorously described in the Prologue
to the Tale of Sir Thopas, where the Host compliments Chaucer
on being as well shapen in the waist as himself.

14. "To make the beard" means to befool or deceive. See note
15 to the Reeve's Tale. Precisely the same idea is conveyed in
the modern slang word "shave" -- meaning a trick or fraud.

15. Love-days: see note 21 to the Prologue to the Canterbury
Tales.

16. If this reference is to any book of Chaucer's in which the
House of Fame was mentioned, the book has not come down to
us. It has been reasonably supposed, however, that Chaucer
means by "his own book" Ovid's "Metamorphoses," of which he
was evidently very fond; and in the twelfth book of that poem
the Temple of Fame is described.

17. Saint Julian was the patron of hospitality; so the Franklin,
in
the Prologue to The Canterbury Tales is said to be "Saint Julian
in his country," for his open house and liberal cheer. The eagle,
at sight of the House of Fame, cries out "bon hostel!" -- "a fair
lodging, a glorious house, by St Julian!"

18. The laurel-tree is sacred to Apollo. See note 11 to The
Assembly of Fowls.

19. French, "roche," a rock.

20. St. Thomas of Kent: Thomas a Beckett, whose shrine was
at Canterbury.

21. The half or side of the rock which was towards the poet,
was inscribed with, etc.

22. Cop: summit; German, "kopf"; the head.

23. Gestiours: tellers of stories; reciters of brave feats or
"gests."

24. Arion: the celebrated Greek bard and citharist, who, in the
seventh century before Christ, lived at the court of Periander,
tyrant of Corinth. The story of his preservation by the dolphin,
when the covetous sailors forced him to leap into the sea, is
well known.

25. Chiron the Centaur was renowned for skill in music and the
arts, which he owed to the teaching of Apollo and Artemis. He
became in turn the instructor of Peleus, Achilles, and other
descendants of Aeacus; hence he is called "Aeacides" -- because
tutor to the Aeacides, and thus, so to speak, of that "family."

26. Glasgerion is the subject of a ballad given in "Percy's
Reliques," where we are told that
"Glasgerion was a king's own son,
And a harper he was good;
He harped in the king's chamber,
Where cup and candle stood."

27. Cornemuse: bagpipe; French, "cornemuse." Shawmies:
shalms or psalteries; an instrument resembling a harp.

28. Dulcet: a kind of pipe, probably corresponding with the
"dulcimer;" the idea of sweet -- French, "doux;" Latin, "dulcis"
-- is at the root of both words.

29. In the early printed editions of Chaucer, the two names are
"Citherus" and "Proserus;" in the manuscript which Mr Bell
followed (No. 16 in the Fairfax collection) they are "Atileris"
and "Pseustis." But neither alternative gives more than the
slightest clue to identification. "Citherus" has been retained in
the text; it may have been employed as an appellative of Apollo,
derived from "cithara," the instrument on which he played; and
it is not easy to suggest a better substitute for it than
"Clonas" -
- an early Greek poet and musician who flourished six hundred
years before Christ. For "Proserus," however, has been
substituted "Pronomus," the name of a celebrated Grecian
player on the pipe, who taught Alcibiades the flute, and who
therefore, although Theban by birth, might naturally be said by
the poet to be "of Athens."

30. Marsyas: The Phrygian, who, having found the flute of
Athena, which played of itself most exquisite music, challenged
Apollo to a contest, the victor in which was to do with the
vanquished as he pleased. Marsyas was beaten, and Apollo
flayed him alive.

31. The German (Deutsche) language, in Chaucer's time, had
not undergone that marked literary division into German and
Dutch which was largely accomplished through the influence of
the works of Luther and the other Reformers. Even now, the
flute is the favourite musical instrument of the Fatherland; and
the devotion of the Germans to poetry and music has been
celebrated since the days of Tacitus.

32. Reyes: a kind of dance, or song to be accompanied with
dancing.

33. Beam: horn, trumpet; Anglo-Saxon, "bema."

34. Messenus: Misenus, son of Aeolus, the companion and
trumpeter of Aeneas, was drowned near the Campanian
headland called Misenum after his name. (Aeneid, vi. 162 et
seqq.)

35. Joab's fame as a trumpeter is founded on two verses in 2
Samuel (ii. 28, xx. 22), where we are told that he "blew a
trumpet," which all the people of Israel obeyed, in the one case
desisting from a pursuit, in the other raising a siege.

36. Theodamas or Thiodamas, king of the Dryopes, plays a
prominent part in the tenth book of Statius' "Thebaid." Both he
and Joab are also mentioned as great trumpeters in The
Merchant's Tale.

37. Jongelours: jugglers; French, "jongleur."

38. Tregetours: tricksters, jugglers. For explanation of this
word, see note 14 to the Franklin's tale.

39. Pythonesses: women who, like the Pythia in Apollo's
temple at Delphi, were possessed with a spirit of divination or
prophecy. The barbarous Latin form of the word was
"Pythonissa" or "Phitonissa." See note 9 to the Friar's Tale.

40. Subfumigations: a ceremony employed to drive away evil
spirits by burning incense; the practice of smoking cattle, corn,
&c., has not died out in some country districts.

41. In certain ascendents: under certain planetary influences.
The next lines recall the alleged malpractices of witches, who
tortured little images of wax, in the design of causing the same
torments to the person represented -- or, vice versa, treated
these images for the cure of hurts or sickness.

42. Medea: celebrated for her magical power, through which
she restored to youth Aeson, the father of Jason; and caused the
death of Jason's wife, Creusa, by sending her a poisoned
garment which consumed her to ashes.

43. Circes: the sorceress Circe, who changed the companions of
Ulysses into swine.

44. Calypsa: Calypso, on whose island of Ogygia Ulysses was
wrecked. The goddess promised the hero immortality if he
remained with her; but he refused, and, after a detention of
seven years, she had to let him go.

45. Hermes Ballenus: this is supposed to mean Hermes
Trismegistus (of whom see note 19 to the Canon's Yeoman's
Tale); but the explanation of the word "Ballenus" is not quite
obvious. The god Hermes of the Greeks (Mercurius of the
Romans) had the surname "Cyllenius," from the mountain
where he was born -- Mount Cyllene, in Arcadia; and the
alteration into "Ballenus" would be quite within the range of a
copyist's capabilities, while we find in the mythological
character of Hermes enough to warrant his being classed with
jugglers and magicians.

46. Limote and Colle Tregetour seem to have been famous
sorcerers or jugglers, but nothing is now known of either.

47. Simon Magus: of whom we read in Acts viii. 9, et seqq.

48. "And made well more than it was
To seemen ev'rything, y-wis,
As kindly thing of Fame it is;"
i.e. It is in the nature of fame to exaggerate everything.

49. Corbets: the corbels, or capitals of pillars in a Gothic
building; they were often carved with fantastic figures and
devices.

50. A largess!: the cry with which heralds and pursuivants at a
tournament acknowledged the gifts or largesses of the knights
whose achievements they celebrated.

51. Nobles: gold coins of exceptional fineness. Sterlings:
sterling coins; not "luxemburgs", but stamped and authorised
money. See note 9 to the Miller's Tale and note 6 to the
Prologue to the Monk's tale.

52. Coat-armure: the sleeveless coat or "tabard," on which the
arms of the wearer or his lord were emblazoned.

53. "But for to prove in alle wise
As fine as ducat of Venise"
i.e. In whatever way it might be proved or tested, it would be
found as fine as a Venetian ducat.

54. Lapidaire: a treatise on precious stones.

55. See imperial: a seat placed on the dais, or elevated portion
of the hall at the upper end, where the lord and the honoured
guests sat.

56. The starres seven: Septentrion; the Great Bear or Northern
Wain, which in this country appears to be at the top of heaven.

57. The Apocalypse: The last book of the New Testament, also
called Revelations. The four beasts are in chapter iv. 6.

58. "Oundy" is the French "ondoye," from "ondoyer," to
undulate or wave.

59. Partridges' wings: denoting swiftness.

60. Hercules lost his life with the poisoned shirt of Nessus,
sent
to him by the jealous Dejanira.

61. Of the secte Saturnine: Of the Saturnine school; so called
because his history of the Jewish wars narrated many horrors,
cruelties, and sufferings, over which Saturn was the presiding
deity. See note 71 to the Knight's tale.

62. Compare the account of the "bodies seven" given by the
Canon's Yeoman:
"Sol gold is, and Luna silver we threpe;
Mars iron, Mercury quicksilver we clepe;
Saturnus lead, and Jupiter is tin,
And Venus copper, by my father's kin."

63. Statius is called a "Tholosan," because by some, among
them Dante, he was believed to have been a native of Tolosa,
now Toulouse. He wrote the "Thebais," in twelve books, and
the "Achilleis," of which only two were finished.

64. Dares Phrygius and Dictys Cretensis were the names
attached to histories of the Trojan War pretended to have been
written immediately after the fall of Troy.

65. Lollius: The unrecognisable author whom Chaucer
professes to follow in his "Troilus and Cressida," and who has
been thought to mean Boccaccio.

66. Guido de Colonna, or de Colempnis, was a native of
Messina, who lived about the end of the thirteenth century, and
wrote in Latin prose a history including the war of Troy.

67. English Gaufrid: Geoffrey of Monmouth, who drew from
Troy the original of the British race. See Spenser's "Faerie
Queen," book ii. canto x.

68. Lucan, in his "Pharsalia," a poem in ten books, recounted
the incidents of the war between Caesar and Pompey.

69. Claudian of Alexandria, "the most modern of the ancient
poets," lived some three centuries after Christ, and among other
works wrote three books on "The Rape of Proserpine."

70. Triton was a son of Poseidon or Neptune, and represented
usually as blowing a trumpet made of a conch or shell; he is
therefore introduced by Chaucer as the squire of Aeolus.

71. Sky: cloud; Anglo-Saxon, "scua;" Greek, "skia."

72. Los: reputation. See note 5 to Chaucer's Tale of Meliboeus.

73. Swart: black; German, "schwarz."

74. Tewell: the pipe, chimney, of the furnace; French "tuyau."
In the Prologue to The Canterbury Tales, the Monk's head is
described as steaming like a lead furnace.

75. Tetches: blemishes, spots; French, "tache."

76. For the story of Belle Isaude see note 21 to the Assembly of
Fowls.

77. Quern: mill. See note 6 to the Monk's Tale.

78. To put an ape into one's hood, upon his head, is to befool
him; see the prologue to the Prioresses's Tale, l.6.

79. Obviously Chaucer should have said the temple of Diana, or
Artemis (to whom, as Goddess of the Moon, the Egyptian Isis
corresponded), at Ephesus. The building, famous for its
splendour, was set on fire, in B.C. 356, by Erostatus, merely
that he might perpetuate his name.

80. "Now do our los be blowen swithe,
As wisly be thou ever blithe." i.e.
Cause our renown to be blown abroad quickly, as surely as you
wish to be glad.

81. The Labyrinth at Cnossus in Crete, constructed by Dedalus
for the safe keeping of the Minotaur, the fruit of Pasiphae's
unnatural love.

82. The river Oise, an affluent of the Seine, in France.

83. The engine: The machines for casting stones, which in
Chaucer time served the purpose of great artillery; they were
called "mangonells," "springolds," &c.; and resembled in
construction the "ballistae" and "catapultae" of the ancients.

84. Or it a furlong way was old: before it was older than the
space of time during which one might walk a furlong; a measure
of time often employed by Chaucer.

85. Shipmen and pilgrimes: sailors and pilgrims, who seem to
have in Chaucer's time amply warranted the proverbial
imputation against "travellers' tales."

86. Pardoners: of whom Chaucer, in the Prologue to The
Canterbury Tales, has given us no flattering typical portrait

87. Lath: barn; still used in Lincolnshire and some parts of the
north. The meaning is, that the poet need not tell what tidings
he wanted to hear, since everything of the kind must some day
come out -- as sooner or later every sheaf in the barn must be
brought forth (to be threshed).

88. A somewhat similar heaping-up of people is de scribed in
Spenser's account of the procession of Lucifera ("The Faerie
Queen," book i. canto iv.), where, as the royal dame passes to
her coach,
"The heaps of people, thronging in the hall,
Do ride each other, upon her to gaze."

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

[In several respects, the story of "Troilus and Cressida" may be
regarded as Chaucer's noblest poem. Larger in scale than any
other of his individual works -- numbering nearly half as many
lines as The Canterbury Tales contain, without reckoning the
two in prose -- the conception of the poem is yet so closely and
harmoniously worked out, that all the parts are perfectly
balanced, and from first to last scarcely a single line is
superfluous or misplaced. The finish and beauty of the poem as
a work of art, are not more conspicuous than the knowledge of
human nature displayed in the portraits of the principal
characters. The result is, that the poem is more modern, in form
and in spirit, than almost any other work of its author; the
chaste style and sedulous polish of the stanzas admit of easy
change into the forms of speech now current in England; while
the analytical and subjective character of the work gives it, for
the nineteenth century reader, an interest of the same kind as
that inspired, say, by George Eliot's wonderful study of
character in "Romola." Then, above all, "Troilus and Cressida"
is distinguished by a purity and elevation of moral tone, that
may surprise those who judge of Chaucer only by the coarse
traits of his time preserved in The Canterbury Tales, or who
may expect to find here the Troilus, the Cressida, and the
Pandarus of Shakspeare's play. It is to no trivial gallant, no
woman of coarse mind and easy virtue, no malignantly
subservient and utterly debased procurer, that Chaucer
introduces us. His Troilus is a noble, sensitive, generous, pure-
souled, manly, magnanimous hero, who is only confirmed and
stimulated in all virtue by his love, who lives for his lady, and
dies for her falsehood, in a lofty and chivalrous fashion. His
Cressida is a stately, self-contained, virtuous, tender-hearted
woman, who loves with all the pure strength and trustful
abandonment of a generous and exalted nature, and who is
driven to infidelity perhaps even less by pressure of
circumstances, than by the sheer force of her love, which will go
on loving -- loving what it can have, when that which it would
rather have is for the time unattainable. His Pandarus is a
gentleman, though a gentleman with a flaw in him; a man who,
in his courtier-like good-nature, places the claims of
comradeship above those of honour, and plots away the virtue
of his niece, that he may appease the love-sorrow of his friend;
all the time conscious that he is not acting as a gentleman
should, and desirous that others should give him that
justification which he can get but feebly and diffidently in
himself. In fact, the "Troilus and Cressida" of Chaucer is the
"Troilus and Cressida" of Shakespeare transfigured; the
atmosphere, the colour, the spirit, are wholly different; the
older
poet presents us in the chief characters to noble natures, the
younger to ignoble natures in all the characters; and the poem
with which we have now to do stands at this day among the
noblest expositions of love's workings in the human heart and
life. It is divided into five books, containing altogether 8246
lines. The First Book (1092 lines) tells how Calchas, priest of
Apollo, quitting beleaguered Troy, left there his only daughter
Cressida; how Troilus, the youngest brother of Hector and son
of King Priam, fell in love with her at first sight, at a
festival in
the temple of Pallas, and sorrowed bitterly for her love; and
how his friend, Cressida's uncle, Pandarus, comforted him by
the promise of aid in his suit. The Second Book (1757 lines)
relates the subtle manoeuvres of Pandarus to induce Cressida to
return the love of Troilus; which he accomplishes mainly by
touching at once the lady's admiration for his heroism, and her
pity for his love-sorrow on her account. The Third Book (1827
lines) opens with an account of the first interview between the
lovers; ere it closes, the skilful stratagems of Pandarus have
placed the pair in each other's arms under his roof, and the
lovers are happy in perfect enjoyment of each other's love and
trust. In the Fourth Book (1701 lines) the course of true love
ceases to run smooth; Cressida is compelled to quit the city, in
ransom for Antenor, captured in a skirmish; and she sadly
departs to the camp of the Greeks, vowing that she will make
her escape, and return to Troy and Troilus within ten days. The
Fifth Book (1869 lines) sets out by describing the court which
Diomedes, appointed to escort her, pays to Cressida on the way
to the camp; it traces her gradual progress from indifference to
her new suitor, to incontinence with him, and it leaves the
deserted Troilus dead on the field of battle, where he has sought
an eternal refuge from the new grief provoked by clear proof of
his mistress's infidelity. The polish, elegance, and power of the
style, and the acuteness of insight into character, which mark
the poem, seem to claim for it a date considerably later than
that
adopted by those who assign its composition to Chaucer's
youth: and the literary allusions and proverbial expressions with
which it abounds, give ample evidence that, if Chaucer really
wrote it at an early age, his youth must have been precocious
beyond all actual record. Throughout the poem there are
repeated references to the old authors of Trojan histories who
are named in "The House of Fame"; but Chaucer especially
mentions one Lollius as the author from whom he takes the
groundwork of the poem. Lydgate is responsible for the
assertion that Lollius meant Boccaccio; and though there is no
authority for supposing that the English really meant to
designate the Italian poet under that name, there is abundant
internal proof that the poem was really founded on the
"Filostrato" of Boccaccio. But the tone of Chaucer's work is
much higher than that of his Italian "auctour;" and while in
some passages the imitation is very close, in all that is
characteristic in "Troilus and Cressida," Chaucer has fairly
thrust his models out of sight. In the present edition, it has
been
possible to give no more than about one-fourth of the poem --
274 out of the 1178 seven-line stanzas that compose it; but
pains have been taken to convey, in the connecting prose
passages, a faithful idea of what is perforce omitted.]

THE FIRST BOOK.

THE double sorrow <1> of Troilus to tell,
That was the King Priamus' son of Troy,
In loving how his adventures* fell
*fortunes
From woe to weal, and after* out of joy,
*afterwards
My purpose is, ere I you parte froy.*
*from
Tisiphone,<2> thou help me to indite
These woeful words, that weep as I do write.

To thee I call, thou goddess of torment!
Thou cruel wight, that sorrowest ever in pain;
Help me, that am the sorry instrument
That helpeth lovers, as I can, to plain.*
*complain
For well it sits,* the soothe for to sayn,
*befits
Unto a woeful wight a dreary fere,*
*companion
And to a sorry tale a sorry cheer.*
*countenance

For I, that God of Love's servants serve,
Nor dare to love for mine unlikeliness,* <3>
*unsuitableness
Praye for speed,* although I shoulde sterve,**
*success **die
So far I am from his help in darkness;
But natheless, might I do yet gladness
To any lover, or any love avail,*
*advance
Have thou the thank, and mine be the travail.

But ye lovers that bathen in gladness,
If any drop of pity in you be,
Remember you for old past heaviness,
For Godde's love, and on adversity
That others suffer; think how sometime ye
Founde how Love durste you displease;
Or elles ye have won it with great ease.

And pray for them that been in the case
Of Troilus, as ye may after hear,
That Love them bring in heaven to solace;* *delight,
comfort
And for me pray also, that God so dear
May give me might to show, in some mannere,
Such pain or woe as Love's folk endure,
In Troilus' *unseely adventure* *unhappy
fortune*

And pray for them that eke be despair'd
In love, that never will recover'd be;
And eke for them that falsely be appair'd*
*slandered
Through wicked tongues, be it he or she:
Or thus bid* God, for his benignity,
*pray
To grant them soon out of this world to pace,*
*pass, go
That be despaired of their love's grace.

And bid also for them that be at ease
In love, that God them grant perseverance,
And send them might their loves so to please,
That it to them be *worship and pleasance;* *honour and
pleasure*
For so hope I my soul best to advance,
To pray for them that Love's servants be,
And write their woe, and live in charity;

And for to have of them compassion,
As though I were their owen brother dear.
Now listen all with good entention,*
*attention
For I will now go straight to my mattere,
In which ye shall the double sorrow hear
Of Troilus, in loving of Cresside,
And how that she forsook him ere she died.

In Troy, during the siege, dwelt "a lord of great authority, a
great divine," named Calchas; who, through the oracle of
Apollo, knew that Troy should be destroyed. He stole away
secretly to the Greek camp, where he was gladly received, and
honoured for his skill in divining, of which the besiegers hoped
to make use. Within the city there was great anger at the
treason of Calchas; and the people declared that he and all his
kin were worthy to be burnt. His daughter, whom he had left in
the city, a widow and alone, was in great fear for her life.

Cressida was this lady's name aright;
*As to my doom,* in alle Troy city *in my
judgment*
So fair was none, for over ev'ry wight
So angelic was her native beauty,
That like a thing immortal seemed she,
As sooth a perfect heav'nly creature,
That down seem'd sent in scorning of Nature.

In her distress, "well nigh out of her wit for pure fear," she
appealed for protection to Hector; who, "piteous of nature,"
and touched by her sorrow and her beauty, assured her of
safety, so long as she pleased to dwell in Troy. The siege went
on; but they of Troy did not neglect the honour and worship of
their deities; most of all of "the relic hight Palladion, <4>
that
was their trust aboven ev'ry one." In April, "when clothed is the
mead with newe green, of jolly Ver [Spring] the prime," the
Trojans went to hold the festival of Palladion -- crowding to
the temple, "in all their beste guise," lusty knights, fresh
ladies,
and maidens bright.

Among the which was this Cresseida,
In widow's habit black; but natheless,
Right as our firste letter is now A,
In beauty first so stood she makeless;*
*matchless
Her goodly looking gladded all the press;*
*crowd
Was never seen thing to be praised derre,* *dearer, more
worthy
Nor under blacke cloud so bright a sterre,*
*star

As she was, as they saiden, ev'ry one
That her behelden in her blacke weed;*
*garment
And yet she stood, full low and still, alone,
Behind all other folk, *in little brede,*
*inconspicuously*
And nigh the door, ay *under shame's drede;* *for dread of
shame*
Simple of bearing, debonair* of cheer,
*gracious
With a full sure* looking and mannere.
*assured

Dan Troilus, as he was wont to guide
His younge knightes, led them up and down
In that large temple upon ev'ry side,
Beholding ay the ladies of the town;
Now here, now there, for no devotioun
Had he to none, to *reave him* his rest, *deprive
him of*
But gan to *praise and lacke whom him lest;* *praise and
disparage
whom he
pleased*
And in his walk full fast he gan to wait* *watch,
observe
If knight or squier of his company
Gan for to sigh, or let his eyen bait*
*feed
On any woman that he could espy;
Then he would smile, and hold it a folly,
And say him thus: "Ah, Lord, she sleepeth soft
For love of thee, when as thou turnest oft.

"I have heard told, pardie, of your living,
Ye lovers, and your lewed* observance, *ignorant,
foolish
And what a labour folk have in winning
Of love, and in it keeping with doubtance;*
*doubt
And when your prey is lost, woe and penance;*
*suffering
Oh, very fooles! may ye no thing see?
Can none of you aware by other be?"

But the God of Love vowed vengeance on Troilus for that
despite, and, showing that his bow was not broken, "hit him at
the full."

Within the temple went he forth playing,
This Troilus, with ev'ry wight about,
On this lady and now on that looking,
Whether she were of town, or *of without;* *from beyond the
walls*
And *upon cas* befell, that through the rout* *by chance*
*crowd
His eye pierced, and so deep it went,
Till on Cresside it smote, and there it stent;*
*stayed

And suddenly wax'd wonder sore astoned,*
*amazed
And gan her bet* behold in busy wise:
*better
"Oh, very god!" <5> thought he; "where hast thou woned*
*dwelt
That art so fair and goodly to devise?*
*describe
Therewith his heart began to spread and rise;
And soft he sighed, lest men might him hear,
And caught again his former *playing cheer.* *jesting
demeanour*

*She was not with the least of her stature,* *she
was tall*
But all her limbes so well answering
Were to womanhood, that creature
Was never lesse mannish in seeming.
And eke *the pure wise of her moving* *by very
the way
She showed well, that men might in her guess she
moved*
Honour, estate,* and womanly nobless.
*dignity

Then Troilus right wonder well withal
Began to like her moving and her cheer,*
*countenance
Which somedeal dainous* was, for she let fall
*disdainful
Her look a little aside, in such mannere
Ascaunce* "What! may I not stande here?" *as if to
say <6>
And after that *her looking gan she light,* *her expression
became
That never thought him see so good a sight. more
pleasant*

And of her look in him there gan to quicken
So great desire, and strong affection,
That in his hearte's bottom gan to sticken
Of her the fix'd and deep impression;
And though he erst* had pored** up and down, *previously
**looked
Then was he glad his hornes in to shrink;
Unnethes* wist he how to look or wink.
*scarcely

Lo! he that held himselfe so cunning,
And scorned them that Love's paines drien,*
*suffer
Was full unware that love had his dwelling
Within the subtile streames* of her eyen; *rays,
glances
That suddenly he thought he felte dien,
Right with her look, the spirit in his heart;
Blessed be Love, that thus can folk convert!

She thus, in black, looking to Troilus,
Over all things he stoode to behold;
But his desire, nor wherefore he stood thus,
He neither *cheere made,* nor worde told; *showed by his
countenance*
But from afar, *his manner for to hold,* *to observe due
courtesy*
On other things sometimes his look he cast,
And eft* <7> on her, while that the service last.** *again
**lasted

And after this, not fully all awhaped,*
*daunted
Out of the temple all easily be went,
Repenting him that ever he had japed*
*jested
Of Love's folk, lest fully the descent
Of scorn fell on himself; but what he meant,
Lest it were wist on any manner side,
His woe he gan dissemble and eke hide.

Returning to his palace, he begins hypocritically to smile and
jest at Love's servants and their pains; but by and by he has to
dismiss his attendants, feigning "other busy needs." Then, alone
in his chamber, he begins to groan and sigh, and call up again
Cressida's form as he saw her in the temple -- "making a mirror
of his mind, in which he saw all wholly her figure." He thinks no
travail or sorrow too high a price for the love of such a goodly
woman; and, "full unadvised of his woe coming,"

Thus took he purpose Love's craft to sue,*
*follow
And thought that he would work all privily,
First for to hide his desire all *in mew* *in a cage,
secretly
From every wight y-born, all utterly,
*But he might aught recover'd be thereby;* *unless he gained
by it*
Rememb'ring him, that love *too wide y-blow* *too much
spoken of*
Yields bitter fruit, although sweet seed be sow.

And, over all this, muche more he thought
What thing to speak, and what to holden in;
And what to arten* her to love, he sought;
*constrain <8>
And on a song anon right to begin,
And gan loud on his sorrow for to win;*
*overcome
For with good hope he gan thus to assent*
*resolve
Cressida for to love, and not repent.

The Song of Troilus. <9>

"If no love is, O God! why feel I so?
And if love is, what thing and which is he?
If love be good, from whence cometh my woe?
If it be wick', a wonder thinketh me
Whence ev'ry torment and adversity
That comes of love *may to me savoury think:* *seem acceptable
to me*
For more I thirst the more that I drink.

"And if I *at mine owen luste bren* *burn by my
own will*
From whence cometh my wailing and my plaint?
If maugre me,<10> *whereto plain I* then? *to what avail do I
complain?*
I wot ner* why, unweary, that I faint.
*neither
O quicke death! O sweete harm so quaint!*
*strange
How may I see in me such quantity,
But if that I consent that so it be?

"And if that I consent, I wrongfully
Complain y-wis: thus pushed to and fro,
All starreless within a boat am I,
Middes the sea, betwixte windes two,
That in contrary standen evermo'.
Alas! what wonder is this malady! --
For heat of cold, for cold of heat, I die!"

Devoting himself wholly to the thought of Cressida -- though he
yet knew not whether she was woman or goddess -- Troilus, in
spite of his royal blood, became the very slave of love. He set
at
naught every other charge, but to gaze on her as often as he
could; thinking so to appease his hot fire, which thereby only
burned the hotter. He wrought marvellous feats of arms against
the Greeks, that she might like him the better for his renown;
then love deprived him of sleep, and made his food his foe; till
he had to "borrow a title of other sickness," that men might not
know he was consumed with love. Meantime, Cressida gave no
sign that she heeded his devotion, or even knew of it; and he
was now consumed with a new fear -- lest she loved some other
man. Bewailing his sad lot -- ensnared, exposed to the scorn of
those whose love he had ridiculed, wishing himself arrived at
the port of death, and praying ever that his lady might glad him
with some kind look -- Troilus is surprised in his chamber by his
friend Pandarus, the uncle of Cressida. Pandarus, seeking to
divert his sorrow by making him angry, jeeringly asks whether
remorse of conscience, or devotion, or fear of the Greeks, has
caused all this ado. Troilus pitifully beseeches his friend to
leave
him to die alone, for die he must, from a cause which he must
keep hidden; but Pandarus argues against Troilus' cruelty in
hiding from a friend such a sorrow, and Troilus at last confesses
that his malady is love. Pandarus suggests that the beloved
object may be such that his counsel might advance his friend's
desires; but Troilus scouts the suggestion, saying that Pandarus
could never govern himself in love.

"Yea, Troilus, hearken to me," quoth Pandare,
"Though I be nice;* it happens often so,
*foolish
That one that access* doth full evil fare, *in an access
of fever
By good counsel can keep his friend therefro'.
I have my selfe seen a blind man go
Where as he fell that looke could full wide;
A fool may eke a wise man often guide.

"A whetstone is no carving instrument,
But yet it maketh sharpe carving tooles;
And, if thou know'st that I have aught miswent,* *erred,
failed
Eschew thou that, for such thing to thee school* is. *schooling,
lesson
Thus oughte wise men to beware by fooles;
If so thou do, thy wit is well bewared;
By its contrary is everything declared.

"For how might ever sweetness have been know
To him that never tasted bitterness?
And no man knows what gladness is, I trow,
That never was in sorrow or distress:
Eke white by black, by shame eke worthiness,
Each set by other, *more for other seemeth,* *its quality
is made
As men may see; and so the wise man deemeth." more
obvious by
the
contrast*
Troilus, however, still begs his friend to leave him to mourn in
peace, for all his proverbs can avail nothing. But Pandarus
insists on plying the lover with wise saws, arguments,
reproaches; hints that, if he should die of love, his lady may
impute his death to fear of the Greeks; and finally induces
Troilus to admit that the well of all his woe, his sweetest foe,
is
called Cressida. Pandarus breaks into praises of the lady, and
congratulations of his friend for so well fixing his heart; he
makes Troilus utter a formal confession of his sin in jesting at
lovers and bids him think well that she of whom rises all his
woe, hereafter may his comfort be also.