Part 55 (1/2)

3. c.o.c.kle: A weed, the ”Agrostemma githago” of Linnaeus; perhaps named from the Anglo-Saxon, ”ceocan,” because it chokes the corn.

(Transcriber's note: It is also possible Chaucer had in mind Matthew 13:25, where in some translations, an enemy sowed ”c.o.c.kle” amongst the wheat. (Other translations have ”tares”

and ”darnel”.))

THE TALE. <1>

A Merchant whilom dwell'd at Saint Denise, That riche was, for which men held him wise.

A wife he had of excellent beauty, And *companiable and revellous* was she, *fond of society and Which is a thing that causeth more dispence merry making*

Than worth is all the cheer and reverence That men them do at feastes and at dances.

Such salutations and countenances Pa.s.sen, as doth the shadow on the wall; Put woe is him that paye must for all.

The sely* husband algate** he must pay, *innocent **always He must us <2> clothe and he must us array All for his owen wors.h.i.+p richely: In which array we dance jollily.

And if that he may not, paraventure, Or elles list not such dispence endure, But thinketh it is wasted and y-lost, Then must another paye for our cost, Or lend us gold, and that is perilous.

This n.o.ble merchant held a n.o.ble house; For which he had all day so great repair,* *resort of visitors For his largesse, and for his wife was fair, That wonder is; but hearken to my tale.

Amonges all these guestes great and smale, There was a monk, a fair man and a bold, I trow a thirty winter he was old, That ever-in-one* was drawing to that place. *constantly This younge monk, that was so fair of face, Acquainted was so with this goode man, Since that their firste knowledge began, That in his house as familiar was he As it is possible any friend to be.

And, for as muchel as this goode man, And eke this monk of which that I began, Were both the two y-born in one village, The monk *him claimed, as for cousinage,* *claimed kindred And he again him said not once nay, with him*

But was as glad thereof as fowl of day; ”For to his heart it was a great pleasance.

Thus be they knit with etern' alliance, And each of them gan other to a.s.sure Of brotherhood while that their life may dure.

Free was Dan <3> John, and namely* of dispence,** *especially **spending As in that house, and full of diligence To do pleasance, and also *great costage;* *liberal outlay*

He not forgot to give the leaste page In all that house; but, after their degree, He gave the lord, and sithen* his meinie,** *afterwards **servants When that he came, some manner honest thing; For which they were as glad of his coming As fowl is fain when that the sun upriseth.

No more of this as now, for it sufficeth.

But so befell, this merchant on a day Shope* him to make ready his array *resolved, arranged Toward the town of Bruges <4> for to fare, To buye there a portion of ware;* *merchandise For which he hath to Paris sent anon A messenger, and prayed hath Dan John That he should come to Saint Denis, and play* *enjoy himself With him, and with his wife, a day or tway, Ere he to Bruges went, in alle wise.

This n.o.ble monk, of which I you devise,* *tell Had of his abbot, as him list, licence, (Because he was a man of high prudence, And eke an officer out for to ride, To see their granges and their barnes wide); <5> And unto Saint Denis he came anon.

Who was so welcome as my lord Dan John, Our deare cousin, full of courtesy?

With him he brought a jub* of malvesie, *jug And eke another full of fine vernage, <6> And volatile,* as aye was his usage: *wild-fowl And thus I let them eat, and drink, and play, This merchant and this monk, a day or tway.

The thirde day the merchant up ariseth, And on his needeis sadly him adviseth; And up into his countour-house* went he, *counting-house <7> To reckon with himself as well may be, Of thilke* year, how that it with him stood, *that And how that he dispended bad his good, And if that he increased were or non.

His bookes and his bagges many a one He laid before him on his counting-board.

Full riche was his treasure and his h.o.a.rd; For which full fast his countour door he shet; And eke he would that no man should him let* *hinder Of his accountes, for the meane time: And thus he sat, till it was pa.s.sed prime.

Dan John was risen in the morn also, And in the garden walked to and fro, And had his thinges said full courteously.

The good wife came walking full privily Into the garden, where he walked soft, And him saluted, as she had done oft; A maiden child came in her company, Which as her list she might govern and gie,* *guide For yet under the yarde* was the maid. *rod <8> ”O deare cousin mine, Dan John,” she said, ”What aileth you so rath* for to arise?” *early ”Niece,” quoth he, ”it ought enough suffice Five houres for to sleep upon a night;'

But* it were for an old appalled** wight, *unless **pallid, wasted As be these wedded men, that lie and dare,* *stare As in a forme sits a weary hare, Alle forstraught* with houndes great and smale; *distracted, confounded But, deare niece, why be ye so pale?

I trowe certes that our goode man Hath you so laboured, since this night began, That you were need to reste hastily.”

And with that word he laugh'd full merrily, And of his owen thought he wax'd all red.

This faire wife gan for to shake her head, And saide thus; ”Yea, G.o.d wot all” quoth she.

”Nay, cousin mine, it stands not so with me; For by that G.o.d, that gave me soul and life, In all the realm of France is there no wife That lesse l.u.s.t hath to that sorry play; For I may sing alas and well-away!

That I was born; but to no wight,” quoth she, ”Dare I not tell how that it stands with me.

Wherefore I think out of this land to wend, Or elles of myself to make an end, So full am I of dread and eke of care.”

This monk began upon this wife to stare, And said, ”Alas! my niece, G.o.d forbid That ye for any sorrow, or any dread, Fordo* yourself: but telle me your grief, *destroy Paraventure I may, in your mischief,* *distress Counsel or help; and therefore telle me All your annoy, for it shall be secre.

For on my portos* here I make an oath, *breviary That never in my life, *for lief nor loth,* *willing or unwilling*

Ne shall I of no counsel you bewray.”

”The same again to you,” quoth she, ”I say.

By G.o.d and by this portos I you swear, Though men me woulden all in pieces tear, Ne shall I never, for* to go to h.e.l.l, *though I should Bewray* one word of thing that ye me tell, *betray For no cousinage, nor alliance, But verily for love and affiance.”* *confidence, promise Thus be they sworn, and thereupon they kiss'd, And each of them told other what them list.

”Cousin,” quoth she, ”if that I hadde s.p.a.ce, As I have none, and namely* in this place, *specially Then would I tell a legend of my life, What I have suffer'd since I was a wife With mine husband, all* be he your cousin. *although ”Nay,” quoth this monk, ”by G.o.d and Saint Martin, He is no more cousin unto me, Than is the leaf that hangeth on the tree; I call him so, by Saint Denis of France, To have the more cause of acquaintance Of you, which I have loved specially Aboven alle women sickerly,* *surely This swear I you *on my professioun;* *by my vows of religion Tell me your grief, lest that he come adown, And hasten you, and go away anon.”

”My deare love,” quoth she, ”O my Dan John, Full lief* were me this counsel for to hide, *pleasant But out it must, I may no more abide.

My husband is to me the worste man That ever was since that the world began; But since I am a wife, it sits* not me *becomes To telle no wight of our privity, Neither in bed, nor in none other place; G.o.d s.h.i.+eld* I shoulde tell it for his grace; *forbid A wife shall not say of her husband But all honour, as I can understand; Save unto you thus much I telle shall; As help me G.o.d, he is nought worth at all In no degree, the value of a fly.

But yet me grieveth most his n.i.g.g.ardy.* *stinginess And well ye wot, that women naturally Desire thinges six, as well as I.