Books: Playful Poems
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Right so betwixt a lawless, mighty chief
And a rude outlaw, or an arrant thief,
Knight arrant or thief arrant, all is one;
Difference, as Alexander learnt, there's none;
But for the chief is of the greater might,
By force of numbers, to slay all outright,
And burn, and waste, and make as flat as floor,
Lo, therefore is he clept a conqueror;
And for the other hath his numbers less,
And cannot work such mischief and distress,
Nor be by half so wicked as the chief,
Men clepen him an outlaw and a thief.
However, I am no text-spinning man;
So to my tale I go, as I began.
Now with her lemman is this Phoebus' wife;
The crow he sayeth nothing, for his life;
Caged hangeth he, and sayeth not a word;
But when that home was come Phoebus the lord,
He singeth out, and saith,--"Cuckoo! cuckoo!"
"Hey!" crieth Phoebus, "here be something new;
Thy song was wont to cheer me. What is this?"
"By Jove!" quoth Corvus, "I sing not amiss.
Phoebus," quoth he; "for all thy worthiness,
For all thy beauty and all thy gentilesse,
For all thy song and all thy minstrelsy,
And all thy watching, bleared is thine eye;
Yea, and by one no worthier than a gnat,
Compared with him should boast to wear thine hat."
What would you more? the crow hath told him all;
This woful god hath turned him to the wall
To hide his tears: he thought 'twould burst his heart;
He bent his bow, and set therein a dart,
And in his ire he hath his wife yslain;
He hath; he felt such anger and such pain;
For sorrow of which he brake his minstrelsy,
Both harp and lute, gittern and psaltery,
And then he brake his arrows and his bow,
And after that, thus spake he to the crow:-
"Traitor," quoth he, "behold what thou hast done;
Made me the saddest wretch beneath the sun:
Alas! why was I born! O dearest wife,
Jewel of love and joy, my only life,
That wert to me so steadfast and so true,
There liest thou dead; why am not I so too?
Full innocent thou wert, that durst I swear;
O hasty hand, to bring me to despair!
O troubled wit, O anger without thought,
That unadvised smitest, and for nought:
O heart of little faith, full of suspicion,
Where was thy handsomeness and thy discretion?
O every man, hold hastiness in loathing;
Believe, without strong testimony, nothing;
Smite not too soon, before ye well know why;
And be advised well and soberly
Before ye trust yourselves to the commission
Of any ireful deed upon suspicion.
Alas! a thousand folk hath hasty ire
Foully foredone, and brought into the mire.
Alas! I'll kill myself for misery."
And to the crow, "O thou false thief!" said he,
I'll quit thee, all thy life, for thy false tale;
Thou shalt no more sing like the nightingale,
Nor shalt thou in those fair white feathers go,
Thou silly thief, thou false, black-hearted crow;
Nor shalt thou ever speak like man again;
Thou shalt not have the power to give such pain;
Nor shall thy race wear any coat but black,
And ever shall their voices crone and crack
And be a warning against wind and rain,
In token that by thee my wife was slain."
So to the crow he started, like one mad,
And tore out every feather that he had,
And made him black, and reft him of his stores
Of song and speech, and flung him out of doors
Unto the devil; whence never come he back,
Say I. Amen. And hence all crows are black.
Lordings, by this example I you pray
Take heed, and be discreet in what you say;
And above all, tell no man, for your life,
How that another man hath kissed his wife.
He'll hate you mortally; be sure of that;
Dan Solomon, in teacher's chair that sat,
Bade us keep all our tongues close as we can;
But, as I said, I'm no text-spinning man,
Only, I must say, thus taught me my dame; {26}
My son, think on the crow in God his name;
My son, keep well thy tongue, and keep thy friend;
A wicked tongue is worse than any fiend;
My son, a fiend's a thing for to keep down;
My son, God in his great discretion
Walled a tongue with teeth, and eke with lips,
That man may think, before his speech out slips.
A little speech spoken advisedly
Brings none in trouble, speaking generally.
My son, thy tongue thou always shouldst restrain,
Save only at such times thou dost thy pain
To speak of God in honour and in prayer;
The chiefest virtue, son, is to beware
How thou lett'st loose that endless thing, thy tongue;
This every soul is taught, when he is young:
My son, of muckle speaking ill-advised,
And where a little speaking had sufficed,
Com'th muckle harm. This was me told and taught, -
In muckle speaking, sinning wanteth nought.
Know'st thou for what a tongue that's hasty serveth?
Right as a sword forecutteth and forecarveth
An arm in two, my dear son, even so
A tongue clean-cutteth friendship at a blow.
A jangler is to God abominable:
Read Solomon, so wise and honourable;
Read David in his Psalms, read Seneca;
My son, a nod is better than a say;
Be deaf, when folk speak matter perilous;
Small prate, sound pate,--guardeth the Fleming's house.
My son, if thou no wicked word hast spoken,
Thou never needest fear a pate ybroken;
But he that hath missaid, I dare well say,
His fingers shall find blood thereon, some day.
Thing that is said, is said; it may not back
Be called, for all your "Las!" and your "Alack!"
And he is that man's thrall to whom 'twas said;
Cometh the bond some day, and will be paid.
My son, beware, and be no author new
Of tidings, whether they be false or true:
Go wheresoe'er thou wilt, 'mongst high or low,
Keep well thy tongue, and think upon the crow.
CHAUCER'S RIME OF SIR THOPAS
MODERNISED BY Z. A. Z.
PROLOGUE TO SIR THOPAS.
1.
Now when the Prioress had done, each man
So serious looked, 'twas wonderful to see!
Till our good host to banter us began,
And then at last he cast his eyes on me,
And jeering said, "What man art thou?" quoth he,
"That lookest down as thou wouldst find a hare,
For ever upon the ground I see thee stare.
2.
"Approach me near, and look up merrily!
Now make way, sirs! and let this man have place.
He in the waist is shaped as well as I:
This were a poppet in an arm's embrace,
For any woman, small and fair of face.
He seemeth elf-like by his countenance,
For with no wight holdeth he dalliance.
3.
"Say somewhat now, since other folks have said;
Tell us a tale o' mirth, and that anon."
"Host," quoth I then, "be not so far misled,
For other tales except this know I none;
A little rime I learned in years agone."
"Ah! that is well," quoth he; "now we shall hear
Some dainty thing, methinketh, by thy cheer."
THE RIME OF SIR THOPAS.
FYTTE THE FIRST. {30}
1.
Listen, lordlings, in good intent,
And I will tell you verament
Of mirth and chivalry,
About a knight on glory bent,
In battle and in tournament;
Sir Thopas named was he.
2.
And he was born in a far countrey,
In Flanders, all beyond the sea,
At Popering in the place;
His father was a man full free,
And of that country lord was he,
Enjoyed by holy grace.
3.
Sir Thopas was a doughty swain,
Fair was his face as pain de Maine,
His lips were red as rose;
His ruddy cheeks like scarlet grain;
And I tell you in good certaine,
He had a seemly nose.
4.
His hair and beard like saffron shone,
And to his girdle fell adown;
His shoes of leather bright;
Of Bruges were his hose so brown,
His robe it was of ciclatoun -
He was a costly wight:
5.
Well could he hunt the strong wild deer,
And ride a hawking for his cheer
With grey goshawk on hand;
His archery filled the woods with fear,
In wrestling eke he had no peer, -
No man 'gainst him could stand.
6.
Full many a maiden bright in bower
Was sighing for him par amour
Between her prayers and sleep,
But he was chaste, beyond their power,
And sweet as is the bramble flower
That beareth the red hip.
7.
And so it fell upon a day,
Forsooth, as I now sing and say,
Sir Thopas went to ride;
He rode upon his courser grey,
And in his hand a lance so gay,
A long sword by his side.
8.
He rode along a forest fair,
Many a wild beast dwelling there;
(Mercy in heaven defend!)
And there was also buck and hare;
And as he went, he very near
Met with a sorry end.
9.
And herbs sprang up, or creeping ran;
The liquorice, and valerian,
Clove-gillyflowers, sun-dressed;
And nutmeg, good to put in ale,
Whether it be moist or stale, -
Or to lay sweet in chest,
10.
The birds all sang, as tho' 'twere May;
The spearhawk, and the popinjay, {32}
It was a joy to hear;
The throstle cock made eke his lay,
The wood-dove sung upon the spray,
With note full loud and clear.
11.
Sir Thopas fell in love-longing
All when he heard the throstle sing,
And spurred his horse like mad,
So that all o'er the blood did spring,
And eke the white foam you might wring:
The steed in foam seemed clad.
12.
Sir Thopas eke so weary was
Of riding on the fine soft grass,
While love burnt in his breast,
That down he laid him in that place
To give his courser some solace,
Some forage and some rest.
13.
Saint Mary! benedicite!
What meaneth all this love in me,
That haunts me in the wood?
This night, in dreaming, did I see
An elf queen shall my true love be,
And sleep beneath my hood.
14.
An elf queen will I love, I wis,
For in this world no woman is
Worthy to be my bride;
All other damsels I forsake,
And to an elf queen will I take,
By grove and streamlet's side.
15.
Into his saddle be clomb anon,
And pricketh over stile and stone,
An elf queen to espy;
Till he so long had ridden and gone,
That he at last upon a morn
The fairy land came nigh.
16.
Therein he sought both far and near,
And oft he spied in daylight clear
Through many a forest wild;
But in that wondrous land I ween,
No living wight by him was seen,
Nor woman, man, nor child.
17.
At last there came a giant gaunt,
And he was named Sir Oliphaunt,
A perilous man of deed:
And he said, "Childe, by Termagaunt,
If thou ride not from this my haunt,
Soon will I slay thy steed
With this victorious mace;
For here's the lovely Queen of Faery,
With harp and pipe and symphony,
A-dwelling in this place."
18.
Childe Thopas said right haughtily,
"To-morrow will I combat thee
In armour bright as flower;
And then I promise 'par ma fay'
That thou shalt feel this javelin gay,
And dread its wondrous power.
To-morrow we shall meet again,
And I will pierce thee, if I may,
Upon the golden prime of day; -
And here you shall be slain."
19.
Sir Thopas drew aback full fast;
The giant at him huge stones cast,
Which from a staff-sling fly;
But well escaped the Childe Thopas,
And it was all through God's good grace,
And through his bearing high.
20.
Still listen, gentles, to my tale,
Merrier than the nightingale; -
For now I must relate,
How that Sir Thopas rideth o'er
Hill and dale and bright sea-shore,
E'en to his own estate.
21.
His merry men commandeth he
To make for him the game and glee;
For needs he must soon fight
With a giant fierce, with strong heads three,
For paramour and jollity,
And chivalry so bright.
22.
"Come forth," said he, "my minstrels fair,
And tell me tales right debonair,
While I am clad and armed;
Romances, full of real tales,
Of dames, and popes, and cardinals,
And maids by wizards charmed."
23.
They bore to him the sweetest wine
In silver cup; the muscadine,
With spices rare of Ind;
Fine gingerbread, in many a slice,
With cummin seed, and liquorice,
And sugar thrice refined.
24.
Then next to his white skin he ware
A cloth of fleecy wool, as fair,
Woven into a shirt;
Next that he put a cassock on,
And over that an habergeon, {35}
To guard right well his heart.
25.
And over that a hauberk went
Of Jews' work, and most excellent;
Full strong was every plate;
And over that his coat armoure,
As white as is the lily flower,
In which he would debate.
26.
His shield was all of gold so red,
And thereon was a wild boar's head,
A carbuncle beside;
And then he swore on ale and bread,
How that the giant should be dead,
Whatever should betide!
27.
His boots were glazed right curiously,
His sword-sheath was of ivory,
His helm all brassy bright;
His saddle was of jet-black bone,
His bridle like the bright sun shone,
Or like the clear moons light,
28.
His spear was of the cypress tree,
That bodeth battle right and free;
The point full sharp was ground;
His steed it was a dapple grey,
That goeth an amble on the way,
Full softly and full round.
29.
Lo! lordlings mine, here ends one fytte
Of this my tale, a gallant strain;
And if ye will hear more of it,
I'll soon begin again.
FYTTE THE SECOND.
1.
Now hold your speech for charity,
Both gallant knight and lady free,
And hearken to my song
Of battle and of chivalry,
Of ladies' love and minstrelsy,
All ambling thus along.
2.
Men speak much of old tales, I know;
Of Hornchild, Ipotis, also
Of Bevis and Sir Guy;
Of Sire Libeaux, and Pleindamour;
But Sire Thopas, he is the flower
Of real chivalry.
3.
Now was his gallant steed bestrode,
And forth upon his way he rode,
As spark flies from a brand;
Upon his crest he bare a tower,
And therein stuck a lily flower:
Save him from giant hand.
4.
He was a knight in battle bred,
And in no house would seek his bed,
But laid him in the wood;
His pillow was his helmet bright, -
His horse grazed by him all the night
On herbs both fine and good.
5.
And he drank water from the well,
As did the knight Sir Percival,
So worthy under weed;
Till on a day -
[Here Chaucer is interrupted in his Rime.]
EPILOGUE TO RIME.
"No more of this, for Heaven's high dignity!"
Quoth then our Host, "for, lo! thou makest me
So weary of thy very simpleness,
That all so wisely may the Lord me bless,
My very ears, with thy dull rubbish, ache.
Now such a rime at once let Satan take.
This may be well called 'doggrel rime,'" quoth he.
"Why so?" quoth I; "why wilt thou not let me
Tell all my tale, like any other man,
Since that it is the best rime that I can?"
"Mass!" quoth our Host, "if that I hear aright,
Thy scraps of rhyming are not worth a mite;
Thou dost nought else but waste away our time:-
Sir, at one word, thou shalt no longer rhyme."
CHAUCER'S FRIAR'S TALE; or, THE SUMNER AND THE DEVIL
MODERNISED BY LEIGH HUNT.
There lived, sirs, in my country, formerly,
A wondrous great archdeacon,--who but he?
Who boldly did the work of his high station
In punishing improper conversation,
And all the slidings thereunto belonging;
Witchcraft, and scandal also, and the wronging
Of holy Church, by blinking of her dues
In sacraments and contracts, wills and pews;
Usury furthermore, and simony;
But people of ill lives most loathed he:
Lord! how he made them sing if they were caught.
And tithe-defaulters, ye may guess, were taught
Never to venture on the like again;
To the last farthing would he rack and strain.
For stinted tithes, or stinted offering,
He made the people piteously to sing.
He left no leg for the good bishop's crook;
Down went the black sheep in his own black book;
For when the name gat there, such dereliction
Came, you must know, sirs, in his jurisdiction.
He had a Sumner ready to his hand;
A slyer bully filched not in the land;
For in all parts the villain had his spies
To let him know where profit might arise.
Well could he spare ill livers, three or four,
To help his net to four-and-twenty more.
'Tis truth. Your Sumner may stare hard for me;
I shall not screen, not I, his villainy;
For heaven be thanked, laudetur Dominus,
They have no hold, these cursed thieves, on us;
Nor never shall have, let 'em thieve till doom.
["No," cried the Sumner, starting from his gloom,
"Nor have we any hold, Sir Shaven-crown,
On your fine flock, the ladies of the town."
"Peace, with a vengeance," quoth our Host, "and let
The tale be told. Say on, thou marmoset,
Thou lady's friar, and let the Sumner sniff."]
"Well," quoth the Friar; "this Sumner, this false thief,
Had scouts in plenty ready to his hand,
Like any hawks, the sharpest in the land,
Watching their birds to pluck, each in his mew,
Who told him all the secrets that they knew,
And lured him game, and gat him wondrous profit;
Exceeding little knew his master of it.
Sirs, he would go, without a writ, and take
Poor wretches up, feigning it for Christ's sake,
And threatening the poor people with his curse,
And all the while would let them fill his purse,
And to the alehouse bring him by degrees,
And then he'd drink with them, and slap his knees
For very mirth, and say 'twas some mistake.
Judas carried the bag, sirs, for Christ's sake,
And was a thief; and such a thief was he;
His master got but sorry share, pardie.
To give due laud unto this Satan's imp,
He was a thief, a Sumner, and a pimp.
Wenches themselves were in his retinue;
So whether 'twas Sir Robert, or Sir Hugh,
Or Jack, or Ralph, that held the damsel dear,
Come would she then, and tell it in his ear:
Thus were the wench and he of one accord;
And he would feign a mandate from his lord,
And summon them before the court, those two,
And pluck the man, and let the mawkin go.
Then would he say, "Friend, for thine honest look,
I save thy name, this once, from the black book;
Thou hear'st no further of this case."--But, Lord!
I might not in two years his bribes record.
There's not a dog alive, so speed my soul,
Knoweth a hurt deer better from a whole
Than this false Sumner knew a tainted sheep,
Or where this wretch would skulk, or that would sleep,
Or to fleece both was more devoutly bent;
And reason good; his faith was in his rent.
And so befell, that once upon a day,
This Sumner, prowling ever for his prey,
Rode forth to cheat a poor old widowed soul,
Feigning a cause for lack of protocol,
And as he went, he saw before him ride
A yeoman gay under the forest side.
A bow he bare, and arrows bright and keen;
And he was clad in a short cloak of green,
And wore a hat that had a fringe of black.
"Sir," quoth this Sumner, shouting at his back,
"Hail, and well met."--"Well met," like shouteth he;
"Where ridest thou under the greenwood tree?
Goest thou far, thou jolly boy, to-day?"
This bully Sumner answered, and said, "Nay,
Only hard-by, to strain a rent."--"Hoh! hoh!
Art thou a bailiff then?"--"Yea, even so."
For he durst not, for very filth and shame,
Say that he was a Sumner, for the name.
"Well met, in God's name," quoth black fringe; "why, brother,
Thou art a bailiff then, and I'm another;
But I'm a stranger in these parts; so, prythee,
Lend me thine aid, and let me journey with thee.
I've gold and silver, plenty, where I dwell;
And if thou hap'st to come into our dell,
Lord! how we'll do our best to give thee greeting!"
"Thanks," quoth the Sumner; "merry be our meeting."
So in each other's hand their troths they lay,
And swear accord: and forth they ride and play.
This Sumner then, which was as full of stir,
And prate, and prying, as a woodpecker,
And ever inquiring upon everything,
Said, "Brother, where is thine inhabiting,
In case I come to find thee out some day?"
This yeoman dropped his speech in a soft way,
And said, "Far in the north. But ere we part, {42}
I trow thou shalt have learnt it so by heart,
Thou mayst not miss it, be it dark as pitch."
"Good," quoth the Sumner. "Now, as thou art rich,
Show me, dear brother, riding thus with me,
Since we are bailiffs both, some subtlety,
How I may play my game best, and may win:
And spare not, pray, for conscience or for sin,
But, as my brother, tell me how do ye."
"Why, 'faith, to tell thee a plain tale," quoth he,
"As to my wages, they be poor enough;
My lord's a dangerous master, hard and chuff;
And since my labour bringeth but abortion,
I live, so please ye, brother, by extortion,
I take what I can get; that is my course;
By cunning, if I may; if not, by force;
So cometh, year by year, my salary."
"Now certes," quote the Sumner, "so fare I.
I lay my hands on everything, God wot,
Unless it be too heavy or too hot.
What I may get in counsel, privily,
I feel no sort of qualm thereon, not I.
Extortion or starvation;--that's my creed.
Repent who list. The best of saints must feed.
That's all the stomach that my conscience knoweth.
Curse on the ass that to confession goeth.
Well be we met, 'Od's heart! and by my dame!
But tell me, brother dear, what is thy name?"
Now ye must know, that right in this meanwhile,
This yeoman 'gan a little for to smile.
"Brother," quoth he, "my name, if I must tell -
I am a fiend: my dwelling is in hell:
And here I ride about my fortuning,
To wot if folk will give me anything.
To that sole end ride I, and ridest thou;
And, without pulling rein, will I ride now
To the world's end, ere I will lose a prey."
"God bless me," quoth the Sumner, "what d'ye say?
I thought ye were a yeoman verily.
Ye have a man's shape, sir, as well as I.
Have ye a shape then, pray, determinate
In hell, good sir, where ye have your estate?"
"Nay, certainly," quoth he, "there have we none;
But whoso liketh it, he taketh one;
And so we make folk think us what we please.
Sometimes we go like apes, sometimes like bees,
Like man, or angel, black dog, or black crow:-
Nor is it wondrous that it should be so.
A sorry juggler can bewilder thee;
And 'faith, I think I know more craft than he."
"But why," inquired the Sumner, "must ye don
So many shapes, when ye might stick to one?"
"We suit the bait unto the fish," quoth he.
"And why," quoth t'other, "all this slavery?"
"For many a cause, Sir Sumner," quoth the fiend;
"But time is brief--the day will have an end;
And here jog I, with nothing for my ride;
Catch we our fox, and let this theme abide:
For, brother mine, thy wit it is too small
To understand me, though I told thee all;
And yet, as toucheth that same slavery,
A devil must do God's work, 'twixt you and me;
For without Him, albeit to our loathing,
Strong as we go, we devils can do nothing;
Though to our prayers, sometimes, He giveth leave
Only the body, not the soul, to grieve.
Witness good Job, whom nothing could make wrath;
And sometimes have we power to harass both;
And, then again, soul only is possest,
And body free; and all is for the best.
Full many a sinner would have no salvation,
Gat it he not by standing our temptation:
Though God He knows, 'twas far from our intent
To save the man:- his howl was what we meant.
Nay, sometimes we be servants to our foes:
Witness the saint that pulled my master's nose;
And to the apostle servant eke was I."
"Yet tell me," quoth this Sumner, "faithfully,
Are the new shapes ye take for your intents
Fresh every time, and wrought of elements?"
"Nay," quoth the fiend, "sometimes they be disguises;
And sometimes in a corpse a devil rises,
And speaks as sensibly, and fair, and well,
As did the Pythoness to Samuel:
And yet will some men say, it was not he!
Lord help, say I, this world's divinity.
Of one thing make thee sure; that thou shalt know,
Before we part, the shapes we wear below.
Thou shalt--I jest thee not--the Lord forbid!
Thou shalt know more than ever Virgil did,
Or Dante's self. So let us on, sweet brother,
And stick, like right warm souls, to one another:
I'll never quit thee, till thou quittest me."
"Nay," quoth the Sumner, "that can never be;
I am a man well known, respectable;
And though thou wert the very lord of hell,
Hold thee I should as mine own plighted brother:
Doubt not we'll stick right fast, each to the other:
And, as we think alike, so will we thrive:
We twain will be the merriest devils alive.
Take thou what's given; for that's thy mode, God wot;
And I will take, whether 'tis given or not.
And if that either winneth more than t'other,
Let him be true, and share it with his brother."
"Done," quoth the fiend, whose eyes in secret glowed;
And with that word they pricked along the road:
And soon it fell, that entering the town's end,
To which this Sumner shaped him for to wend,
They saw a cart that loaded was with hay,
The which a carter drove forth on his way.
Deep was the mire, and sudden the cart stuck:
The carter, like a madman, smote and struck,
And cried, "Heit, Scot; heit, Brock! What! is't the stones?
The devil clean fetch ye both, body and bones:
Must I do nought but bawl and swinge all day?
Devil take the whole--horse, harness, cart, and hay."
The Sumner whispered to the fiend, "I' faith,
We have it here. Hear'st thou not what he saith?
Take it anon, for he hath given it thee,
Live stock and dead, hay, cart, and horses three!"
"Nay," quoth the fiend, "not so;--the deuce a bit.
He sayeth; but, alas! not meaneth it:
Ask him thyself, if thou believ'st not me;
Or else be still awhile, and thou shalt see."
Thwacketh the man his horses on the croup,
And they begin to draw now, and to stoop.
"Heit there," quoth he; "heit, heit; ah, matthywo.
Lord love their hearts! how prettily they go!
That was well twitched, methinks, mine own grey boy:
I pray God save thy body, and Saint Eloy.
Now is my cart out of the slough, pardie."
"There," quoth the fiend unto the Sumner; "see,
I told thee how 'twould fall. Thou seest, dear brother,
The churl spoke one thing, but he thought another.
Let us prick on, for we take nothing here."
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