I trowe an hundred tymes they ben kist,
And such a blys is ther bitwix hem tuo,
That, save the joye that lasteth everemo,
Ther is noon lyk, that eny creature
Hath seyn or schal, whil that the world may dure.
Tho prayde sche hir housbond meekely
In the relees of hir pytous pyne,
That he wold preye hir fader specially,
That of his majesté he wold enclyne
To vouchesauf som tyme with him to dyne.
Sche preyeth him eek, he schulde by no weye
Unto hir fader no word of hir seye.
Som men wold seye, that hir child Maurice
Doth his message unto the emperour :
But, as I gesse, Alla was nat so nyce,
To him that is so soverayn of honour,
As he that is of Cristes folk the flour,
Sent eny child; but it is best to deeme
He went himsilf, and so it may wel seme.
This emperour hath graunted gentilly
To come to dyner, as he him bysought :
And wel rede I, he loked besily
Upon the child, and on his doughter thought.
Alla goth to his in, and as him ought
Arrayed for this fest in every wyse,
As ferforth as his connyng may suffise.
5506 The version of the story here alluded to is that given in Gower's Confessio Amantis, book ii, which appears to have been published before Chaucer's Canterbury Tales were compiled.
The morwe cam, and Alla gan him dresse,
And eek his wyf, the emperour for to meete:
And forth they ryde in joye and in gladnesse,
And whan sche saugh hir fader in the streete,
Sche light adoun and falleth him to feete.
"Fader," quod sche, "your yonge child Constance
Is now ful clene out of your remembraunce.
"I am your doughter Custaunce," quod sche,
"That whilom ye have sent unto Surrye:
It am I, fader, that in the salte see
Was put alloon, and dampned for to dye.
Now, goode fader, mercy I you crye,
Send me no more unto noon hethenesse,
But thanke my lord her of his kyndenesse."
Who can the pytous joye telle al
Bitwix hem thre, sith they be thus i-mette?
But of my tale make an ende I schal;
The day goth fast, I wol no lenger lette.
This glade folk to dyner they ben sette:
In joye and blys at mete I let hem dwelle,
A thousand fold wel more than I can telle.
This child Maurice was siththen emperour
I-maad by the pope, and lyved cristenly,
To Cristes chirche dede he gret honour.
But I let al his story passen by,
Of Custaunce is my tale specially;
In olde Romayn gestes men may fynd
Maurices lyf, I bere it nought in mynde.
This kyng Alla, whan he his tyme say,
With his Constaunce, his holy wyf so swete,
To Engelond they com the righte way,
Wher as they lyve in joye and in quyete.
But litel whil it last, I you biheete,
Joy of this world for tyme wol not abyde,
Fro day to night it chaungeth as the tyde.
Who lyved ever in such delyt a day,
That him ne meved eyther his conscience,
Or ire, or talent, or som maner affray,
Envy, or pride, or passioun, or offence?
I ne say but for this ende this sentence,
That litel whil in joye or in plesaunce
Lasteth the blis of Alla with Custaunce.
For deth, that takth of heigh and low his rent,
Whan passed was a yeere, as I gesse,
Out of this worlde kyng Alla he hent,
For whom Custauns hath ful gret hevynesse.
Now let us pray that God his soule blesse !
And dame Custaunce, fynally to say,
Toward the toun of Rome goth hir way.
To Rome is come this nobil creature,
And fynt hir freendes ther bothe hool and sound; 5570
Now is sche skaped al hir aventure.
And whanne sche hir fader had i-founde,
Doun on hir knees falleth sche to grounde,
Wepyng for tendirnes in herte blithe
Sche heried God an hundred thousand sithe.
In vertu and in holy almes-dede
They lyven alle, and never asondre wende;
Til deth departe hem, this lyf they lede:
And far now wel, my tale is at an ende.
Now Jhesu Crist, that of his might may sende
Joy after wo, governe us in his grace,
And keep ous alle that ben in this place.
THE PROLOGE OF THE WYF OF BATHE.
EXPERIENS, though noon auctorité
Were in this world, it were ynough for me
To speke of wo that is in mariage:
Prologe of the wyf of Bathe. The Wife of Bath's prologue may be considered as a separate tale, and belongs to a class of which there are several examples among the literature of the middle ages. One of the latest is The twa maryit wemen and the wedo of William Dunbar. The popular literature of what is commonly looked upon as the age of chivalry, shows us that the female character was then estimated at the lowest possible rate.
The Harl. MS. erroneously places at the beginning of this prologue, the prologue to the Shipman's Tale. Some of the MSS. collated by Tyrwhitt, in which the Merchant's Tale follows the Man of Law, have the following introductory lines:
Oure oost gan tho to loke up anon.
"Gode men," quod he, " herkeneth everichone,
As evere mote I drynke wyn or ale,
This marchant hath i-told a mery tale,
Howe Januarie hadde a lither jape,
His wyf put in his hood an ape.
But hereof I wil leve off as now.
Dame wyf of Bathe," quod he," I pray you,
Telle us a tale now nexte after this."
"Sir oost," quod she, "so God my
As I fully thereto wil consente:
And also it is myn hole entente
To done yow alle disporte as that I can.
But holde me excused; I am a woman,
For, lordyngs, syns I twelf yer was of age,
I thank it God that is eterne on lyve,
Housbondes atte chirch dore I have had fyve,
For I so ofte might have weddid be,
And alle were worthy men in here degré.
But me was taught, nought longe tyme goon is,
That synnes Crist went never but onys
To weddyng, in the Cane of Galile,
That by the same ensampul taught he me,
That I ne weddid schulde be but ones:
Lo, herken such a scharp word for the nones!
Biside a welle Jhesus, God and man,
Spak in reproef of the Samaritan :
Thow hast y-had fyve housbondes,' quod he;
'And that ilk man, which that now hath the,
Is nought thin housbond;' thus he sayd certayn:
What that he ment therby, I can not sayn.
But that I axe, why the fyfte man
Was nought housbond to the Samaritan?
How many might sche have in mariage?
Yit herd I never tellen in myn age
Uppon this noumbre diffinicioun ;
Men may divine and glosen up and doun.
I can not reherse, as these clerkes kunne."
And right anon she hath hir tale bygunne.
In the MS Lansdowne, there are four introductory lines:-
Than schortly ansewarde the wife of Bathe,
And swore a wonder grete hathe,
"Be Goddes bones, I wil tel next,
I wille nouht glose, but saye the text.
Experiment, though none auctorité, etc.
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