This Chauntecleer stood hye up-on his toos,
Strecching his nekke, and held his eyen cloos,
And gan to crowe loude for the nones1;
And daun Russel2 the foxe sterte up at ones,
And by the gargatз hente Chauntecleer,
And on his bak toward the wode him beer1,
For yet ne was ther no man that him sewed5.
O destinee, that mayst nat ben eschewed!
Allas, that Chauntecleer fleigh fro the bemes!
Allas, his wyf ne roghtes nat of dremes!
And on a Friday fil al this meschaunce.
O Venus, that art goddesse of plesaunce,
Sin that thy servant was this Chauntecleer,

520

Herden thise hennes crye and maken wo,
And out at dores sterten thay anoon,
And syen the fox toward the grove goon,
And bar upon his bak the cok away;
And cryden, 'Out! harrow! and weylaway! 560
Ha, ha, the fox!' and after him they ran,
And eek with staves many another man;
Ran Colle our dogge, and Talbot21, and Ger-
land21,

And Malkin22, with a distaf in hir hand;
Ran cow and calf, and eek the verray hogges
So were they fered for berking of the dogges
And shouting of the men and wimmen eke,
They ronne so, hem thoughte hir herte breke.

Why woldestow suffre him on thy day to dye? | They yelleden as feendes doon in helle;
O Gaufred, dere mayster soverayn7,

That, whan thy worthy king Richard was slayn
With shot, compleynedest his deth so sore,
Why ne hadde I now thy sentences and thy
lore,

The Friday for to chide, as diden ye?

531

(For on a Friday soothly slayn was he.)
Than wolde I shewe yow how that I coude
pleyne9

For Chauntecleres drede, and for his peyne.
Certes, swich cry ne lamentacioun
Was nevere of ladies maad, whan Ilioun

Was wonne, and Pirrus10 with his streite11
swerd,

540

Whan he hadde hent king Priam by the berd,
And slayn him (as saith us Eneydos) 12,
As maden alle the hennes in the clos13,
Whan they had seyn of Chauntecleer the sighte.
But sovereynly14 dame Pertelote shrighte15,
Ful louder than dide Hasdrubales16 wyf,
Whan that hir housbond hadde lost his lyf,
And that the Romayns hadde brend Cartage,
She was so ful of torment and of rage,
That wilfully into the fyr she sterte17,

571

The dokes cryden as men wolde hem quelle23;
The gees for fere flowen over the trees;
Out of the hyve cam the swarm of bees;
So hidous was the noyse, a! benedicite !24
Certes, he Iakke Straw25, and his meynee26,
Ne maden nevere shoutes half so shrille,
Whan that they wolden any Fleming kille,
As thilke day was maad upon the fox.
Of bras thay broghten bemes27 and of box28,
Of horn, of boon, in whiche they blewe and
pouped29,

581

And therwithal thay shryked and they houped30;
It semed as that hevene sholde falle.
Now, gode men, I pray yow herkneth alle!
Lo, how fortune turneth sodeinly
The hope and pryde eek of hir enemy!
This cok, that lay upon the foxes bak,
In al his drede, un-to the fox he spak,
And seyde, 'sire, if that I were as ye,
Yet sholde I seyn (as wis31 God helpe me),
Turneth agayn, ye proude cherles alle!
A verray pestilence up-on yow falle!
Now am I come un-to this wodes syde,
Maugree32 your heed, the cok shal heer abyde;

And brende18 hir-selven with a stedfast herte. I wol him ete in feith, and that anon.

O woful hennes, right so cryden ye,
As, whan that Nero brende the citee
Of Rome, cryden senatoures wyves,
For that hir housbondes losten alle hir lyves;
Withouten gilt 19 this Nero hath hem slayn.
Now wol I torne to my tale agayn:

590

The fox answerde, 'In feith, it shal be don, '550 And as he spak that word, al sodeinly This cok brak from his mouth deliverly33, And heighe up-on a tree he fleigh anon. And whan the fox saugh that he was y-gon, 'Allas!' quod he, 'O Chauntecleer, allas! In-as-muche as I maked yow aferd,

This sely 20 widwe, and eek hir doghtres two, I have to yow,' quod he, 'y-doon trespas,

1 occasion

2 As the ass was called

Burnel because he
the

is brown, SO
fox was called Rus-

sell because he is

red.

3 throat

4 bore

5 followed

6 did not care for

7 Chaucer is making fun

of an old writer,

Geoffrey de Vin-
sauf.

8 power of expression

9 complain

10 Pyrrhus

11 drawn

12 The Aeneid.

610 Ther myghte have ben betwex hem marïage, But that hir fadres nold18 it not assente, And both in love y-like soore they brente1o, him That noon of al hir frendes myghte it lette20. But prevely21 somtyme yit they mette

And thus here27 wardeyn wolde they disceyve, 709 And every day this walle they wolde threete28, And wisshe to God that it were doun y-bete. Thus wolde they seyn: 'Allas, thou wikked

Yet oghte we with the ben wel apayede1.'
And whan these idel wordes weren sayde,
The colde walle they wolden kysse of stoon,
And take hir leve, and forth they wolden goon.
And this was gladly in the evetyde, 770
Or wonder erly, lest men it espyede.
And longe tyme they wroght in this manere,
Til on a day, whan Phebus2 gan to clere3—
Aurora with the stremes of hire hete+
Had dried uppe the dewe of herbes wete-
Unto this clyfte, as it was wont to be,
Come Piramus, and after come Tesbe.
And plighten trouthes fully in here faye,
That ilke same nyght to steele awaye,
And to begile hire wardeyns everychone,
And forth out of the citee for to gone.
And, for the feeldes ben so broode and wide,
Fór to meete in o place at o tyde

820

And eke so glade that she was escaped;
And ther she sytte, and darketh21 wonder stille.
Whan that this lyonesse hath dronke hire fille,
Aboute the welle gan she for to wynde22,
And ryght anon the wympil gan she fynde,
And with hir blody mouth it al to-rente.
Whan this was don, no lenger she ne stente23,
But to the woode hir wey than hath she nome24.
And at the laste this Piramus is come,
But al to longe, allas, at home was hee!
The moone shone, men myghte wel y-see,
And in his wey, as that he come ful faste,
His eyen to the grounde adoun he caste;
And in the sonde as he behelde adoun25,
780 He seigh the steppes broode of a lyoun;
And in his herte he sodeynly agroos26,
And pale he wex, therwith his heer aroos,
And nere he come, and founde the wympel
torne.

They sette markes, hire metyng sholde bee
Ther? kyng Nynus was gravens, under a tree,-
For olde payens, that ydóles heriede1o,
Useden tho in feeldes to ben beriede11,-
And faste by his grave was a welle.
And, shortly of this tale for to telle,
This covenaunt was affermed wonder faste, 790
And longe hem thoghte that the sonne laste,
That it nere goon12 under the see adoun.

This Tesbe hath so greete affeccioun,
And so grete lykynge Piramus to see,
That whan she seigh hire tyme myghte bee,
At nyght she stale13 awey ful prevely,
With hire face y-wympled subtilly.
For al hire frendes, for to save hire trouthe,
She hath forsake; allas, and that is routhe14,
That ever woman wolde be so trewe
800

To trusten man, but she the bet hym knewe15!
And to the tree she goth a ful goode paas16,
For love made hir so hardy in this caas;
And by the welle adoun she gan hir dresse17.
Allas! than comith a wilde leonesse

830

840

'Allas,' quod he, 'the day that I was borne!
This o nyght wol us lovers bothe slee!
How shulde I axen mercy of Tesbee,
Whan I am he that have yow slayne, allas?
My byddyng hath i-slayn yow in this caas!
Allas, to bidde a woman goon by nyghte
In place ther as27 peril fallen myghte!
And I so slowe! allas, I ne hadde be28
Here in this place, a furlong wey or ye29!
Now what lyon that be in this foreste,
My body mote he renten3o, or what beste
That wilde is, gnawen mote he now my herte!'
And with that worde he to the wympel sterte,
And kiste it ofte, and wepte on it ful sore;
And seyde, 'Wympel, allas! ther nys no more31,
But thou shalt feele as wel the blode of me,
As thou hast felt the bledynge of Tesbe.'
And with that worde he smot hym to the
herte;

850

The blood out of the wounde as brode sterte
As water, whan the conduyte broken is.

Now Tesbe, which that wyste32 nat of this,
But syttyng in hire drede, she thoghte thus:
'If it so falle that my Piramus

Be comen hider, and may me nat y-fynde,
He may me holden fals, and eke unkynde.'
And oute she comith, and after hym gan espien
Bóthe with hire herte and with hire eyen;
And thoghte, 'I wol him tellen of my drede,
Bothe of the lyonesse and al my dede.'
And at the laste hire love than hath she founde,
Bétynge with his helis33 on the grounde,
and therwithal abak she sterte,
Al blody;

20 amazed

21 lies hid

22 roam

23 stopped

24 taken

25 looked down

26 shuddered

27 where

861

28 that I had not been

29 a short time before

you

30 may he rend

31 nothing remains

32 who knew

33 i. e., still pulsating

And lyke the wawes1 quappe2 gan hir herte,
And pale as boxe3 she wax, and in a throwe
Avised hir3, and gan him wel to knowe,
That it was Piramus, hire herte dere.

Who koude write which a dedely chere Hath Tesbe now? and how hire heeree rente?

And how she gan hir-selve to turmente? And how she lyth and swowneth on grounde?

she
870

And for my parte I shal anon it kythe14!'
And with that worde his swerde she took as
swithe15,

That warme was of hire loves blood, and hote,
And to the herte she hire-selven smote.
And thus are Tesbe and Piramus ago16.
Of trewe men I fynde but fewe mo
In al my bookes, save this Piramus,
the And therfore have I spoken of hym thus
For it is deyntee to us men to fynde
A man that kan in love be trewe and kynde.
Here may ye seen, what lover so he be,

And how she wepe of teres ful his wounde?
How medleth? she his blood with hir com-
pleynte?

How with his blood hir-selven gan she peynte?
How clippeths she the dede corps? allas!
How doth this woful Tesbe in this cas?
How kysseth she his frosty mouthe so colde?
Who hath don this? and who hath ben so
bolde
879

To sleen my leefe? O speke, Piramus!
I am thy Tesbe, that thee calleth thus!'
And therwithal she lyfteth up his heed.

This woful man, that was nat fully deed,
Whan that he herde the name of Tesbe crien,
On hire he caste his hevy dedely eyen,
And doun agayn, and yeldeth up the goste.
Tesbe rist uppe, withouten noyse or boste1o,
And saugh hir wympel and his empty shethe,
And eke his swerde, that him hath don to
dethe.

890

A woman dar and kan as wel as he.

920

THE COMPLEYNT OF CHAUCER TO HIS
PURSE

To you, my purse, and to noon other wyght
Compleyne I, for ye be my lady dere!

I am so sorry now that ye been light;
For, certes, but ye make me hevy chere17,
Me were as leef be leyd upon my bere18,
For whiche unto your mercy thus I crye,—
Beth19 hevy ageyn, or elles mot20 I dye!
Now voucheth sauf21 this day or hit22 be nyght,
That I of you the blisful soun23 may here24,
Or see your colour lyk the sonne bright,
That of yelownesse hadde never pere25,
Ye be my lyf! ye be myn hertes stere26!

Than spake she thus: "Thy woful hande,' quod Quene of comfort and of good companye!
Beth hevy ageyn, or elles mot I dye.
Now, purse, that be to me my lyves light

she,

'Is strong ynogh in swiche a werke to me;
For love shal me yive strengthe and hardy-
nesse,

901

To make my wounde large ynogh, I gesse.
I wole the folowen ded, and I wol be
Felawe and cause eke of thy deeth,' quod she.
'And thogh that nothing save the deth only
Myghte the fro me departe12 trewely,
Thou shal no more departe now fro me
Than fro the deth, for I wol go with the.
'And now, ye wrecched jelouse fadres oure,
Wé, that weren whilome children youre,
We prayen yow, withouten more envye,
That in o grave i-fere13 we moten lye,
Syn love hath broght us to this pitouse ende.
And ryghtwis God to every lover sende,
That loveth trewely, more prosperite
Than ever hadde Piramus and Tesbe.
And let no gentile woman hire assure,
To putten hire in swiche an áventure.
But God forbede but a woman kan
Ben also trewe and lovynge as a man,

910

10

And saveour, as doun27 in this worlde here,
Out of this toun help me throgh your myght,
Syn28 that ye wole not been my tresorere25;
For I am shave as nye as is a frere30.
But yet I pray unto your curtesye,
Beth hevy ageyn, or elles mot I dye!
L'Envoye De Chaucer

20