| |
The mery wordes of the Host to the Monk.
WHAN ended was my tale of Melibee, | |
| And of Prudence and hir benignitee, | |
| Our hoste seyde, ‘as I am faithful man, | |
| And by the precious corpus Madrian, | |
| I hadde lever than a barel ale | 5 |
| That goode lief my wyf hadde herd this tale! | |
| For she nis no-thing of swich pacience | |
| As was this Melibeus wyf Prudence. | |
| By goddes bones! whan I bete my knaves, | |
| She bringth me forth the grete clobbed staves, | 10 |
| And cryeth, “slee the dogges everichoon, | |
| And brek hem, bothe bak and every boon.” | |
| And if that any neighebor of myne | |
| Wol nat in chirche to my wyf enclyne, | |
| Or be so hardy to hir to trespace, | 15 |
| Whan she comth hoom, she rampeth in my face, | |
| And cryeth, “false coward, wreek thy wyf, | |
| By corpus bones! I wol have thy knyf, | |
| And thou shalt have my distaf and go spinne!” | |
| Fro day to night right thus she wol biginne;— | 20 |
| “Allas!” she seith, “that ever I was shape | |
| To wedde a milksop or a coward ape, | |
| That wol be overlad with every wight! | |
| Thou darst nat stonden by thy wyves right!” | |
| This is my lyf, but-if that I wol fighte; | 25 |
| And out at dore anon I moot me dighte, | |
| Or elles I am but lost, but-if that I | |
| Be lyk a wilde leoun fool-hardy. | |
| I woot wel she wol do me slee som day | |
| Som neighebor, and thanne go my wey. | 30 |
| For I am perilous with knyf in honde, | |
| Al be it that I dar nat hir withstonde, | |
| For she is big in armes, by my feith, | |
| That shal he finde, that hir misdooth or seith. | |
| But lat us passe awey fro this matere. | 35 |
| My lord the Monk,’ quod he, ‘be mery of chere; | |
| For ye shul telle a tale trewely. | |
| Lo! Rouchestre stant heer faste by! | |
| Ryd forth, myn owene lord, brek nat our game, | |
| But, by my trouthe, I knowe nat your name, | 40 |
| Wher shal I calle yow my lord dan Iohn, | |
| Or dan Thomas, or elles dan Albon? | |
| Of what hous be ye, by your fader kin? | |
| I vow to god, thou hast a ful fair skin, | |
| It is a gentil pasture ther thou goost; | 45 |
| Thou art nat lyk a penaunt or a goost. | |
| Upon my feith, thou art som officer, | |
| Som worthy sexteyn, or som celerer, | |
| For by my fader soule, as to my doom, | |
| Thou art a maister whan thou art at hoom; | 50 |
| No povre cloisterer, ne no novys, | |
| But a governour, wyly and wys. | |
| And therwithal of brawnes and of bones | |
| A wel-faring persone for the nones. | |
| I pray to god, yeve him confusioun | 55 |
| That first thee broghte un-to religioun; | |
| Thou woldest han been a trede-foul aright. | |
| Haddestow as greet a leve, as thou hast might | |
| To parfourne al thy lust in engendrure, | |
| Thou haddest bigeten many a creature. | 60 |
| Alas! why werestow so wyd a cope? | |
| God yeve me sorwe! but, and I were a pope, | |
| Not only thou, but every mighty man, | |
| Thogh he were shorn ful hye upon his pan, | |
| Sholde have a wyf; for al the world is lorn! | 65 |
| Religioun hath take up al the corn | |
| Of treding, and we borel men ben shrimpes! | |
| Of feble trees ther comen wrecched impes. | |
| This maketh that our heires been so sclendre | |
| And feble, that they may nat wel engendre. | 70 |
| This maketh that our wyves wol assaye | |
| Religious folk, for ye may bettre paye | |
| Of Venus payements than mowe we; | |
| God woot, no lussheburghes payen ye! | |
| But be nat wrooth, my lord, for that I pleye; | 75 |
| Ful ofte in game a sooth I have herd seye.’ | |
| This worthy monk took al in pacience, | |
| And seyde, ‘I wol doon al my diligence, | |
| As fer as souneth in-to honestee, | |
| To telle yow a tale, or two, or three. | 80 |
| And if yow list to herkne hiderward, | |
| I wol yow seyn the lyf of seint Edward; | |
| Or elles first Tragedies wol I telle | |
| Of whiche I have an hundred in my celle. | |
| Tragedie is to seyn a certeyn storie, | 85 |
| As olde bokes maken us memorie, | |
| Of him that stood in greet prosperitee | |
| And is y-fallen out of heigh degree | |
| Into miserie, and endeth wrecchedly. | |
| And they ben versifyed comunly | 90 |
| Of six feet, which men clepe exametron. | |
| In prose eek been endyted many oon, | |
| And eek in metre, in many a sondry wyse. | |
| Lo! this declaring oughte y-nough suffise. | |
| Now herkneth, if yow lyketh for to here; | 95 |
| But first I yow biseke in this matere, | |
| Though I by ordre telle nat thise thinges, | |
| Be it of popes, emperours, or kinges, | |
| After hir ages, as men writen finde, | |
| But telle hem som bifore and som bihinde, | 100 |
| As it now comth un-to my remembraunce; | |
Have me excused of myn ignoraunce.’
Explicit. | |
| |
