Chaucer, The Tale of the Chanons Yeoman, part 1 of 2

[Figure: M: S: — Qui fuit Augsorum Vates ter maximus olim Galfridus Chaucer conditur hoc Tumulo Annum si quaeras Domini, si tempora vitae Ecce nota subsunt, quae tibi cuncta notant. 25 Octobris 1400. Aerumnarum requies mors. N: Brigham hos fecit musarū nomine sumptus — Vaughan sculps: — 1556. — depiction of Chaucer's tomb]

THE TALE OF THE CHANONS YEOMAN.

VVritten by our Ancient and famous English Poet, Geoffry Chaucer.

THE PROLOGUE OF The Chanons Yeoman.

WHan ended was the Lyfe of Saint Cecyle,
Er we fully had rydden fyve myle:
Att Boughton under the blee us gan a take
A Man that clothed was in clothes blake;
And under that he had a whyte Surplyse,
His hakeny that was all pomely gryse;
So swete that itt wonder was to see;
It seemed that he had precked myles three.
The horse eke that his Yoman rode uppon,
So Swete, that vimeth migh he gon:
About the paytrell stode the fome full hye,
He was of fome as flecked as a pye:
A Male twyfolde on his croper lay;
Itt semed that he carryed letel Aray;
All fight for somer rode this worthy Man,
And in my heart wondren I began,
What that he was, till I understode,
How that his cloke was sewed to his hode:
For which whan I had long avysed me;
I demyd him some Chanon for to be:
His hatt hynge att his backe by a Lace,
For he had rydden more then trot or pace.
He rode aye pryckyng as he were wode,
A Clote leafe he had layd under his hode,
For Swett and for to keepe his heede from hete,
But itt was joy for to se him swete:
His foreheed dropped as a Stillatorie,
But full of Playntaine or of Peritorie:
And when he was come he gan crye,
God save (quod he) this Iolly company:
Fast have I pricked (quod he) for your sake,
Bycause that I wold you overtake,
To ryden in this mery company.

His Yoman was eke full of curtesy,
And sayd, Syrs, now in the morowe tyde,
Out of your hostrye I saw you ride,
And warned here my Lord and Soverayne,
Which that to ryden with you is full fayne:
For his disporte, he loveth dalyance.

Frede for thy warning God yeve thee good chance.
Then sayd our Host, certayne itt wold seme
Thy Lord were wyse, and so I may well deme:
He is full locunde, alsoe dare I lay,
Can he ought tell a mery Tale or tway,
With which he glad may this company?

Who Sir my Lord? ye without lye,
He can of myrthe and eke of Iolyte,
Not but ynough also Sir trusteth me;
And ye him knew also well as doe I,
Ye wold wonder how well and thriftely
He con the werke and that in sondry wyse;
He hath taken on him many a great Empryse:
Which were full hard for any that is here,
To bring about, but they of him itt lere.
As homely as he rideth among you,
If ye him knew itt wold ben for your prowe:
Ye nolde not forgon his aquayntaunce,
For Mochel good I dare lay in balaunce
All that I have in my possession;
He is a man of hye discression:
I warne you well he is a passing wyse man.

Wel (quod our Hoste) I pray thee tell me than,
Is he a Clerke or non? tell what he is.

A Clerke! nay greater then a Clerke I wys,
Sayd the Yoman, and in words fewe,
Hoste of his Crafte somwhat wol I shew;
I say my Lord can such a subtelte,
But of his Crafte ye may not wete of me:
And somewhat helpe I yett to his worchyng,
That all the ground that we be on rydyng,
Till we come to Canterbury Towne,
He could all cleane turne up and downe:
And pave it all of Silver and of Gold.

And when this Yoman had thus I told
Unto our Hoste, he sayd benedicite,
This thing is wonder and marvellous to me:
Sens that thy Lord is of so high prudence,
(Because of which men shold him reverence,)
That of his worship recketh he so lyte,
His overest slopp is not worth a myte;
As in effect to him so mote I go,
It is all bawdy and to tore alfoe.
Why is thy Lord soe slotlyche I thee pray,
And is of power better clothes to bey?
If that his dede accord with thy speech,
Tell me that and that I thee beseech.

Why (quod this Yoman) whereto aske ye me?
God helpe mee so, for he shall never ythe:
But I wol not avow that I saye,
And therefore keepe itt secrett I you praye;
He is to wyse in fay as I beleeve,
That is overdone wil not preve;
And right as Clerkes sayne itt is a vyce,
Wherefore I holde him in that leude and nyce;
For whan a man hath over greate a witte,
Full ofte it happeth him to misusen itt:
So doth my Lord, and that me greveth sore;
God amend itt, I can say you no more.

Thereof no force good Yoman (quod our Host)
Sens of the connyng of thy Lord thou wost:
Tell how he doth I pray the hertely,
Sens that he is so crafty and so sly,
Where dwellen ye if itt to tell be?

In the Subbarbes of a Towne (quod he)
Lurkeyng in hernes and in lanes blynde,
Where these Robbers, and Theeves by kynde
Holden her privy fearefull residence,
As they that dare not shewen her presence;
Soe fare we if that I shall say the sothe,
Yett (quod our Hoste) lett me talke tothe.
Why art thou soe discolored in thy face?

Peter (quod he) God yeve itt hard grace;
I am so used in the hott fyre to blowe,
That itt hath changed my colour as I trow:
I am not wonte in no mirrour to prye,
But swynke sore and lerne to Multiplye.
We blondren ever and pooren in the fyre,
And for all that we faylen of our desyre:
For ever we lacken our conclusion,
To moche folke we do illusion:
And borrowe Golde be itt a pound or two,
Or ten or twelve or many somes mo,
And make hem wene at the leste way,
That of a pound we coulde make tway;
Yett is itt false, and ay have we good hope
Itt for to done, and after it we grope.
But that Science is so ferre us by forne,
We mowe not all though we had itt sworne
Itt overtake, itt flytte away soe faste,
Itt wol us make Beggers at the laste.

Whiles this Yeman was thus in his talking
This Chanon drew him nere and herde all thing
Which this Yeman spake, for suspection
Of mennes speche ever had this Chanon:
For Cato saythe, he that giltye is,
Deemeth all thing be speke of him Iwys:
Bycause of that he gan so nyghe to draw,
To his Yeman to herken all his saw;
And thus he sayd unto his Yeman tho,
Holde nowe thy peace and speke no words mo,
For if thou dee, thou shalt it sore abye,
Thou standerest me here in this Companye:
And eke discoverest that thou sholdest hyde.

Ye (quod our Hoste) tell on what soever betyde,
Of all his thretynge recke the not a myte.

In fayth (quod he) no more doe I but lyte.
And whan this Chanon saw itt wolde not be,
But his Yeman wolde tel his privyte,
He fledde away for very sorrow and shame.
A (quod the Yeman) here shall ryse a game,
All that I can anon woll I you tell,
Sens he is gone the foule Fend him quell;
For never hereafter wol I with him mete,
For penny ne for pounde I you behete;
He that me brought first unto that game,
Er that he dye sorrowe have he and shame;
For it is ernest to me by my faith,
That fele I well whatsoe any man saith:
And yett for all my smerte and all my greife,
For all my sorrowe, labour and mischeife,
I couthe never leave it in noe wyse:
Now wolde God my witt might suffyse,
To tellen all that longeth to that Arte.
But nathelesse, yet wol I tell you a parte:
Sens that my Lord is gon I wol not spare;
Such thyng as I know I wol declare.

Here endeth the Prologue of the Chanons Yeoman, and here followeth his Tale.

THE TALE OF The Chanons Yeoman.

WIth this Chanon I dwelt seaven yere,
And of this Science am I never the nere:
All that I had I have lost thereby,
And God wotte soe hath many moe then I,
There I was wonte to be right, fresh and gay,
Of clothing and eke of other good aray;
Now may I weare an hose uppon myne heed:
And where my colour was both fresh and reed,
Now itt is wanne and of a leaden hewe,
Whoe soe itt useth, sore shall him rewe.
And of my swynke yett blered in myne Eye,
Lo which avauntage itt is to Multiply:
That slyding Science hath me made so bare,
That I have noe good where that ever I fare:
And yett I am indetted so thereby,
Of Gold, that I have borrowed truly,
That while I live I shall itt quitt never,
Let every man beware by me ever;
What manner man that casteth him thereto,
If he contynue I hold his thrifte I do:
So helpe me God thereby shall he never wyn,
But empte his purse and make his witts thyn;
And whan he thorow his madnesse and folye,
Hath lost his owne good through Jeopardye:
Than he exiteth other men thereto,
To lese her good as himselfe hath do;
For unto shrewes joy it is and ese,
To have her fellowes in paine and disese;
For thus was I ones served of a Clerke;
Of that noe charge, I wol speke of our werke.

When we be there as we shall exercise
Our elvish Craft, we semen wonder wise.
Our termes ben so Clergiall and so quaynte,
I blow the fyre tyll myn hearte faynte.

What shold I tell each proportion
Of things which we werchen uppon?
As on fyve or syxe unces, may well be
Of Silver or of some other quantite;
And besye me to tellen you the names,
Of Orpiment, brent Bones, Yron squames;
That into powder grounden ben full small,
And in an Erthen pott how putt is all:
And salt y put in and also pepere,
Before these powdres that I speke of here:
And well y covered with a lompe of Glasse,
And of moch other thing that there was.
And of the potts and glass englutyng,
That of the ayre might passe out nothing;
And of the easy fyre and smerte alsoe,
Which that was made, and of the care and wo
That we had in our matters Sublymeing,
And in Amalgamyng and Calsenyng:
Of Quicksilver icleped Mercurye rude,
For all our sleight we conne not conclude.
Our Orpyment and Suolymed Mercury;
Our grounde Litarge eke on the porphirye:
Of eche of these unces a certayne
Not helpeth us, our labour is in vayne;
Ne eke our Spyrites assnecioun,
Ne yet our matters, that lyen al syxe adoun:
Mowe in our werkyng nothing avayle,
For lost is our laboure and our travayle.
And all the Coste, a twenty dyvel away,
Is lost alsoe which we uppon itt lay.

There is alsoe full many another thing,
That is to our Craft apertaynyng:
Though I by ordre hem[…]ne reherce can,
Bycause that I am a leud man.
Yet wol I tellen hem as they come to mynde,
Though I ne can sette hem in her kynde,
As bole Armonyake, Verdegreece, Boras,
And sondry Vessles made of Erth and Glas.
Our Urynalls and our Discensories,
Vyols, Crosseletts and Sublimatories:
Concurbytes and Alembykes eke,
And other such dere ynough a leke:
It needeth not to reherce them all,
Waters rubyfyeng and Boles, Gall;
Arsneke, Sal Armonyake and Brymstone,
And herbes could I tell eke many one:
As Egrimonye, Valeryan, and Lunarye,
And other such if that me liste to tarye;
Our Lampes brennyng both night and day,
To bringen about our Crafte if that we may;
Our Fournyce eke of Calcination,
And of our Waters Albifycation.
Unsleked Lyme, Chalke, and glere of an Eye,
Poudres divers, Ashes, Dong, Pisse, and Cley:
Sered pokettes, salt Peter, and Vitriole,
And divers fyres made of wood and cole;
Sal Tartre, Alkaly, and Sal preparate,
And combust matters, and coagulate,
Cley made with horse donge, mans heere and Oyle,
Of Tartre, Alym, Glas, Berme, Worte and Argoyle:
Resalgor and other maters enbybyng,
And eke of our Maters encorporing;
And of our Silver Citrynacion,
Our Cementyng, and eke Fermentacyon;
Our Ingottes, Testes and many mo.

I wol you tel as was me taught also,
The fowre Spyrites and the bodies seven,
By order as oft I herd my lord nemene.

The first Spyrite Quicksilver cleped is,
The second Orpyment, the third I wis
Armonyake, the fourth Brimstone.

The Bodyes seven eke lo here hem anone,
Sol Gold is, and Luna Sylver we threpe,
Mars, Iron, Mercury, Quicksilver we clepe:
Saturnus Lede, and Iupiter is Tynne,
And Venus Copper, by my father kynne.

This cursed Crafte whoe soe wol exercyse,
He shall noe good have that may him suffyse;
For all the good he spendeth thereaboute,
He lese shall thereof have I no doute;
Whoso that lysten to utter his solye,
Let him com forth and lerne to Multiplye:
And every man that hath ought in his cofer,
Let him apere and wexe a Philosopher:
Askaunce that Crafte is so light for to lere;
Nay God wot all be he Monke or Frere,
Preist, or Chanon, or any other wight,
Though he sytte at hys boke both day and might;
In lernyng of this Elvysh nyce lore,
All is in vayne, and parde moche more;
Is to lere a leude man this subtelte,
Fye speke not thereof, itt wol not be;
Al coulde he lettrure or coulde he none,
As in effect he shall fynd itt all one;
For bothe two by my Salvacyon
Concluden in Multyplycacyon:
Ilyche well whan they have al ydo,
This is to sayen, they faylen both two.

Yet forgate I moche rehersayle,
Of waters Corosyfe and lymayle:
And of Bodyes molifycacion,
And also of her Induration:
Oyles, Ablucyons, Mettall fusyble
To tellen you all, wolde passe any Byble:
That O where is, wherefore as for the best
Of all these names nowe woll I rest.
For as I trowe I have you told ynowe
To reyse a Fende, al loke he never so rowe.

A nay let be the Philosphers Stone;
Alixer cleped, we seken faste echeone,
For had we him, than were we syker ynowe:
But unto God of Heaven I make a vowe,
For al our crafte whan that we han al ydo,
And all our sleyght, he wol not come us to;
He hath made us spend moche goode,
For sorrow of which almost we wexen wode;
But that good hope crepeth in our herte,
Supposyng ever though we sore smerte,
To ben releved by him afterwarde,
Supposyng, and hope is sharpe and harde;
I warne you wel it is to syken ever,
That future temps hath made men discever,
In trust therof, all that ever they had,
Yet of that Arte, they could not waxe sad;
For unto him itt is a bytter swete,
So semeth itt, for ne had they but a shete:
Which that they might wrappen hem in a night,
And a bratte to walken in a day light;
They wolden hem sel and spend it on this Crafte,
They conne not stynte, tyl nothing be lafte;
And evermore where that ever they gone,
Men may hem ken by smell of Brimstone:
For al the world they stynken as a Gote,
Her Savour is so rammish and so hote:
That though a man a myle from him be,
The savour wol infecte him trusteth me.
Lo thus by smelling and by threde-bare aray,
If that men list this folke know they may:
And if a man wol aske him prively,
Why they be clothed so unthriftely:
Right anon they wil rowne in his ere,
And sayne if that they aspyed were,
Men wold hem slee bycause of her Science,
Lo thus these folke betrayen innocence.

Passe over this I goe my tale unto,
Ere that the pott be on the fyre ydo:
Of Metalls with a certayne quantyte,
My Lord hem tempreth and no man but he:
Now he is gon I dare say boldly,
For as men sayne, he can done craftely;
Algate I wotte wel he hath such a name,
And yet full oft he renneth in the blame,
And wotte ye how full oft itt happeth so,
The potte to breaketh and farewel all is go.
These Mettalls ben of soe greate violence,
Our walls may not make hem resystence;
But if they were wrought of lyme and stone,
They percen soe and through the wall they gone;
And some of them synken into the ground,
Thus have we lost by tymes many a pound:
And some are scattered all the floore aboute,
Some lepen into the rofe withouten doute:
Tho that the fende not in our syght him shewe,
I trow that he with us be, that ilke shrewe:
In hell where that he is Lord and syre,
Ne is there no more wo, ne angre, ne yre:
When that our potte is broke as I have said,
Every man chyte and holte him yvell apayde.
Some sayd itt was long of the Fyre makeing,
Some sayd nay, it was on the blowing:
Than was I ferd, for that was myn offyce,
Straw (quod the third) ye ben lewde and nyce;
It was not tempered as it ought to bee,
Nay (quod the fourthe) stynte and herken me:
Bycause our fyre was not made of beche
That is the cause, and none other so teche;
I can not tell whereon itt is alonge,
But well I wotte greate strife is us among.

What (quod my lord) ther nys no more to done,
Of these perill I will beware ofte soone;
I am right Syker that the potte was crased,
Be as be may, be ye not amased;
As usage is, let swepe the floore as swythe,
Plucke up your heart and be glad and blythe.
The Mullocke on an heape yswepte was,
And on the floore cast a Canvas;
And all this Mullocke in a syve y throwe,
And ysyfted and yplucked many a throwe.

Parde (quod one) somewhat of our Mettall;
Yet is there here though we have not all;
And though this thyng mishapped hath as now,
Another tyme it may ben wel ynowe;
We mote put our good in aventure,
A Marchant parde may not aye endure;
Trusteth me wel in his prosperyte,
Sometyme his good is drowned in the see:
And sometyme it cometh safe unto the londe.

Peace (quod my lord) the next tyme I wol fonde,
To bring our Crafte all in another plyte,
And but I doe Syrs lett me have the wyte:
There was default in somewhat wel I wote.

Another sayd the Fyre was over hote.
But be it hotte or colde I dare say this,
That we concluden evermore amys:
We faylen of that which we wolde have,
And in our madnesse evermore we crave;
And whan we be togyther everychon,
Every man semeth as wyse as Solomon,
But all thing which that shyneth as the Golde,
Is not Golde as I have here tolde:
Ne every Apple that is faire at Eye,
Nys not good what so men clappe or cry.
Right soe itt fareth among us;
He that semeth the wysest by Iesus
Is most foole when it cometh to the prefe,
And he that semeth truest is a Theefe:
That shall ye know er that I from you wende,
By that I of my Tale have made an end.

There was a Chanon of Religyoun
Amonge us, wolde enfect all a Towne,
Rome, Alysaundere, Troy, and other thre,
His sleyght and his infynyte falsenesse,
There couthe no man written as I gesse;
Though that he might lyve a thousand yere
In all this worlde of falsenesse nye his pere:
For in his termes he wol him so wynde,
And kepe his words in so slye a kynde,
Whan he comen shall with any wight,
That he wol make him dote anon right.
But it a feude be as himselfe is,
Full many a man hath he begysed er this;
And mo wol, if that he may lyve a whyle,
And yet men ryden and gone full many a myle
Him for to seeke and have acquayntaunce,
Not knowing of his false governaunce:
And if ye luste to give me audience,
I wol it tellen here in your presence.

But worshipfull Chanons relygyouse,
Ne demeth not that I sclaunder your house;
Although my tale of a Chanon be,
Of every ordre some shrewe is parde:
And God forbid that al a Companye
Shoulde rue a syngle mannes folye.
To slaunder you is not myn entente,
But to correct that mysse is mente;
This tale was not only told for you,
But eke for other moe ye wotte wel howe;
That among Christs Apostles twelve,
There was no traytour but Iudas himselve:
Then why shoulde the remenant have blame
That gyltlesse were? by you I say the same:
Save only this, if you wol herken me;
If any Judas in your Cov[…] be,
Remeveth him betyme I you rede,
If shame or losse may causen any drede,
And be nothing displesed I you pray,
But in this case herkenneth what I say.