Geoffrey Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales: The Franklin's Tale (Tran Forrest Hainline Poem by Forrest Hainline

Geoffrey Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales: The Franklin's Tale
The prologe of the Frankeleyns tale.
Trans Forrest Hainline

001-020
These old gentle Bretons in their days
Of diverse adventures made lays,
Rhymed in their first Breton tongue,
Which lays with their instruments they sung
Or else read them for their pleasance;
And one of them have I in remembrance,
Which I shall say with good will as I can.

But, sirs, because I am a borel man,
At my beginning first I you I beseech,
Have me excused of my rude speech.
I learned never rhetoric, certain;
Thing that I speak, it must be bare and plain.
I sleep never on the Mount of Pernaso,
Nor learned Marcus Tullius Cicero.
Colors know I none, without dread,
But such colors as grow in the mead,
Or else such as men dye or paint.
Colors of rhetoric be to me quaint;
My spirit feeleth nought of such mater.
But if you list, my tale shall ye hear.


Here beginneth the Frankelin's Tale

021-052
In Armorica, that is called Britayne
There was a knight that loved and did his pain
To serve a lady in his best wise;
And many a labor, many a great emprise,
He for his lady wrought er she were won.
For she was one the fairest under sun,
And eek thereto come of so high kindred
That well uneath dared this knight for dread
Tell her his woe, his pain, and his distress.
But at the last she, for his worthiness,
And namely for his meek obeisance,
Hath such a pity caught of his penance
That privily she fil of his accord
To take him for her husband and her lord,
Of such lordship as men have over their wives.
And for to lead the more in bliss their lives,
Of his free will he swore her as a knight
That never in all his life he, day or night,
Should upon him take no mastery
Against her will, nor kithe her jealousy,
But her obey, and follow her will in all,
As any lover to his lady shall,
Save that the name of sovereignty,
That would he have for shame of his degree.

She thanked him, and with full great humbleness
She said, "Sire, since of your gentillesse
You proffer me to have so large a reign,
Nor would never God betwixt us twain,
As in my guilt, were either war or strife.
Sire, I will be your humble true wife.
Have here my troth - til that my heart brest."
Thus be they both in quiet and in rest.

053-094
For one thing, sires, safely dare I say,
That friends each other must obey,
If they will long hold company.
Love will not be constrained by mastery.
When mastery comes, the God of Love anon
Beateth his wings, and farewell, his is gone!
Love is a thing as any spirit free.
Women, of kynde desire liberty,
And not to be constrained as a thrall;
And so do men, if I sooth say shall.
Look who that is most patient in love,
He is at his advantage all above.
Patience is an high virtue, certain,
For it vanquishes, as these clerks say,
Thing that rigor should never attain.
For every word men may not chide or plain.
Learneth to suffer, or else, so must I be gone,
You shall it learn, where so you will or none;
For in this world, certain, there no wight is
That he not does or says sometime amiss.
Ire, sickness, or constellation,
Wine, woe, or changing of complexion
Causes full oft to do amiss or speaken.
On every wrong a man may not be wreaken.
After the time most be temperance
To every wight that can on governance.
And therefore hath this wise, worthy knight,
To live in ease, sufferance her behight,
And she to him full wisely gan to swear
That never should there be fault in her.

Here may men see an humble wise accord;
Thus hath she take her servant and her lord -
Servant in love, and lord in marriage.
Then was he both in lordship and servage.
Servage? Nay, but in lordship above,
Since he hath both his lady and his love;
His lady, certain, and his wife also.
The which that law of love accordeth to.
And when he was in this prosperity,
Home with his wife he goes to his country,
Not far from Pedmark, there his dwelling was,
Whereas he liveth in bliss and in solace.

095-105
Who could tell, but he had wedded be,
The joy, the ease, and the prosperity
That is betwixt a husband and his wife?
A year and more lasted this blissful life,
Til that the knight of which I speak of thus,
That of Kayrrud was called Arveragus,
Shoop him to go and dwell a year or twain
In England, that called was eek Britain,
To seek in arms worship and honor -
For all his lust he set in such labor -
And dwelled there two years; the book says thus.

106-138
Now will I stint of this Arveragus,
And speak I will of Dorigen his wife,
That loveth her husband as her heart's life.
For his absence weepeth she and siketh,
As do these noble wives when them liketh.
She mourneth, waketh, waileth, fasteth, plaineth;
Desire of his presence her so distraineth
That all this wide world she set at nought.
Her friends, which that knew her heavy thought,
Comfort her in all that ever they may.
They preach her, they tell her night and day
That causeless she slayeth herself, alas!
And every comfort possible in this case
They do to her with all their business,
All for to make her leave her heaviness.

By process, as you know everyone,
Men may so long engrave in a stone
Til some figure therein imprinted be.
So long have they comforted her til she
Received have, by hope and by reason,
The imprinting of their consolation,
Through which her great sorrow gan assuage;
She may not always dure in such rage.

And eek Arveragus, in all this care,
Has sent her letters home of his welfare,
And that he will come hastily again;
Or else had this sorrow her heart slain.

Her friends saw her sorrow gan to slake
And prayed her on knees, for God's sake,
To come and roam her in company,
Away to drive her dark fantasy.
And finally she granted that request,
For well she saw that it was for the best.

139-192
Now stood her castle fast by the sea,
And often with her friends walketh she
Her to disport upon the bank on high,
Whereas she many a ship and barge seigh
Sailing their course, where as them list go.
But then was that a parcel of her woe,
For to herself full oft, "Alas! " says she,
Is there no ship, of so many as I see,
Will bring home my lord? Then were my heart
All warished of its bitter pains smart."

Another time there would she sit and think,
And cast her eyes downward from the brink.
But when she saw the grisly rocks blake,
For very fear so would her heart quake
That on her feet she might her not sustene.
Then would she sit adown upon the green,
And piteously into the sea behold,
And say right thus, with sorrowful sighs cold:

"Eternal God, that through thy purveyance
Leadest the world by certain governance,
In idle, as men say, you nothing make.
But, Lord, these grisly fiendish rocks blake,
That seem rather a foul confusion
Of work than any fair creation
Of such a parfit wise God and stable,
Why have you wrought this work unreasonable?
For by this work, south, north nor west, nor east,
There's no fostered man, nor bird, nor beast;
It does no good, to my wit, but anoyeth.
See you not, lord, how mankind it destroyeth?
An hundred thousand bodies of mankind
Have rocks slain, albe they not in mind,
Which mankind is so fair part of thy work
That thou it madest like to thyn own merk.
Then seemed it you had a great charity
Toward mankind; but how then may it be
That you such means make it to destroy it,
Which means do no good, but ever annoy it?
I woot well clerks will say as them lest,
By arguments, that all is for the best,
Though I cannot the causes know.
But this God that made wind to blow
As keep my lord! This my conclusion.
To clerks let I all disputation.
But would God that all these rocks blake
Were sunk into hell for his sake!
These rocks slay my heart for the fear."
Thus would she say, with many a piteous tear.

Her friends saw that it was no disport
To roam by the sea, but discomfort,
And shapen for to play somewhere else.
They lead her by rivers and by wells,
And eek in other places delitables;
They dance and they play at chess and tables.

193-216
So on a day, right in the morning-tide,
Unto a garden that was there beside,
In which that they had made their ordinance
Of vitaille and of other purveyance,
They go and play them all the long day.
And this was on the sixth morning of May,
Which May had painted with his soft showers
This garden full of leaves and of flowers;
And craft of man's hand so curiously
Arrayed had his garden truly,
That never was there garden of such price
But if it were the very paradise.
The odor of flowers and the fresh sight
Would have made any heart light
That ever was born, but if to great sickness
Or to great sorrow held it in distress,
So full it was of beauty with pleasance.
At after-dinner go they to dance,
And sing also, save Dorigen alone,
Who made always her complaint and her moan,
For she'd not see him on the dance go
That was her husband and her love also.
But nonetheless she must a time abide,
And with good hope let her sorrow slide.

217-258
Upon this dance, among other men,
Danced a squire before Dorigen,
That fresher was and jollier of array,
As to my doom, than is the month of May.
He singeth, danceth, passing any man
That is, or was, since that the world began.
Therewith he was, if men should him discrive,
One of best fairing man alive;
Young, strong, right virtuous, and rich, and wise,
And well beloved, and held in great prize.
And shortly, if the truth I tell shall,
Unwitting of this Dorigen at all,
This lusty squire, servant to Venus,
Which that called was Aurelius,
Had loved her best of any creature
Two years and more, as was his aventure,
But never dared her tell her his grievance.
Without a cup he drank all his penance.
He was despaired; no thing dared he say,
Save in his songs somewhat would he wray
His woe, as in a general complaining;
He said he loved and was beloved nothing.
Of such matter made he many lays,
Songs, complaints, roundels, virelays,
How that he dared not his sorrow tell,
But languished as a fury does in hell;
And die he must, he said, as did Echo
For Narcissus, that dared not tell her woe.
In other manner than you hear me say,
Nor dared he to her his woe betray,
Save that, peradventure, sometime at dances,
Where young folk keep their observances,
It may well be he looked on her face
In such a wise as man that asketh grace;
But nothing wist she of his intent.
Nonetheless it happened, er they thence went,
Because that he was her neighbor,
And a man or worship and honor,
And had known him of time yore,
They fell in speech; and forth, more and more,
Unto his purpose drew Aurelius,
And when he saw his time, he said thus:

259-270
"Madame, " quod he, "by God that this world made,
So that I wist it might your heart glade,
I would that day that your Arveragus
Went over the sea, that I, Aurelius,
Had went where never I should have come again.
For well I woot my service is in vain;
My guerdon is but breaking of my heart.
Madame, rueth upon my pains smart;
For with a word you may me slay or save.
Here at your feet God would that I were grave!
I have as now no leisure more to say;
Have mercy sweet, or you will do me die! "

271-280
She gan to look upon Aurelius;
"Is this your will, " quod she, "and say you thus?
Never erst, " quod she, "wist I what you meant.
But now, Aurelius, I know your intent,
By this God that gave me soul and life,
Shall I never be an untrue wife
In word nor work, as far as I have wit;
I will be his to whom that I am knit.
Take this for final answer as of me."
But after that in play thus said she:

281-297
"Aurelius, " quod she, "by high God above,
Yet would I grant you to be your love,
Since I you see so piteously complain.
Look, what day the end long Britayne
You remove all the rocks, stone by stone,
That they not let ship nor boat to go on -
I say, when you have made the coast so clean
Of rocks that there's no stone seen,
Then will I love you best of any man;
Have here my troth, in all that ever I can."

"Is there no other grace in you? " quod he.

"No, by that Lord, " quod she, "that made me!
For well I woot that it shall never betide.
Let such follies out of your heart slide.
What dainty should a man have in his life
For to go love another man's wife,
Who has her body when so that him liketh? "

298-322
Aurelius full oft sore siketh;
Woe was Aurelius when that he this heard,
And with a sorrowful heart he thus answered:

"Madame, " quod he, "this were an impossible!
Then moot I die of sudden death horrible."
And with that word he turned him anon.
Then came her other friends many a one,
And in the alleys roamed up and down,
And nothing wist of this conclusion,
But suddenly begin revel anew
Til that the bright sun lost its hew;
For the horizon hath reft the sun it light -
This is as much to say as it was night -
And home they go in joy and in solace,
Save only wretched Aurelius, alas!
He to his house is gone with sorrowful heart.
He sees he may not from his death astart;
He seemed that he felt his heart cold.
Up to the heaven his hands he gan hold,
And on his knees bare he set him down,
And in his raving said his orison.
For very woe out of his wit he braid.
He knew not what he spoke, but thus he said:
With piteous heart his plaint hath he begun
Unto the gods, and first unto the sun:

323-373
He said, "Apollo, god and governor
Of every plant, herb, tree, and flower,
That givest, after thy declination,
To each of them its time and its season,
As thine harbor changeth low or high,
Lord Phoebus, cast thy merciful eye
On wretched Aurelius, which that am but lorn.
Lo, lord! My lady hath my death sworn
Without guilt, but thy benignity
Upon my deadly heart have some pity.
For well I woot, lord Phoebus, if you lest
You may me help, save my lady, best
Now vouchsafe that I may you devise
How that I may be helped and in what wise.

Your blissful sister, Lucina the sheen,
That of the sea is chief goddess and queen
(Though Neptune is deity in the sea,
Yet empress above him is she) ,
You know well, lord, that right as her desire
Is to be quickened and lighted of your fire,
For which she follows you full busily,
Right so the sea desires naturally
To follow her, as she that is goddess
Both in the sea and rivers more and less.
Wherefore, lord Phoebus, this is my request -
Do this miracle, or do my heart brest -
That now next at this opposition
Which in the sign be of the Lion,
As prayeth her so great a flood to bring
That five fathoms at the least it over overspring
The highest rock in Armoric Britayne;
And let this flood endure years twain.
Then certes to my lady may I say
‘Holdeth your hest, the rocks be away.'

"Lord Phoebus, do this miracle for me.
Pray her she goes no faster course than ye;
I say, prayeth your sister that she go
No faster course than you these years two.
Then shall she be even at full alway,
And spring flood last both night and day.
And but she vouchsafes in such manner
To grant me my sovereign lady dear,
Pray her to sink every rock a down
Into her own dark region
Under the ground, there Pluto dwelleth in,
Or never more shall I my lady win.
Thy temple in Delphi will I barefoot seek.
Lord Phoebus, see the tears on my cheek,
And of my pain have some compassion."
And with that word in swoon he fell a down,
And long time he lay forth in a trance.

374-392
His brother, which that knew of his penance,
Up caught him and to bed he has him brought.
Despaired in this torment and this thought
Let this woeful creature lie;
Choose he, for me, whether he will live or die.

Arveragus, with health and great honor,
As he that was chivalry the flower,
Is come home, and other worthy men.
O blissful art thou now, thou Dorigen,
That has thy lusty husband in thine arms,
The fresh knight, the worthy man of arms,
That loveth thee as his own heart's life.
Nothing list him to be imagined,
If any wight had spoke, while he was out,
To her of love; he had of it no doubt.
He not attended to no such matter,
But dances, jousts, maketh her good cheer;
And thus in joy and bliss I let them dwell,
And of the sick Aurelius will I tell.

393-456
In languor and in torment furious
Two years and more lay wretched Aurelius,
Er any foot he might on earth go on;
Nor comfort in this time had he none.
Save of his brother, which that was a clerk.
He knew of all this woe and all this werk,
For to no other creature, certain,
Of this matter he dared no word sayin'.
Under his breast he bore in more secretly
Than ever did Pamphilus for Galathee.
His brest was whole, without for to seen,
But in his heart ay was the arrow keen.
And well you know that of a sursanure
In surgery is perilous the cure,
But men might touch the arrow or come thereby.
His brother wept and wailed privily,
Til at last he filled in remembrance,
That while he was at Orleans in France -
As young clerks that be lickerous
To read arts that be curious
Seek in every halke and every hirne
Particular sciences for to learn -
He him remembered that, upon a day,
At Orleans in study a book he say
Of magic natural, which his fellow,
That was that time a bachelor of law,
Although were he there to learn another craft,
Had privily upon his desk left;
Which book spoke much of the operations
Touching the eight and twenty mansions
That belong to the moon, and such folly
As in our days is not worth a fly -
For holy church's faith in our believe
Nor suffers no illusion us to grieve.
And when his book was in his remembrance,
Anon for joy his heart gan to dance.
And to himself he said privily:
"My brother shall be warished hastily;
For I am sure that there be sciences
By which men make diverse appearances,
Such as these subtle tregetours play.
For oft at feasts have I well heard say
That tregetours within an hall large
Have made come in a water and a barge,
And in the hall row up and down.
Sometimes hath seemed come as grim lion;
And sometimes flowers spring as in a mead;
Sometimes a vine, and grapes white and red;
Sometimes a castle, all of lime and stone;
And when they liked, voided it anon.
Thus seemed it to every man's sight.

"Now then conclude I thus: that if I might
At Orleans some old fellow find
That had these moon's mansions in mind,
Or other magic natural above,
He should well make my brother have his love.
For with an appearance a clerk may make,
To man's sight, that all the rocks black
Of Brittany were voided every one,
And ships by the brink come and go on,
And in such form endure a week or two.
Then were my brother warished of his woe;
Then most she needs hold her behest,
Or else he shall shame her at the lest."

457-480
What should I make a longer tale of this?
Unto his brother's bed he comen is,
And such comfort he gave him for to go on
To Orleans that he up start anon,
And on his way forthward then is he fare
In hope for to be lissed of his care.

When they were come almost to that city,
But if it were a two furlong or three,
A young clerk roaming by himself they meet,
Which that in Latin thriftily him greet,
And after that he said a wonder thing;
"I know, " quod he, "the cause of your coming."
And er they farther any foot went,
He told them all that was in their intent.

This Breton clerk him asked of fellows
The which that he had known in old days,
And he answered him that they dead were,
For which he wept full oft many a tear.

Down of his horse Aurelius light anon,
And with this magician forth is he gone
Home to his house, and made them well at ease.
He lacked no vitaille that might them please.
So well arrayed house as there was one
Aurelius in his life saw never none.


481-500
He showed him, er he went to supper,
Forests, parks full of wild deer;
There saw he harts with horns high,
The greatest that ever were seen with eye.
He saw of them a hundred slain with hounds,
And some with arrows bled of bitter wounds.
He saw, when voided were these wild deer,
These falconers upon a fair river,
That with their hawks have the heron slain.

Then saw he knights jousting in a plain;
And after this he did him such pleasance
That he him showed his lady on a dance,
On which himself he danced, as he thought.
And when this master that this magic wrought
Saw it was time, he clapped his hands two,
And farewell! Al our revel ago.
And yet removed they never out of the house,
While they saw all this sight marvelous,
But in his study, there as his books be,
They sat still, and no wight but they three.

501-510
To him this master called his squire,
And said him thus: "Is ready our supper?
Almost an hour it is, I undertake,
Since I you bad our supper for to make,
When that these worthy men went with me
Into my study, there as my books be."

"Sire, " quod this squire, "when I liketh you,
It is all ready, though you will right now."
"Go we then sup, " said he, "as for the best.
These amorous folk sometime must have their rest.

511-530
At after-supper fill they in treaty
What some should this master's gerdon be
To remove all the rocks of Britany,
And eek from Gironde to the mouth of Seine.

He made it strange, and swore, so God him save,
Less than a thousand pounds he would not have,
Nor gladly for that sum he would not go on.

Aurelius, with blissful heart anon,
Answered thus: "Fie on a thousand pound!
This side world, which that men say is round,
I would it give, if I were lord of it.
This bargain is full drive, for we be knit.
You shall be paid truly, by my troth!
But looketh now, for no negligence or sloth
You tarry us here no longer than tomorrow."

"Nay, " quod this clerk, "have here my faith to borrow."

To bed is gone Aurelius when him lest,
And well-nigh all that night be had his rest.
What for his labor and his hope of bliss,
His woeful heart of penance had a liss.

531-552
Upon the morrow, when that it was day,
To Brittany took they the right way,
Aurelius and this magician beside,
And be descended there they would abide.
And this was, as these books me remember,
The cold, frosty season of December.

Phoebus waxed old, and hewed like latten,
That in his hot declination
Shone as the burned gold with steams bright;
But now in Capricorn adown he light,
Whereas he shone full pale I dare well say.
The bitter frosts, with the sleet and rain,
Destroyed hath the green in every yard.
Janus sits by the fire, with double beard,
And drinketh of his bugle horn the wine;
Before him stands brawn of the tusked swine,
And "Noel" crieth every lusty man.

Aurelius in all that ever he can
Does to this master cheer and reverence,
And prayeth him to do his diligence
To bring him out of his pains smart,
Or with a sword that he would slit his heart.

This subtle clerk such ruth had of this man
That night and day he sped him that he can
To wait a time of his conclusion;
This is to say, to make illusion,
By such an appearance or jugglery -
I ken no terms of astrology -
That she and every wight should ween and say
That of Brittany the rocks were away,
Or else they were sunk under ground.
So at the last he hath his time found
To make his japes and his wretchedness
Of such a superstitious cursedness.
His tables of Toledo forth he brought,
Full well corrected, nor there lacked nought,
Neither his collected nor his expanse years,
Nor his roots, now his other gears,
As be his centers and his arguments
And his proportionals convenient
For his equation in every thing.
And by his eighth sphere in his working
He knew full well how far Alnath was shove
From the head of that fixed Aries above
That in the ninth sphere considered is;
Full subtly he calculated all this.

When he had found his first mansion,
He knew the remnant by proportion,
He knew the rising of his moon well,
And in whose face, and term, and every deal;
And knew full well the moon's mansion
According to his operation,
And knew also his other observations
For such illusions and such mischances
As heathen folk used in those days.
For which no longer made he delays,
But through his magic, for a week or tway,
It seemed that all the rocks were away.

Aurelius, which that yet despaired is
Whether he shall have his love or fare amiss,
Awaits night and day on this miracle;
And when he knew that there was no obstacle,
That voided were these rocks every one,
Down to his mistress' feet he fell anon,
And said, "I woeful wretch, Aurelius,
Thank you, lord, and lady my Venus,
That me has helped from my cares cold."
And to the temple his say forth he has hold,
Whereas he knew he should his lady see.
And when he saw his time, anon -right he,
With dreadful heart and with full humble cheer,
Saluted hath his sovereign lady dear:

"My right lady, " quod this woeful man,
"Whom I most dread and love as best I can,
And loth were of all this world displease,
Were it that for you have such dis-ease
That I must die here at your foot anon,
Nought would I tell how me is woe be gone.
But certain either must I die or plain;
You slay me guiltless for very pain.
But of my death though that you have no ruth,
Aviseth you er that you break your troth.
Repenteth you, for that God above,
Er you me slay because that I you love.
For, madame, well you woot what you have hight -
Not that I challenge anything of right
Of you, my sovereign lady, but your grace --
But in a garden yon, at such a place,
You woot right well what you behighten me;
And in my hand your troth plighten ye
To love me best - God woot, you said so,
Albe that I unworthy am thereto.
Madame, I speak it for the honor of you
More than to save my heart's life right now -
I have done so as you commanded me;
And if you vouchsafe, you may go see.
Do as you list; have your behest in mind,
For, quick or dead, right there you shall me find,
In you lies all to do me live or die --
But well I woot the rocks be away."

He takes his leave, and she astounded stood;
In all her face was not a drop of blood.
She wend never have come in such a trap.
"Alas, " quod she, "hat ever this should hap!
For wend I never by possibility
That such a monster or marvel might be!
It is against the process of nature."
And home she goes a sorrowful creature;
For very fear uneath may she go.
She weeps, wails, all a day or two,
And swoons, that it ruth was to see.
But why it was to no wight told she,
For out of town was gone Arveragus.
But to herself he spoke, and said thus:
With face pale and with full sorrowful cheer,
In her complaint, as you shall after hear:

"Alas, " quod she, "on thee, Fortune, I plain,
That unwarned wrapped hast me in thy chain,
From which to escape woot no succor,
Save only death or else dishonor;
One of these two behooves me to choose.
But nonetheless, yet have I rather to lose
My life than of my body to have a shame,
Or know myself false, or lose my name;
And with my death I may be quit, ywis.
Has there not many a noble wife er this,
And many a maid, slain herself, alas,
Rather than with her body do trespass?

Yes, indeed, lo, these stories bear witness:
When thirty tyrants, full of cursedness,
Had slain Phidon in Athens at the fest,
They commanded his daughters for to arrest
And bring them before them in despite,
All naked, to fulfill their foul delight,
And in their father's blood they made them dance
Upon the pavement, God give them mischance!
For which these woeful maidens, full of dread,
Rather than they would lose their maidenhead,
They privily been stirt into a well
And drowned themselves, as the books tell.

They of Messene let inquire and seek
Of Lacedaemon fifty maidens eek,
On which they would do their lechery.
But was there no one of all that company
That she was not slain, and with a good intent
Chose rather for to die than assent
To be oppressed of her maidenhead.
Why should I then to die be in dread?
Lo, eek, the tyrant Aristoclides,
That loved a maiden, called Stymphalides,
When that her father slain was on a night,
Unto Diana's temple goes she right,
And hent the image in her hands two,
From which image would he never go.
No wight might her hands of it arace
Til she was slain, right in the selve place.

"Now since that maidens had such despite
To be defiled with man's foul delight,
Well ought a wife rather herself slay
Than be defiled, as it thinketh me.
What shall I say of Hasdrubale's wife,
That at Carthage bereft herself her life?
For when she saw that Romans won the town,
She took her children all, and skipped down
Into the fire, and chose rather to die
Than any Roman did her villainy.
Has not Lucretia slain herself, alas,
At Rome, when that she oppressed was
Of Tarquin, for she thought it was a shame
To live when she had lost her name?
The seven maidens of Miletus also
Have slain themselves, for very dread and woe,
Rather than folk of Galatia them should oppress.
More than a thousand stories, as I guess,
Could I now tell as touching this matter.
When Habradate was slain, his wife so dear
Herself slew, and let her blood to glide
In Habradate's wounds deep and wide,
And said, ‘My body, at the least way,
There shall no wight defile, if I may.'

What should I more examples hereof say,
Since that so many have themselves slain
Well rather than they would defiled be?
I will conclude that it is better for me
To slay myself than be defiled thus.
I will be true unto Arveragus,
Or rather slay myself in some manner,
As did Demotion's daughter dear
Because that she would not defiled be.
O Cedasus, it is full great pity
To read how thy daughters died, alas,
That slew themselves for such manner case.
As great a pity was it, or well more
The Theban maiden that for Nichanore
Herself shew, right for such manner woe.
Another Theban maiden did right so;
For one of Macedonia her oppressed,
She with her death her maidenhead redressed.
What shall I say of Nicerates' wife,
That for such case bereft herself her life?
How true eek was to Alcebiades
His love, that rather for to die chose
That for to suffer his body unburied be.
Lo, which a wife was Alceste, " quod she.
"What sayeth Homer of good Penelope?
All Greece knows of her chastity.
Pardee, of Laodomia is written thus,
That when at Troy was slain Protheselaus,
No longer would she live after his day.
The same of noble Portia tell I may;
Without Brutus could she not live,
To whom she had all whole her heart give.
The perfect wifehood of Arthemesie
Honored is through all the Barbary.
O Teuta, queen, thy wifely chastity
To all wives may a mirror be.
The same thing I say of Bilia,
Of Rhodogune, and eek Valeria."

Thus plained Dorigen a day or twie,
Purposing ever that she would die.
But nonetheless, upon the third night,
Home came Arveragus, this worthy knight
And asked her why that she wept so sore;
And she gan weep ever longer the more.
"Alas, " quod she, "that ever was I born!
Thus have I said, " quod she, "thus have I sworn" -
And told him all as you have heard before;
It needeth not rehearse it you no more.
This husband, with glad cheer, in friendly wise
Answered and said as I shall you devise:
Is there ought else, Dorigen, but this? "

"Nay, nay, " quod she, "God help me so as wise!
This is too much, and it were God's will."

"Yea, wife, " quod he, "let sleep that is still.
It may be well, peradventure, yet today.
You shall your troth hold, by my fay!
For God so wisely have mercy upon me,
I had well be stabbed for to be
For very love which that I to you have,
But if you should your troth keep and save.
Troth is the highest thing that man may keep" -
But with that word he burst anon to weep,
And said, "I you forbid, upon pain of death,
That never, while thee lasteth life nor breath,
To no wight tell thou of this adventure -
As I may best, I will my woe endure -
Nor make no countenance of heaviness,
That folk of you may deem harm or guess."

And forth he called a squire and a maid;
"Go forth anon with Dorigen, " he said,
And bring her to such a place anon."
They take her leave, and on their way the gon,
But they knew not why she thither went.
He would no wight tell his intent.

Peradventure an heap of you, iwis,
Will hold him a lewd man in this
That he will put his wife in jeopardy.
Hearken the tale ere you upon her cry.
She may have better fortune than you seem;
And when that you have heard the tale, deem.

This squire, which that hight Aurelius,
On Dorigen that was so amorous,
Of adventure happed her to meet
Amid the town, right in the quickest street,
As she was bound to go on the way forth right
Toward the garden there as she had hight.
And he was to the garden-ward also;
For well he spied when she would go
Out of her house to any manner place.
But thus they met, of adventure or grace,
And he salutes her with glad intent,
And asked of her whither she went;
And she answered, half as she were mad,
"Unto the garden, and my husband bade,
My troth for to hold -- alas, alas! "

Aurelius gan wonder on this case.
And in his heat had great compassion
Of her and of her lamentation.
And of Arveragus, the worthy knight,
That bade her hold all that she had hight,
So loath him was his wife should break her troth;
And in his heart he caught of this great rueth,
Considering the best on every side,
That from his lust yet were him rather abide
Than do so high a churlish wretchedness
Against` franchise and all gentleness
For which in few words said he thus:

"Madame, say to your lord Arveragus
That since I see his great gentleness
To you, and eek I see well your distress,
That he were rather have shame (And that were rueth)
Than you to me should break thus your troth,
I have well rather ever to suffer woe.
Than I depart the love betwixt you two.
I you release, madame, into your hand
Quit every serment and every bond
That you have made to me as herebefore,
Since that time which that you were born.
My troth I plight, I you never repreve
Of my behest, and here I take my leave,
As of the truest and best wife
That ever I knew in all my life.
But every wife beware of her behest!
On Dorigen, at the lest.
Thus can a squire do a gentle deed
As well as can a knight, without dreed."

She thanketh him upon her knees all bare,
And home unto her husband is she fare,
And told him all, as you have heard me say;
And be you certain, he was So well apaid
That it were impossible me to write.
What should I longer of this case endite?

Arveragus and Dorigen his wife
In sovereign bliss lead forth their life.
Never eft was there anger them between.
He cherishes her as though she were a queen,
And she was to him true for evermore.
Of these two folk you get of me no more.

Aurelius, that his cost has all forlorn,
Cursed the time that ever he was born:
"Alas! " quod he. "Alas, that I behight
Of pure gold a thousand pounds of weight
Unto this philosopher! How shall I do?
I see no ore but that I am fordo.
My heritage must I need sell,
And be a beggar; here may I not dwell
And shame all my kindred in this place,
But I of him may get better grace.
But nonetheless, I will of him assay,
At certain days, year by year, to pay,
And thank him of his great courtesy.
My troth will I keep, I will not lie."

With heart sore he goes unto his coffer,
And brought gold unto this philosopher,
The value of five hundred pounds, I guess,
And him beseeches, of his gentleness,
To grant him days of the remnant;
And said, "Master, I dare well make avaunt,
I failed never of my troth as yet,
For surely my debt shall be quit
Towards you, however that I fare
To go a begging in my kirtle bare.
But would you vouchsafe, upon surety,
Two year or three for to respite me,
Then were I well; for else must I sell
My heritage; there is no more to tell."

This philosopher soberly answered,
And said thus, when these words heard:
"Have I not held covenant unto thee? "

"Yes, certes, well and truly, " said he.

"Hast thou not had thy lady as thee liketh? "

"No, no, " quod he, and sorrowfully he sigheth.

"What was the cause: Tell me if you can."

Aurelius his tale anon began,
And told him all, as you have heard before;
It needeth not to you rehearse it more.

He said, "Arveragus, of his nobility,
Had rather die in sorrow and in distress
Than that his wife were of her troth false."
The sorrow of Dorigen he told him als;
How loath her was to be a wicked wife,
And that she'd rather had lost that day her life,
And that her troth she swore through innocence,
She never erst had heard speak of appearance.
That made me have of her so great pity;
And right as freely as he sent her me,
As freely sent I her to him again.
This all and sum; there is no more to say.

This philosopher answered, "Lief brother,
Every one of you did genteelly til other.
Thou art a squire, and he is a knight;
But God forbid, for his blissful might,
But if a clerk could do a gentle deed
As well as any of you, It is no drede!

Sir, I release thee thy thousand pound,
As thou right now were crept out of the ground,
Nor never er now had known mme.
For, sir, I will not take a penny of thee
For all my craft, nor nought for my travail.
Thou hast payed well for my vitaille.
It is enough, and farewell, have a good day! "
And took his horse, and forth he goes on his way.
Lordings, this question, then, will I ask now,
Which was the most free, as thinketh you?
Now telleth me, er that you farther wende.
I can no more; my tale is art an end.

Heere is ended the Frankeleyns Tale