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<- to Canterbury Tales: Wife of Bath


Wife of Bath's Prologue
Wife of Bath
From the Ellesmere Manuscript


"Experience, though noon auctoritee
Were in this world, were right ynogh to me
To speke of wo that is in mariage;
For, lordynges, sith I twelf yeer was of age,—
5Y-thonked be God, that is eterne on lyve!
Housbondes at chirchė dore I have had fyve;
For I so oftė have y-wedded bee;
And alle were worthy men in hir degree.
But me was toold certeyn, nat longe agoon is,
10That sith that Crist ne wente never but onis
To weddyng, in the Cane of Galilee,
Bý the same ensample taughte he me
That I ne sholdė wedded be but ones.
Herkne, eek, which a sharp word for the nones,
15Biside a wellė Jhesus, God and man,
Spak in repreeve of the Samaritan:
"Thou hast y-had fyve housbondes," quod he,
"And that ilk man that hath now thee
Is noght thyn housbonde"; thus seyde he certeyn.
20What that he mente therby, I kan nat seyn;
But that I axė, why the fifthė man
Was noon housbonde to the Samaritan?
How manye myghte she have in mariage?
Yet herde I never tellen, in myn age,
25Upon this nombrė diffinicioun.
Men may devyne, and glosen up and doun,
But wel I woot, expres, withoutė lye,
God bad us for to wexe and multiplye;
That gentil text kan I wel understonde.
30Eek, wel I woot, he seydė myn housbonde
Sholde letė fader and mooder, and takė me.
But of no nombrė mencioun made he,
Of bigamye, or of octogamye;
Why sholdė men speke of it vileynye.
35Lo, heere the wisė kyng, daun Salomon;
I trowe he haddė wyves mo than oon;
As, wolde God, it leveful were to me
To be refresshėd half so ofte as he!
Which yifte of God hadde he for alle his wyvys!
40No man hath swich that in this world alyve is.
God woot, this noble kyng, as to my wit,
The firstė nyght had many a myrie fit
With ech of hem, so wel was hym on lyve.
Y-blessed be God, that I have wedded fyve!
45Welcome the sixtė, whan that ever he shal,
For sothe I wol nat kepe me chaast in al.
Whan myn housbonde is fro the world y-gon,
Som Cristen man shal weddė me anon;
For thanne, thapostle seïth, I am free
50To wedde, a Goddes half, where it liketh me.
He seïth to be wedded is no synne;
"Bét is to be wedded than to brynne."
What rekketh me thogh folk seye vileynye
Of shrewėd Lameth, and his bigamye?
55I woot wel Abraham was an hooly man,
And Jacob eek, as ferforth as I kan,
And ech of hem hadde wyvės mo than two,
And many another holy man also.
Whanne saugh ye ever in any manere age
60That hyė God defended mariage
By expres word? I pray yow telleth me;
Or where comanded he virginitee?
I woot as wel as ye, it is no drede,
Thapostel whan he speketh of maydenhede,
65He seyde that precept ther-of hadde he noon.
Men may conseille a womman to been oon,
But conseillyng is no comandėment.
He putte it in oure owene juggėment;
For haddė God comanded maydenhede
70Thanne hadde he dampnėd weddyng with the dede;
And certein, if ther were no seed y-sowe,
Virginitee, wher-of thanne sholde it growe?
Poul dorste nat comanden, attė leeste,
A thyng of which his maister yaf noon heeste.
75The dart is set up for virginitee,
Cacche who so may, who renneth best lat see!
But this word is nat taken of every wight,
But ther as God lust yive it of his myght.
I woot wel that the Apostel was a mayde,
80But nathėlees, thogh that he wroot and sayde
He wolde that every wight were swich as he,
Al nys but conseil to virginitee;
And for to been a wyf he yaf me leve
Of índulgence; so it is no repreve
85To weddė me, if that my makė dye,
Withouten excepcioun of bigamye,
Al were it good no womman for to touche,—
He mente as in his bed or in his couche;
For peril is bothe fyr and tow tassemble;
90Ye knowe what this ensample may resemble.
This is al and som, he heeld virginitee
Moore profiteth than weddyng in freletee;
Freletee clepe I, but if that he and she
Wolde leden al hir lyf in chastitee.
95I graunte it wel I havė noon envie
Thogh maydenhede preferrė bigamye:
Hem liketh to be clenė, body and goost.
Of myn estaat I nyl nat make no boost,
For wel ye knowe a lord in his houshold
100He nath nat every vessel al of gold;
Somme been of tree, and doon hir lord servyse.
God clepeth folk to hym in sondry wyse,
And everich hath of God a propre yifte,
Som this, som that, as hym liketh to shifte.
105Virginitee is greet perfeccioun,
And continence eek, with devocioun;
But Crist, that of perfeccioun is welle,
Bád nat every wight sholdė go selle
All that he hadde and yive it to the poore,
110And in swich wisė folwe hym and his foore.
He spak to hem that wolde lyve parfitly,
And, lordynges, by youre leve, that am nat I.
I wol bistowe the flour of al myn age
In the actės and in fruyt of mariage.
115Telle me also, to what conclusioun
Were membres maad of generacioun,
And for what profit was a wight y-wroght?
Trusteth right wel, they were nat maad for noght.
Glose who so wole, and seye bothe up and doun,
120That they were makyd for purgacioun
Of uryne, and oure bothė thyngės smale
Were eek to knowe a femele from a male,
And for noon oother causė,—sey ye no?
The experience woot wel it is noght so;
125So that the clerkės be nat with me wrothe,
I sey this, that they beth maked for bothe;
This is to seye, for office, and for ese
Of engendrure, ther we nat God displese.
Why sholde men ellės in hir bookės sette
130That man shal yeldė to his wyf hire dette?
Now wher-with sholde he make his paiėment,
If he ne used his sely instrument?
Thanne were they maad upon a creäture,
To purge uryne and eek for engendrure.
135But I seye noght that every wight is holde,
That hath swich harneys as I to yow tolde,
To goon and usen hem in engendrure,—
Thanne shuld men take of chastitee no cure.
Crist was a mayde and shapen as a man,
140And many a seint sith that the world bigan;
Yet lyved they ever in parfit chastitee.
I nyl nat envye no virginitee;
Lat hem be breed of purėd whetė seed,
And lat us wyvės hoten barly breed
145And yet with barly breed Mark tellė kan,
Oure Lord Jhesu refresshėd many a man.
In swich estaat as God hath clepėd us,
I wol persévere, I nam nat precius;
In wyfhod I wol use myn instrument
150As frely as my Makere hath it sent.
If I be daungerous, God yeve me sorwe;
Myn housbonde shal it have bothe eve and morwe,
Whan that hym list com forth and paye his dette.
An housbonde I wol have, I nyl nat lette,
155Which shal be bothe my dettour and my thral,
And have his tribulacioun withal
Upon his flessh, whil that I am his wyf.
I have the power, durynge al my lyf,
Upon his proprė body, and noght he.
160Right thus the Apostel tolde it unto me,
And bad oure housbondes for to love us weel;
Al this sentence me liketh every deel."
      Up stirte the Pardoner, and that anon;
"Now, dame," quod he, "by God and by Seint John!
165Ye been a noble prechour in this cas.
I was aboute to wedde a wyf; allas!
What, sholde I bye it on my flessh so deere?
Yet hadde I levere wedde no wyf to-yeere!"
      "Abyde," quod she, "my tale is nat bigonne.
170Nay, thou shalt drynken of another tonne
Er that I go, shal savoure wors than ale;
And whan that I have toold thee forth my tale
Of tribulacioun in mariage,
Of which I am expert in al myn age,—
175This is to seyn, my self have been the whippe,—
Than maystow chesė wheither thou wolt sippe
Of thilkė tonnė that I shal abroche.
Be war of it, er thou to ny approche,
For I shal telle ensamples mo than ten,
180"Whoso that nyl be war by othere men,
By hym shul othere men corrected be";
The samė wordes writeth Ptholomee;
Rede in his Almageste, and take it there."
      "Dame, I wolde praye yow, if youre wyl it were,"
185Seydė this Pardoner, "as ye bigan
Telle forth youre talė, spareth for no man,
And teche us yongė men of youre praktike."
      "Gládly, sirės, sith it may yow like;
But yet I praye to al this compaignye,
190If that I speke after my fantasye,
As taketh not agrief of that I seye,
For myn entente is nought but for to pleye.
Now, sire, now wol I tellė forth my tale.
As evere moote I drynken wyn or ale,
195I shal seye sooth, of housbondes that I hadde,
As thre of hem were goode, and two were badde.
The thre were goodė men and riche, and olde;
Unnethė myghtė they the statut holde
In which that they were bounden unto me;
200Ye woot wel what I meene of this, pardee!
As help me God, I laughė whan I thynke
How pitously a-nyght I made hem swynke!
And, by my fey, I tolde of it no stoor;
They had me yiven hir lond and hir tresoor,
205Me neded nat do lenger diligence
To wynne hir love, or doon hem reverence;
They lovėd me so wel, by God above,
That I ne tolde no deyntee of hir love!
A wys womman wol sette hire, ever in oon,
210To gete hire lovė ther as she hath noon;
But sith I hadde hem hoolly in myn hond,
And sith they hadde me yeven al hir lond,
What sholde I taken heede hem for to plese,
But it were for my profit and myn ese?
215I sette hem so a werkė, by my fey,
That many a nyght they songen "weilawey!"
The bacoun was nat fet for hem, I trowe,
That som men han in Essexe at Dunmowe.
I governed hem so wel after my lawe,
220That ech of hem ful blisful was and fawe
To brynge me gayė thynges fro the fayre;
They were ful glad whan I spak to hem faire,
For, God it woot, I chidde hem spitously.
Now herkneth how I baar me proprely,
225Ye wisė wyvės that kan understonde.
Thus shul ye speke, and beren hem on honde;
For half so boldėly kan ther no man
Swerė and lyė as a womman kan.
I sey nat this by wyvės that been wyse,
230But if it be whan they hem mysavyse.
I-wis a wyf, if that she kan hir good,
Shal berė hym on hond the cow is wood,
And takė witnesse of hir owene mayde
Of hir assent; but herkneth how I sayde.
235"Sire olde kaynard, is this thyn array?
Why is my neighebores wyf so gay?
She is honoured overal ther she gooth;
I sitte at hoom; I have no thrifty clooth.
What dostow at my neighebores hous?
240Is she so fair? Artow so amorous?
What rowne ye with oure mayde? Benedicite!
Sire olde lecchour, lat thy japes be!
And if I have a gossib or a freend,
Withouten gilt, thou chidest as a feend,
245If that I walke or pleye unto his hous!
Thou comest hoom as dronken as a mous,
And prechest on thy bench, with yvel preef!
Thou seist to me it is a greet meschief
To wedde a povre womman, for costage;
250And if that she be riche, of heigh parage,
Thanne seistow that it is a tormentrie
To soffre hire pride and hire malencolie.
And if that she be fair, thou verray knave,
Thou seyst that every holour wol hire have;
255She may no while in chastitee abyde,
That is assailled upon ech a syde.
Thou seyst som folk desiren us for richesse,
Somme for oure shap, and somme for oure fairnesse,
And som for she kan outher synge or daunce,
260And som for gentillesse and daliaunce;
Som for hir handes and hir armes smale;
Thus goth al to the devel, by thy tale.
Thou seyst men may nat kepe a castel wal,
It may so longe assailled been overal.
265And if that she be foul, thou seist that she
Coveiteth every man that she may se,
For as a spanyel she wol on hym lepe,
Til that she fynde som man hire to chepe.
Ne noon so grey goos gooth ther in the lake
270As, seistow, wol been withoute make.
And seyst it is an hard thyng for to welde
A thyng that no man wole, his thankes, helde.
Thus seistow, lorel, whan thow goost to bedde,
And that no wys man nedeth for to wedde,
275Ne no man that entendeth unto hevene.
With wilde thonder-dynt and firy levene
Moote thy welked nekke be tobroke!
Thow seyst that droppyng houses, and eek smoke,
And chidyng wyves maken men to flee
280Out of hir owene houses; a, benedicitee!
What eyleth swich an old man for to chide?
Thow seyst we wyves wol oure vices hide
Til we be fast, and thanne we wol hem shewe --
Wel may that be a proverbe of a shrewe!
285Thou seist that oxen, asses, hors, and houndes,
They been assayed at diverse stoundes;
Bacyns, lavours, er that men hem bye,
Spoones and stooles, and al swich housbondrye,
And so been pottes, clothes, and array;
290But folk of wyves maken noon assay,
Til they be wedded -- olde dotard shrewe! --
And thanne, seistow, we wol oure vices shewe.
Thou seist also that it displeseth me
But if that thou wolt preyse my beautee,
295And but thou poure alwey upon my face,
And clepe me "faire dame" in every place.
And but thou make a feeste on thilke day
That I was born, and make me fressh and gay;
And but thou do to my norice honour,
300And to my chamberere withinne my bour,
And to my fadres folk and his allyes --
Thus seistow, olde barel-ful of lyes!
And yet of oure apprentice Janekyn,
For his crispe heer, shynynge as gold so fyn,
305And for he squiereth me bothe up and doun,
Yet hastow caught a fals suspecioun.
I wol hym noght, thogh thou were deed tomorwe!
But tel me this: why hydestow, with sorwe,
The keyes of thy cheste awey fro me?
310It is my good as wel as thyn, pardee!
What, wenestow make an ydiot of oure dame?
Now by that lord that called is Seint Jame,
Thou shalt nat bothe, thogh that thou were wood,
Be maister of my body and of my good;
315That oon thou shalt forgo, maugree thyne yen.
What helpith it of me to enquere or spyen?
I trowe thou woldest loke me in thy chiste!
Thou sholdest seye, "Wyf, go wher thee liste;
Taak youre disport; I wol nat leve no talys.
320I knowe yow for a trewe wyf, dame Alys."
We love no man that taketh kep or charge
Wher that we goon; we wol ben at oure large.
Of alle men yblessed moot he be,
The wise astrologien, Daun Ptholome,
325That seith this proverbe in his Almageste:
"Of alle men his wysdom is the hyeste
That rekketh nevere who hath the world in honde."
By this proverbe thou shalt understonde,
Have thou ynogh, what thar thee recche or care
330How myrily that othere folkes fare?
For, certeyn, olde dotard, by youre leve,
Ye shul have queynte right ynogh at eve.
He is to greet a nygard that wolde werne
A man to lighte a candle at his lanterne;
335He shal have never the lasse light, pardee.
Have thou ynogh, thee thar nat pleyne thee.
Thou seyst also, that if we make us gay
With clothyng, and with precious array,
That it is peril of oure chastitee;
340And yet -- with sorwe! -- thou most enforce thee,
And seye thise wordes in the Apostles name:
"In habit maad with chastitee and shame
Ye wommen shul apparaille yow," quod he,
"And noght in tressed heer and gay perree,
345As perles, ne with gold, ne clothes riche."
After thy text, ne after thy rubriche,
I wol nat wirche as muchel as a gnat.
Thou seydest this, that I was lyk a cat;
For whoso wolde senge a cattes skyn,
350Thanne wolde the cat wel dwellen in his in;
And if the cattes skyn be slyk and gay,
She wol nat dwelle in house half a day,
But forth she wole, er any day be dawed,
To shewe hir skyn and goon a-caterwawed.
355This is to seye, if I be gay, sire shrewe,
I wol renne out my borel for to shewe.
Sire olde fool, what helpeth thee to spyen?
Thogh thou preye Argus with his hundred yen
To be my warde-cors, as he kan best,
360In feith, he shal nat kepe me but me lest;
Yet koude I make his berd, so moot I thee!
Thou seydest eek that ther been thynges thre,
The whiche thynges troublen al this erthe,
And that no wight may endure the ferthe.
365O leeve sire shrewe, Jhesu shorte thy lyf!
Yet prechestow and seyst an hateful wyf
Yrekened is for oon of thise meschances.
Been ther none othere maner resemblances
That ye may likne youre parables to,
370But if a sely wyf be oon of tho?
Thou liknest eek wommenes love to helle,
To bareyne lond, ther water may nat dwelle.
Thou liknest it also to wilde fyr;
The moore it brenneth, the moore it hath desir
375To consume every thyng that brent wole be.
Thou seyest, right as wormes shende a tree,
Right so a wyf destroyeth hire housbonde;
This knowe they that been to wyves bonde."
Lordynges, right thus, as ye have understonde,
380Baar I stifly myne olde housbondes on honde
That thus they seyden in hir dronkenesse;
And al was fals, but that I took witnesse
On Janekyn, and on my nece also.
O Lord! The peyne I dide hem and the wo,
385Ful giltelees, by Goddes sweete pyne!
For as an hors I koude byte and whyne.
I koude pleyne, and yit was in the gilt,
Or elles often tyme hadde I been spilt.
Whoso that first to mille comth, first grynt;
390I pleyned first, so was oure werre ystynt.
They were ful glade to excuse hem blyve
Of thyng of which they nevere agilte hir lyve.
Of wenches wolde I beren hem on honde,
Whan that for syk unnethes myghte they stonde.
395Yet tikled I his herte, for that he
Wende that I hadde of hym so greet chiertee!
I swoor that al my walkynge out by nyghte
Was for t" espye wenches that he dighte;
Under that colour hadde I many a myrthe.
400For al swich wit is yeven us in oure byrthe;
Deceite, wepyng, spynnyng God hath yive
To wommen kyndely, whil that they may lyve.
And thus of o thyng I avaunte me:
Atte ende I hadde the bettre in ech degree,
405By sleighte, or force, or by som maner thyng,
As by continueel murmur or grucchyng.
Namely abedde hadden they meschaunce:
Ther wolde I chide and do hem no plesaunce;
I wolde no lenger in the bed abyde,
410If that I felte his arm over my syde,
Til he had maad his raunson unto me;
Thanne wolde I suffre hym do his nycetee.
And therfore every man this tale I telle,
Wynne whoso may, for al is for to selle;
415With empty hand men may none haukes lure.
For wynnyng wolde I al his lust endure,
And make me a feyned appetit;
And yet in bacon hadde I nevere delit.
That made me that evere I wolde hem chide,
420For thogh the pope hadde seten hem biside,
I wolde nat spare hem at hir owene bord,
For, by my trouthe, I quitte hem word for word.
As helpe me verray God omnipotent,
Though I right now sholde make my testament,
425I ne owe hem nat a word that it nys quit.
I broghte it so aboute by my wit
That they moste yeve it up, as for the beste,
Or elles hadde we nevere been in reste;
For thogh he looked as a wood leon,
430Yet sholde he faille of his conclusion.
Thanne wolde I seye, "Goode lief, taak keep
How mekely looketh Wilkyn, oure sheep!
Com neer, my spouse, lat me ba thy cheke!
Ye sholde been al pacient and meke,
435And han a sweete spiced conscience,
Sith ye so preche of Jobes pacience.
Suffreth alwey, syn ye so wel kan preche;
And but ye do, certein we shal yow teche
That it is fair to have a wyf in pees.
440Oon of us two moste bowen, doutelees,
And sith a man is moore resonable
Than womman is, ye moste been suffrable.
What eyleth yow to grucche thus and grone?
Is it for ye wolde have my queynte allone?
445Wy, taak it al! Lo, have it every deel!
Peter! I shrewe yow, but ye love it weel;
For if I wolde selle my bele chose,
I koude walke as fressh as is a rose;
But I wol kepe it for youre owene tooth.
450Ye be to blame, by God! I sey yow sooth."
Swiche manere wordes hadde we on honde.
Now wol I speken of my fourthe housbonde.
My fourthe housbonde was a revelour --
This is to seyn, he hadde a paramour --
455And I was yong and ful of ragerye,
Stibourn and strong, and joly as a pye.
How koude I daunce to an harpe smale,
And synge, ywis, as any nyghtyngale,
Whan I had dronke a draughte of sweete wyn!
460Metellius, the foule cherl, the swyn,
That with a staf birafte his wyf hir lyf,
For she drank wyn, thogh I hadde been his wyf,
He sholde nat han daunted me fro drynke!
And after wyn on Venus moste I thynke,
465For al so siker as cold engendreth hayl,
A likerous mouth moste han a likerous tayl.
In wommen vinolent is no defence --
This knowen lecchours by experience.
But -- Lord Crist! -- whan that it remembreth me
470Upon my yowthe, and on my jolitee,
It tikleth me aboute myn herte roote.
Unto this day it dooth myn herte boote
That I have had my world as in my tyme.
But age, allas, that al wole envenyme,
475Hath me biraft my beautee and my pith.
Lat go. Farewel! The devel go therwith!
The flour is goon; ther is namoore to telle;
The bren, as I best kan, now moste I selle;
But yet to be right myrie wol I fonde.
480Now wol I tellen of my fourthe housbonde.
I seye, I hadde in herte greet despit
That he of any oother had delit.
But he was quit, by God and by Seint Joce!
I made hym of the same wode a croce;
485Nat of my body, in no foul manere,
But certeinly, I made folk swich cheere
That in his owene grece I made hym frye
For angre, and for verray jalousye.
By God, in erthe I was his purgatorie,
490For which I hope his soule be in glorie.
For, God it woot, he sat ful ofte and song,
Whan that his shoo ful bitterly hym wrong.
Ther was no wight, save God and he, that wiste,
In many wise, how soore I hym twiste.
495He deyde whan I cam fro Jerusalem,
And lith ygrave under the roode beem,
Al is his tombe noght so curyus
As was the sepulcre of hym Daryus,
Which that Appelles wroghte subtilly;
500It nys but wast to burye hym preciously.
Lat hym fare wel; God yeve his soule reste!
He is now in his grave and in his cheste.
Now of my fifthe housbonde wol I telle.
God lete his soule nevere come in helle!
505And yet was he to me the mooste shrewe;
That feele I on my ribbes al by rewe,
And evere shal unto myn endyng day.
But in oure bed he was so fressh and gay,
And therwithal so wel koude he me glose,
510Whan that he wolde han my bele chose;
That thogh he hadde me bete on every bon,
He koude wynne agayn my love anon.
I trowe I loved hym best, for that he
Was of his love daungerous to me.
515We wommen han, if that I shal nat lye,
In this matere a queynte fantasye:
Wayte what thyng we may nat lightly have,
Therafter wol we crie al day and crave.
Forbede us thyng, and that desiren we;
520Preesse on us faste, and thanne wol we fle.
With daunger oute we al oure chaffare;
Greet prees at market maketh deere ware,
And to greet cheep is holde at litel prys:
This knoweth every womman that is wys.
525My fifthe housbonde -- God his soule blesse! --
Which that I took for love, and no richesse,
He som tyme was a clerk of Oxenford,
And hadde left scole, and wente at hom to bord
With my gossib, dwellynge in oure toun;
530God have hir soule! Hir name was Alisoun.
She knew myn herte, and eek my privetee,
Bet than oure parisshe preest, so moot I thee!
To hire biwreyed I my conseil al.
For hadde myn housbonde pissed on a wal,
535Or doon a thyng that sholde han cost his lyf,
To hire, and to another worthy wyf,
And to my nece, which that I loved weel,
I wolde han toold his conseil every deel.
And so I dide ful often, God it woot,
540That made his face often reed and hoot
For verray shame, and blamed hymself for he
Had toold to me so greet a pryvetee.
And so bifel that ones in a Lente --
So often tymes I to my gossyb wente,
545For evere yet I loved to be gay,
And for to walke in March, Averill, and May,
Fro hous to hous, to heere sondry talys --
That Jankyn clerk, and my gossyb dame Alys,
And I myself, into the feeldes wente.
550Myn housbonde was at Londoun al that Lente;
I hadde the bettre leyser for to pleye,
And for to se, and eek for to be seye
Of lusty folk. What wiste I wher my grace
Was shapen for to be, or in what place?
555Therfore I made my visitaciouns
To vigilies and to processiouns,
To prechyng eek, and to thise pilgrimages,
To pleyes of myracles, and to mariages,
And wered upon my gaye scarlet gytes.
560Thise wormes, ne thise motthes, ne thise mytes,
Upon my peril, frete hem never a deel;
And wostow why? For they were used weel.
Now wol I tellen forth what happed me.
I seye that in the feeldes walked we,
565Til trewely we hadde swich daliance,
This clerk and I, that of my purveiance
I spak to hym and seyde hym how that he,
If I were wydwe, sholde wedde me.
For certeinly -- I sey for no bobance --
570Yet was I nevere withouten purveiance
Of mariage, n" of othere thynges eek.
I holde a mouses herte nat worth a leek
That hath but oon hole for to sterte to,
And if that faille, thanne is al ydo.
575I bar hym on honde he hadde enchanted me --
My dame taughte me that soutiltee --
And eek I seyde I mette of hym al nyght,
He wolde han slayn me as I lay upright,
And al my bed was ful of verray blood;
580"But yet I hope that ye shal do me good,
For blood bitokeneth gold, as me was taught."
And al was fals; I dremed of it right naught,
But as I folwed ay my dames loore,
As wel of this as of othere thynges moore.
585But now, sire, lat me se what I shal seyn.
A ha! By God, I have my tale ageyn.
Whan that my fourthe housbonde was on beere,
I weep algate, and made sory cheere,
As wyves mooten, for it is usage,
590And with my coverchief covered my visage,
But for that I was purveyed of a make,
I wepte but smal, and that I undertake.
To chirche was myn housbonde born a-morwe
With neighebores, that for hym maden sorwe;
595And Jankyn, oure clerk, was oon of tho.
As help me God, whan that I saugh hym go
After the beere, me thoughte he hadde a paire
Of legges and of feet so clene and faire
That al myn herte I yaf unto his hoold.
600He was, I trowe, twenty wynter oold,
And I was fourty, if I shal seye sooth;
But yet I hadde alwey a coltes tooth.
Gat-tothed I was, and that bicam me weel;
I hadde the prente of seinte Venus seel.
605As help me God, I was a lusty oon,
And faire, and riche, and yong, and wel bigon,
And trewely, as myne housbondes tolde me,
I hadde the beste quoniam myghte be.
For certes, I am al Venerien
610In feelynge, and myn herte is Marcien.
Venus me yaf my lust, my likerousnesse,
And Mars yaf me my sturdy hardynesse;
Myn ascendent was Taur, and Mars therinne.
Allas, allas! That evere love was synne!
615I folwed ay myn inclinacioun
By vertu of my constellacioun;
That made me I koude noght withdrawe
My chambre of Venus from a good felawe.
Yet have I Martes mark upon my face,
620And also in another privee place.
For God so wys be my savacioun,
I ne loved nevere by no discrecioun,
But evere folwede myn appetit,
Al were he short, or long, or blak, or whit;
625I took no kep, so that he liked me,
How poore he was, ne eek of what degree.
What sholde I seye but, at the monthes ende,
This joly clerk, Jankyn, that was so hende,
Hath wedded me with greet solempnytee,
630And to hym yaf I al the lond and fee
That evere was me yeven therbifoore.
But afterward repented me ful soore;
He nolde suffre nothyng of my list.
By God, he smoot me ones on the lyst,
635For that I rente out of his book a leef,
That of the strook myn ere wax al deef.
Stibourn I was as is a leonesse,
And of my tonge a verray jangleresse,
And walke I wolde, as I had doon biforn,
640From hous to hous, although he had it sworn;
For which he often tymes wolde preche,
And me of olde Romayn geestes teche;
How he Symplicius Gallus lefte his wyf,
And hire forsook for terme of al his lyf,
645Noght but for open-heveded he hir say
Lookynge out at his dore upon a day.
Another Romayn tolde he me by name,
That, for his wyf was at a someres game
Withouten his wityng, he forsook hire eke.
650And thanne wolde he upon his Bible seke
That ilke proverbe of Ecclesiaste
Where he comandeth and forbedeth faste
Man shal nat suffre his wyf go roule aboute.
Thanne wolde he seye right thus, withouten doute:
655"Whoso that buyldeth his hous al of salwes,
And priketh his blynde hors over the falwes,
And suffreth his wyf to go seken halwes,
Is worthy to been hanged on the galwes!"
But al for noght, I sette noght an hawe
660Of his proverbes n" of his olde sawe,
Ne I wolde nat of hym corrected be.
I hate hym that my vices telleth me,
And so doo mo, God woot, of us than I.
This made hym with me wood al outrely;
665I nolde noght forbere hym in no cas.
Now wol I seye yow sooth, by Seint Thomas,
Why that I rente out of his book a leef,
For which he smoot me so that I was deef.
He hadde a book that gladly, nyght and day,
670For his desport he wolde rede alway;
He cleped it Valerie and Theofraste,
At which book he lough alwey ful faste.
And eek ther was somtyme a clerk at Rome,
A cardinal, that highte Seint Jerome,
675That made a book agayn Jovinian;
In which book eek ther was Tertulan,
Crisippus, Trotula, and Helowys,
That was abbesse nat fer fro Parys,
And eek the Parables of Salomon,
680Ovides Art, and bookes many on,
And alle thise were bounden in o volume.
And every nyght and day was his custume,
Whan he hadde leyser and vacacioun
From oother worldly occupacioun,
685To reden on this book of wikked wyves.
He knew of hem mo legendes and lyves
Than been of goode wyves in the Bible.
For trusteth wel, it is an impossible
That any clerk wol speke good of wyves,
690But if it be of hooly seintes lyves,
Ne of noon oother womman never the mo.
Who peyntede the leon, tel me who?
By God, if wommen hadde writen stories,
As clerkes han withinne hire oratories,
695They wolde han writen of men moore wikkednesse
Than al the mark of Adam may redresse.
The children of Mercurie and of Venus
Been in hir wirkyng ful contrarius;
Mercurie loveth wysdam and science,
700And Venus loveth ryot and dispence.
And, for hire diverse disposicioun,
Ech falleth in otheres exaltacioun.
And thus, God woot, Mercurie is desolat
In Pisces, wher Venus is exaltat,
705And Venus falleth ther Mercurie is reysed.
Therfore no womman of no clerk is preysed.
The clerk, whan he is oold, and may noght do
Of Venus werkes worth his olde sho,
Thanne sit he doun, and writ in his dotage
710That wommen kan nat kepe hir mariage!
But now to purpos, why I tolde thee
That I was beten for a book, pardee!
Upon a nyght Jankyn, that was oure sire,
Redde on his book, as he sat by the fire,
715Of Eva first, that for hir wikkednesse
Was al mankynde broght to wrecchednesse,
For which that Jhesu Crist hymself was slayn,
That boghte us with his herte blood agayn.
Lo, heere expres of womman may ye fynde
720That womman was the los of al mankynde.
Tho redde he me how Sampson loste his heres:
Slepynge, his lemman kitte it with hir sheres;
Thurgh which treson loste he bothe his yen.
Tho redde he me, if that I shal nat lyen,
725Of Hercules and of his Dianyre,
That caused hym to sette hymself afyre.
No thyng forgat he the care and the wo
That Socrates hadde with his wyves two,
How Xantippa caste pisse upon his heed.
730This sely man sat stille as he were deed;
He wiped his heed, namoore dorste he seyn,
But "Er that thonder stynte, comth a reyn!"
Of Phasipha, that was the queene of Crete,
For shrewednesse, hym thoughte the tale swete;
735Fy! Spek namoore -- it is a grisly thyng --
Of hire horrible lust and hir likyng.
Of Clitermystra, for hire lecherye,
That falsly made hire housbonde for to dye,
He redde it with ful good devocioun.
740He tolde me eek for what occasioun
Amphiorax at Thebes loste his lyf.
Myn housbonde hadde a legende of his wyf,
Eriphilem, that for an ouche of gold
Hath prively unto the Grekes told
745Wher that hir housbonde hidde hym in a place,
For which he hadde at Thebes sory grace.
Of Lyvia tolde he me, and of Lucye:
They bothe made hir housbondes for to dye,
That oon for love, that oother was for hate.
750Lyvia hir housbonde, on an even late,
Empoysoned hath, for that she was his fo;
Lucia, likerous, loved hire housbonde so
That, for he sholde alwey upon hire thynke,
She yaf hym swich a manere love-drynke
755That he was deed er it were by the morwe;
And thus algates housbondes han sorwe.
Thanne tolde he me how oon Latumyus
Compleyned unto his felawe Arrius
That in his gardyn growed swich a tree
760On which he seyde how that his wyves thre
Hanged hemself for herte despitus.
"O leeve brother," quod this Arrius,
"Yif me a plante of thilke blissed tree,
And in my gardyn planted shal it bee."
765Of latter date, of wyves hath he red
That somme han slayn hir housbondes in hir bed,
And lete hir lecchour dighte hire al the nyght,
Whan that the corps lay in the floor upright.
And somme han dryve nayles in hir brayn,
770Whil that they slepte, and thus they had hem slayn.
Somme han hem yeve poysoun in hire drynke.
He spak moore harm than herte may bithynke,
And therwithal he knew of mo proverbes
Than in this world ther growen gras or herbes.
775"Bet is," quod he, "thyn habitacioun
Be with a leon or a foul dragoun,
Than with a womman usynge for to chyde.
Bet is," quod he, "hye in the roof abyde,
Than with an angry wyf doun in the hous;
780They been so wikked and contrarious,
They haten that hir housbondes loven ay."
He seyde, "A womman cast hir shame away,
Whan she cast of hir smok"; and forthermo,
"A fair womman, but she be chaast also,
785Is lyk a gold ryng in a sowes nose."
Who wolde wene, or who wolde suppose,
The wo that in myn herte was, and pyne?
And whan I saugh he wolde nevere fyne
To reden on this cursed book al nyght,
790Al sodeynly thre leves have I plyght
Out of his book, right as he radde, and eke
I with my fest so took hym on the cheke
That in oure fyr he fil bakward adoun.
And he up stirte as dooth a wood leoun,
795And with his fest he smoot me on the heed
That in the floor I lay as I were deed.
And whan he saugh how stille that I lay,
He was agast and wolde han fled his way,
Til atte laste out of my swogh I breyde.
800"O! hastow slayn me, false theef?" I seyde,
"And for my land thus hastow mordred me?
Er I be deed, yet wol I kisse thee."
And neer he cam, and kneled faire adoun,
And seyde, "Deere suster Alisoun,
805As help me God, I shal thee nevere smyte!
That I have doon, it is thyself to wyte.
Foryeve it me, and that I thee biseke!"
And yet eftsoones I hitte hym on the cheke,
And seyde, "Theef, thus muchel am I wreke;
810Now wol I dye, I may no lenger speke."
But atte laste, with muchel care and wo,
We fille acorded by us selven two.
He yaf me al the bridel in myn hond,
To han the governance of hous and lond,
815And of his tonge, and of his hond also;
And made hym brenne his book anon right tho.
And whan that I hadde geten unto me,
By maistrie, al the soveraynetee,
And that he seyde, "Myn owene trewe wyf,
820Do as thee lust the terme of al thy lyf;
Keep thyn honour, and keep eek myn estaat" --
After that day we hadden never debaat.
God helpe me so, I was to hym as kynde
As any wyf from Denmark unto Ynde,
825And also trewe, and so was he to me.
I prey to God, that sit in magestee,
So blesse his soule for his mercy deere.
Now wol I seye my tale, if ye wol heere."
Biholde the wordes bitwene the Somonour and the Frere.
The Frere lough, whan he hadde herd al this;
830"Now dame," quod he, "so have I joye or blis,
This is a long preamble of a tale!"
And whan the Somonour herde the Frere gale,
"Lo," quod the Somonour, "Goddes armes two!
A frere wol entremette hym everemo.
835Lo, goode men, a flye and eek a frere
Wol falle in every dyssh and eek mateere.
What spekestow of preambulacioun?
What! amble, or trotte, or pees, or go sit doun!
Thou lettest oure disport in this manere."
840"Ye, woltow so, sire Somonour?" quod the Frere;
"Now, by my feith I shal, er that I go,
Telle of a somonour swich a tale or two
That alle the folk shal laughen in this place."
"Now elles, Frere, I bishrewe thy face,"
845Quod this Somonour, "and I bishrewe me,
But if I telle tales two or thre
Of freres er I come to Sidyngborne
That I shal make thyn herte for to morne,
For wel I woot thy pacience is gon."
850Oure Hooste cride "Pees! And that anon!"
And seyde, "Lat the womman telle hire tale.
Ye fare as folk that dronken ben of ale.
Do, dame, telle forth youre tale, and that is best."
"Al redy, sire," quod she, "right as yow lest,
855If I have licence of this worthy Frere."
"Yis, dame," quod he, "tel forth, and I wol heere."




Chaucer, Geoffrey. "The Wife of Bath's Prologue." The Works of Geoffrey Chaucer.
A. F. Pollard, Ed.
London: Macmillan and Co., Ltd., 1913. 154-166.




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