And so befell that as he cast his eye Among the wortes on a boterflie, He was ware of this fox that lay ful low. Nothing ne list him thanne for to crow, But cried anon cok, cok, and up he sterte, As man that was affraied in his herte. For naturelly a beest desireth flee Fro his contrarie, if he may it see, Though he never erst had seen it with his eye.

This Chaunteclere, whan he gan him espie,
He wold han fled, but that the fox anon
Said; "Gentil sire, alas! what wol ye don?
Be ye affraid of me that am your frend?
Now certes, I were werse than any fend,
If I to you wold harme or vilanie.
I n'am not come your conseil to espie.
But trewely the cause of my coming
Was only for to herken how ye sing:
For trewely ye han as mery a steven,
As any angel hath, that is in Heven;
Therwith ye han of musike more feling,
Than had Boece, or any that can sing.
My lord your fader (God his soule blesse)
And eke your moder of hire gentillesse
Han in myn hous yben, to my gret ese:
And certes, sire, ful fain wold I you plese.
But for men speke of singing, I wol sey,
So mote I brouken wel min eyen twey,
Save you, ne herd I never man so sing,
As did your fader in the morwening.
. Certes it was of herte all that he song.
And for to make his vois the more strong,
He wol so peine him, that with both his eyen
He muste winke, so loud he wolde crien,
And stonden on his tiptoon therwithal,
And stretchen forth his necke long and smal.
And eke he was of swiche discretion,
That ther n'as no man in no region,
That him in song or wisdom mighte passe.
I have wel red in dan Burnel the asse
Among his vers, how that ther was a cok,
That, for a preestes sone yave him a knok.
Upon his leg, while he was yonge and nice,
He made him for to lese his benefice.
But certain ther is no comparison
Betwix the wisdom and discretion
Of youre fader, and his subtilitee.
Now singeth, sire, for Seinte Charitee,
Let see, can ye your fader contrefete?"
This Chaunteclere his winges gan to bete,
As man that coud not his treson espie,
So was he ravished with his flaterie.

Alas! ye lordes, many a false flatour
Is in your court, and many a losengeour.
That pleseth you wel more by my faith,
Than he that sothfastnesse unto you saith.
Redeth Ecclesiast of flaterie,

Beth ware, ye lordes, of hire trecherie.
This Chaunteclere stood high upon his toos
Stretching his necke, and held his eyen cloos,
And gan to crowen loude for the nones:
And dan Russel the fox stert up at ones,
And by the garget hente Chaunteclere,
And on his back toward the wood him bere.
For yet ne was ther no man that him sued.
O destinee, that maist not ben eschued!
Alas, that Chaunteclere flew fro the bemes!
Alas, his wif ne raughte not of dremes!
And on a Friday fell all this meschance.
O Venus that art goddesse of plesance,

Sin that thy servant was this Chaunteclere,
And in thy service did all his powere,
More for delit, than world to multiplie,
Why wolt thou suffre him on thy day to die?
O Gaufride, dere maister soverain,
That, whan thy worthy king Richard was slaiu
With shot, complainedest his deth so sore,
Why ne had I now thy science and thy lore,
The Friday for to chiden, as did ye?
(For on a Friday sothly slain was he)
Than wold I shew you how that I coud plaine,
For Chauntecleres drede, and for his paine.
Certes swiche cry, ne lamentation
N'as never of ladies made, whan Ilion
Was wonne, and Pirrus with his streite swerd
Whan he had hent king Priam by the berd,
And slain him, (as saith us Eneidos)

As maden all the hennes in the cloos,

Whan they had seen of Chaunteclere the sight.
But soverainly dame Pertelote shright,
Ful louder than did Hasdruballes wif,
Whan that hire husbond hadde ylost his lif,
And that the Romaines hadden brent Cartage,
She was so ful of turment and of rage,
That wilfully into the fire she sterte,
And brent hireselven with a stedfast herte.

O woful hennes, right so criden ye,
As, whan that Nero brente the citee
Of Rome, cried the senatoures wives,
For that hir husbonds losten alle bir lives;
Withouten gilt this Nero hath hem slain.

Now wol I turne unto my tale agen.
The sely widewe, and hire doughtren two,
Herden thise hennes crie and maken, wo,
And out at the dores sterten they anon,
And saw the fox toward the wode is gon,
And bare upon his back the cok away:
They criden, out! "Harow and wala wa!
A ha the fox!" and him they ran,
And eke with staves many another man;
Ran Colle our dogge, and Talbot, and Gerlond,
And Malkin, with hire distaf in hire hond;
Ran cow and calf, and eke the very hogges
So fered were for berking of the dogges,
And shouting of the men and women eke,
They ronnen so, hem thought hir hertes breke.
They yelleden as fendes don in Helle:
The dokes crieden as men wold hem quelle:
The gees for fere flewen over the trees,
Out of the hive came the swarme of bees,
So hidous was the noise, a benedicite!
Certes he Jakke Straw, and his meinie,
Ne maden never shoutes half so shrille,
Whan that they wolden any Fleming kille,
As thilke day was made upon the fox.
Of bras they broughten beemes and of box,
Of horn and bone, in which they blew and pouped,
And therwithal they shriked and they houped;
It semed, as the Heven shulde falle.

Now, good men, I pray you herkeneth alle;
Lo, how fortune turneth sodenly
The hope and pride eke of hire enemy.
This cok that lay upon the foxes bake,
In all his drede, unto the fox he spake,
And sayde; "Sire, if that I were as ye,
Yet wolde I sayn, (as wisly God helpe me)
Turneth agein, ye proude cherles alle;
A veray pestilence upon you falle.
Now am I come unto the wodes side,
Maugre your hed, the cok shal here abide

I wol him ete in faith, and that anon."

The fox answered, "In faith it shal be don:"
And as he spake the word, al sodenly
The cok brake from his mouth deliverly,
And high upon a tree he flew anon.

And whan the fox saw that the cok was gon,
"Alas!" quod he, "o Chaunteclere, alas!
I have" (quod he) "ydon to you trespas,
In as moche as I maked you aferd,

Whan I you hente, and brought out of your yerd;
But, sire, I did it in no wikke entente:
Come doun, and I shal tell you what I mente.
I shal say sothe to you, God helpe me so."

"Nay then," quod he, "I shrewe us bothe two.
And first I shrewe myself, bothe blood and bones,
If thou begile me oftener than ones.
Thou shalt no more thurgh thy flaterie
Do me to sing and winken with myn eye.
For he that winketh, whan he shulde see,
Al wilfully, God let him never the." [chance,
"Nay," quod the fox, "but God yeve him mes-
That is so indiscrete of governance,
That jangleth, whan that he shuld hold his pees."
Lo, which it is for to be reccheles
And negligent, and trust on flaterie.
But ye that holden this tale a folie,
As of a fox, or of a cok, or hen,.
Taketh the moralitee therof, good men.

For Seint Poule sayth, "that all that writen is,
To our doctrine it is ywritten ywis.
Taketh the fruit, and let the chaf be stille."

Now, goode God, if that it be thy wille,
As saith my lord, so make us all good men;
And bring us to thy highe blisse. Amen.
"Sire Nonnes Preest," our Hoste sayd anon,
"Yblessed be thy breche and every ston;
This was a mery tale of Chaunteclere.
But by my trouthe, if thou were seculere,
Thou woldest ben a tredefoule a right:
For if thou have corage as thou hast might,
Thee were nede of hennes, as I wene,
Ye mo than seven times seventene.
Se, whiche braunes hath this gentil preest,
So gret a necke, and swiche a large breest!
He loketh as a sparhauk with his eyen;
'Him'nedeth not his colour for to dien
With Brasil, ne with grain of Portingale.
"But, sire, faire falle you for your tale."
And after that, he with ful mery chere
Sayd to another, as ye shuln here.

..........

THE SECOND NONNES TALE.

THE ministre and the norice unto vices,
Which that men clepe in English idelnesse,
That porter at the gate is of delices,

To eschuen, and by hire contrary hire oppresse,
That is to sain, by leful besinesse,
Wel oughte we to don al our entente,
Lest that the fend thurgh idelnesse us hente.
For he that with his thousand cordes slie
Continuelly us waiteth to beclappe,
Whan he may man in idelnesse espie,
He can so lightly cacche him in a trappe,
Til that a man be hent right by the lappe,
He n'is not ware the fend hath him in hond:
Wel ought us werche, and idelaesse withstond.

And though men dradden never for to die,
Yet see men wel by reson douteles,
That idelnesse is rote of slogardie,
Of which ther never cometh no good encrees,
And see that slouthe holdeth hem in a lees,
Only to slepe, and for to ete and drinke,
And to devouren all that other swinke.

And for to put us from swiche idelnesse,
That cause is of so gret confusion,
I have here don my feithful besinesse
After the legende in translation
Right of thy glorious lif and passion,
Thou with thy gerlond, wrought of rose and lilie,
Thee mene I, maid and martir Seinte Cecilie.

And thou, that arte floure of virgines all,
Of whom that Bernard list so wel to write, .
To thee at my beginning first I call,
Thou comfort of us wretches, do me endite
Thy maidens deth, that wan thurgh hire merite
The eternal lif, and over the fend victorie,
As man may after reden in hire storie.

Thou maide and mother, doughter of thy son,
Thou wel of mercy, sinful soules cure,
In whom that God of bountee chees to won;
Thou humble and high over every creature,
Thou nobledest so fer forth our nature,
That no desdaine the maker had of kinde
His son in blood and flesh to clothe and winde

Within the cloystre blisful of thy sides,
Toke mannes shape the eternal love and pees,
That of the trine compas Lord and gide is,
Whom erthe, and see, and Heven out of relees
Ay herien; and thou, virgine wemmeles,
Bare of thy body (and dweltest maiden pure)
The creatour of every creature.

Assembled is in thee magnificence
With mercy, goodnesse, and with swiche pitee,
That thou, that art the sonne of excellence,
Not only helpest hem that praien thee,
But oftentime of thy benignitee

Ful freely, or that men thin helpe beseche,
Thou goest beforne, and art hir lives leche.

Now helpe, thou meke and blisful faire maide,
Me flemed wretch, in this desert of galle;
Thinke on the woman Cananee, that saide
That whelpes eten som of the cromes alle
That from hir lordes table ben yfalle;
And though that I, unworthy son of Eve,
Be sinful, yet accepteth my beleve.

And for that feith is ded withouten werkes,
So for to werken yeve me wit and space,
That I be quit from thennes that most derke is;
O thou, that art so faire and ful of grace,
Be thou min advocat in that high place,
Ther as withouten ende is songe Osanne,
Thou Cristes mother, doughter dere of Anne.

And of thy light my soule in prison light,
That troubled is by the contagion
Of my body, and also by the wight
Of erthly lust, and false affection:
O haven of refute, o salvation

Of hem that beu in sorwe and in distresse,
Now help, for to my werk, I wol me dresse.

Yet pray I you that reden that I write,
Forgeve me, that I do no diligence
This ilke storie subtilly to endite.

For both have I the wordes and sentence
Of him, that at the seintes reverence
The storie wrote, and folowed hire legende,
And pray you that ye wol my werk amende.

First wol I you the name of Seinte Cecilie
Expoune, as men may in hire storie see:
It is to sayn in English, Hevens lilie,
For pure chastnesse of virginitee,
Or for she whitnesse had of honestee,
And grene of conscience, and of good fame
The swate savour, Lilie was hire name.

Or Cecilie is to sayn, the way to blinde,
For she ensample was by good teching;
Or elles Cecilie, as I writen finde,
Is joined by a maner conjoining
Of Heven and Lia, and here in figuring
The Heven is set for thought of holinesse,
And Lia, for hire lasting besinesse.

Cecilie may eke be sayd in this manere,
Wanting of blindnesse, for hire grete light
Of sapience, and for hire thewes clere.
Or elles lo, this maidens name bright

Of Heven and Leos cometh, for which by right
Men might hire wel the Heven of peple calle,
Ensample of good and wise werkes alle:

For Leos peple in English is to say;
And right as men may in the Heven see
The Sonne and Mone, and sterres every way,
Right so men gostly, in this maiden free
Sawen of faith the magnanimitee,
And eke the clerenesse hole of sapience,
And sondry werkes, bright of excellence.

And right so as thise philosophres write,
That Heven is swift and round, and eke brenning,
Right so was faire Cecilie the white
Ful swift and besy in every good werking,
And round and hole in good persevering,
And brenning ever in charitee ful bright:
Now have I you declared what she hight.
This maiden bright Cecile, as hire lif saith,
Was come of Romaines and of noble kind,
And from hire cradel fostred in the faith
Of Crist, and bare his Gospel in hire mind:
She never cesed, as I writen find,
Of hire prayere, and God to love and drede,
Beseching him to kepe hire maidenhede.

And whan this maiden shuld until a man
Ywedded be, that was ful yonge of age,
Which that ycleped was Valerian,
And day was comen of hire marriage,
She ful devout and humble in hire corage,
Under hire robe of gold, that sat ful faire,
Had next hire flesh yclad hire in an haire.

And while that the organs maden melodie,
To God alone thus in hire hert song she;
"O Lord, my soule and eke my body gie
Unwemmed, lest that I confounded be."
And for his love that died upon the tree,
Every second or thridde day she fast,
Ay bidding in hire orisons ful fast.

The night came, and to bedde must she gon
With hire husbond, as it is the manere,
And prively she said to him anon;
"O swete and wel beloved spouse dere,
Ther is a conseil, and ye wol it here,
Which that right fayn I wold unto you saie,
So that ye swere, ye wol it not bewraie."

Valerian gan fast unto hire swere,
That for no cas, ne thing that might be,
He shulde never to non bewraien here;
And than at erst thus to him saide she;
"I have an angel which that loveth me,
That with gret love wher so I wake or slepe,
Is redy ay my body for to kepe;

"And if that he me felen out of drede,
That ye me touch or love in vilanie,
He right anon wol sleen you with the dede,
And in your youthe thus ye shulden die.
And if that ye in clene love me gie,

He wol you love as me, for your clenenesse,
And shew to you his joye and his brightnesse."

This Valerian, corrected as God wold, Answerd again, " If I shal trusten thee, Let me that angel seen, and him behold; And if that it a veray angel be,

Than wol I don as thou hast prayed me;
And if thou love another man forsothe
Right with this swerd than wol I slee you bothe."

Cecile answered anon right in this wise;
"If that you list, the angel shul ye see,
So that ye trow on Crist, and you baptise;
Goth forth to Via Apia" (quod she)
"That fro this toun ne stant but miles three,
And to the poure folkes that ther dwellen
Say hem right thus, as that I shal you tellen.

"Tell hem, that I Cecile you to hem sent
To shewen yon the good Urban the old,
For secree nedes, and for good entent;
And whan that ye Seint Urban an behold,
Tell him the wordes which I to you told;
Aud whan that he hath purged you fro sinne,
Than shal ye seen that angel er ye twinne."

Valerian is to the place gon,

And right as he was taught by hire lerning,
He fond this holy old Urban anon
Among the seintes buriels louting:
And be anon withouten tarying
Did his message, and whan that he it tolde,
Urban for joye his hondes gan upholde.

The teres from his eyen let he falle;
"Almighty Lord, o Jesu Crist," quod he,
"Sower of chast conseil, hierde of us alle,
The fruit of thilke seed of chastitee
That thou hast sow in Cecile, take to thee:
Lo, like a besy bee withouten gile
Thee serveth ay thin owen thral Cecile.

"That shal I tell," quod she, "or that I go.
Right as a man hath sapiences three,
Memorie, engine, and intellect also,
So in o being of divinitee

Three persones mowen ther righte wel be."
Tho gan she him ful besily to preche
Of Cristes sonde, and of his peines teche,

And many pointes of his passion;

How Goddes sone in this world was withhold
To don mankiude pleine remission,
That was ybound in sinne and cares cold.
All this thing she unto Tiburce told,
And after this Tiburce in good entent,
With Valerian to pope Urban he went,

That thanked God, and with glad herte and light
He cristened him, and made him in that place
Parfite in his lerning and Goddes knight.
And after this Tiburce gat swiche grace,
That every day he saw in time and space
The angel of God, and every maner bone
That he God axed, it was sped ful sone.

It were ful hard by ordre for to sain
How many wonders Jesus for hem wrought.
But at the last, to tellen short and plain,
The sergeaunts of the toun of Rome hem sought,
And hem before Almache the prefect brought,
Which hem apposed, and knew all hire entent,
And to the image of Jupiter hem sent;

And said; "Who so wol nought do sacrifice,
Swap of his hed, this is my sentence here."
Anon thise martyrs, that I you devise,
On Maximus, that was an officere
Of the prefectes, and his corniculere,
Hem hent, and whan he forth the seintes lad,
Himself he wept for pitee that he had.

Whan Maximus had herd the seintes lore,
He gate him of the turmentoures leve,
And lad hem to his hous withouten more;
And with hir preching, or that it were eve,
They gonnen fro the turmentours to reve,
And fro Maxime, and fro his folk eche on
The false faith, to trowe in God alone.

Cecilie came, whan it was waxen night,
With preestes, that hem cristened all yfere;
And afterward, whan day was waxen light,
Cecilie hem said with a 'ful stedfast chere;
"Now, Cristes owen knightes leve and dere,
Caste all away the werkes of derkenesse,
And armeth you in armes of brightnesse,

"Ye han forsoth ydon a gret bataille;
Your cours is don, your faith han ye conserved; -
Goth to the croune of lif that may not faille;,
The right ful juge, which that ye han served,
Shal yeve it you, as ye han it deserved."
And whan this thing was said, as I devise,
Men ledde hem forth to don the sacrifice.

But whan they weren to the place ybrought,
To tellen shortly the conclusioun,
They n'olde encense, ne sacrifice right nought,
But on hir knees they setten hem adoun,
With humble herte and sad devotioun,
And losten bothe hir hedes in the place;
Hir soules wenten to the king of grace.

This Maximus, that saw this thing betide,
With pitous teres told it anon right,
That he hir snules saw to Heven glide
With angels, ful of clerenesse and of light;
And with his word converted many a wight.
For which Almachius did him to-bete
With whip of led, til he his lif gan lete.

Cecilie him take, and buried him anon
By Tiburce and Valerian softely,
Within hir burying place, under the ston.
And after this Almachius hastily
Bad his ministers fetchen openly
Cecile, so that she might in his presence
Don sacrifice, and Jupiter encense.

But they converted at hire wise lore
Wepten ful sore, and yaven ful credence
Unto hire word, and crieden more and more;
'Crist, Goddes sone, withouten difference
Is veray God, this is all our sentence,
That hath so good a servant him to serve:
Thus with o vois we trowen though we sterve."

Almachius, that herd of this doing, Bad fetchen Cecile, that he might hire see: And alderfirst, lo, this was his axing; "What maner woman arte thou?" quod he, "I am a gentilwoman born," quod she. "I axe thee," quod he, " though it thee greve, Of thy religion and of thy beleve."

Why then began your question folily," Quod she, "that woldest two answers conclude In o demand? ye axen lewedly," Almache answerd to that similitude, "Of whennes cometh thin answering so rude?" "Of whennes?"(quod she, whan that she was freined) "Of conscience, and of good faith unfeined."

Almachius said; "Ne takest thou non hede
Of my power?" and she him answerd this;
"Your might" (quod she) "ful litel is to drede;
For every mortal mannes power n'is
But like a bladder full of wind ywis:
For with a nedles point, whan it is blow,
May all the bost of it be laid ful low."
"Ful wrongfully begonnest thou," (quod he)
"And yet in wrong is al thy perseverance:
Wost thou not how our mighty princes free
Have thus commanded and made ordinance,
That every cristen wight shal han penance
But if that he his Cristendome withseye,
And gon al quite, if he wol it reneye?"
"Your princes erren, as your nobley doth,"
Quod tho Cecile, "and with a wood sentence
Ye make us gilty, and it is not soth:
For ye that knowen wel our innocence,
For as moche as we don ay reverence
To Crist, and for we bere a cristen name,
Ye put on us a crime and eke a blame,