Fables ancient and modern translated into verse from Homer, Ovid, Boccace, & Chaucer, with orginal poems, by Mr. Dryden.

THE TALE OF THE Nun's Priest.

As it was written by GEFFREY CHAUCER.

The COCK and the FOX.

The Moral whereof is, To embrace True Friends, and to be∣ware of Flatterers.

A Pore wedowe, somedele istept in age, War whilom dwelling in a poore cotage, Beside a groue, stonding in a dale. This wedowe, of which I tell you my tale, Sens the day that she was last a wife, In pacience led a full simple life: For litell was her catell and her rent; By husbondry, of such as God her sent, She fond her self, and eke her daughters two; Thre large sowes had she, and no mo; Thre kine, and eke a shepe that hight Mall; Well sooty was her boure, and eke her hall, In which she ete many a slender mole, Of poinant sauce ne knew she never a dole, Ne deinty morcell passed through her throte, Her diet was accordaunt to her cote: Replection ne made her never fike, A temperate diete was her Phisike,

And exercise, and hertes suffisaunce; The gout let her nothing for to daunce, Ne apoplexy shent nat her heed, No wine ne dranke she, white ne reed: Her bord was most serued with white and black, Milk and brounbreed; in which she found no lack; Seind bakon, and somtime an eye or twey, For she was as it were a maner dey.

A yerde she had enclosed all about With stickes, and dry diched without, In which she had a cocke hight Chaunteclere, In all the land, of crowing nas his pere; His voice was merier than the mery orgon On masse daies, that in the churches gon; Well sikerer was his crowing in his loge, Than is a clocke, or in an abbey an orloge; By nature he knew ech assencion Of the equinoctiall in the toun; For when degrees xv. were assended, Than crew he, that it might not be amended.

His come was redder than the fine corall, And battelled, as it had be a castell wall; His bill was blacke, as any iet it shone, Like asure were his legges and his tone; His nailes whiter than the lilly floure, And like the burned gold was his colour.

This gentel cocke had in governaunce Seuen hennes, to done his plesaunce, Which were his susters and his paramours, And wonder like to him, as of colours; Of which the fayrest hewed in the throte Was called faire Damosell Pertelote: He fethered her a hundred times a day, And she him pleseth all that euer she may: Curteis she was discrete, and debonaire, And compeneable, and bare her self so faire Sens the time that she was seuenight old, That truelich, she hath the hert in hold Of Chaunteclere, looking in euery lith, He loueth her so, that: well was him therwith; But such a joy it was to here him sing, Whan the bright sunne gan to spring, In swete acord, my lefe is ferre in lond.

For that time, as I haue vnderstond, Beestes and birdes could speke and sing.

And it so fell, that in the dawning, As Chaunteclere, among his wiues all, Sat on his perch, that was in the hall, And next him sat his faire Pertelote, This Chaunteclere gan to grone in his throte, As a man in his dreme is drenched sore; And whan that Pertelote thus herd him rore,

She was agast, and said, hert dere, What eyleth you to grone in this manere? Ye be a very sleper, sie for shame.

And he answered thus: by God madame, I pray you that ye take it not in grefe: By God I mette, I was in such mischiefe Right now, that yet mine hert is sore afright: Now God (qd he) my sweuen retch aright; And kepe my body out of foule prisoun, Me mette, that I romed vp and doun Within our yerd, where I saw a beest Was like an hound, and would haue made areest Vpon my body, and would haue had me deed. His colour was betwixt yelow and reed; And tipped was his taile, and both his eeres, With black, vnlike the remnant of his heeres: His snout small, with glowing eyen twey; Yet for his loke, almost for feare I dey. This causeth me my groning doutlesse.

Away (qd. she) sie for shame, hertlesse: Alas (qd. she) for by God aboue, Now haue ye lost my hert and all my loue. I cannot loue a coward, by my faith: For certes, what so any woman saith, We all desire, if that it might be, To haue husbondes hardie, wise and fre, And secrete, and no nigard, ne no fole; Ne him that is agast of euery tole; Ne none auantour, by that God aboue: How durst ye say for shame vnto your loue, That any sweuen might make you aferd? Haue you no mannes hert, and haue a berd? Alas, and con ye be aferd of sweuenis? Nothing but vanite, God wotte in sweuen is.

Swens ben engendred of repleccions, And of fume, and of commpleccions; When humours ben to habundant in a wight, Certes this dreme which ye haue met to night; I tell you trouth, ye may trust me: Cometh of superfluite, and reed colour parde; Which cause folke to drede in her dremes, Of arowes, and of fire with reed lemes, Of reed bestes that woll hem bite, Of conteke and of waspes great and lite; Right as the humour of melancoly Causeth many a man in slepe to cry, For sere of great bulles and beres blake; Or els that blake diuels wol hem take.

Of other humours could I tell also, That werke a man in slepe much wo: But I wol passe as lightly as I can.

Lo, Caton, which that was so wise a man,

Said he not thus, do not force of dremes.

Now sir (qd. she) when we flie fro the bemes, For Goddes loue, as taketh some laxatine, Vp perill of my soule, and of my life, I counsaile you the best, I woll not lye, That both of colour and of melancolie Ye purge you; and for ye shul not tary, Though in this toune be none apotecary: I shall my selfe two herbes techen you, That shall be for your heale and for your prow: And in our yerde, tho herbes shall I finde, The which haue her propertie by kinde, To purge you bineth, and eke aboue: Foryet not this; for goddes owne loue: Ye be right colerike of complexion, Where the sunne is in his ascention, Ne finde you not replete of humours hote: For if ye do, I dare well lay a grote, That ye shall haue a feuer terciane, Or els an ague that may be your bane. A day or two ye shall haue digestiues Of wormes, or ye take your laxatiues, Of laurel, centorie, and of femetere, Or els of elder-beries; that growe there, Of Catapuce, or of gaitres bereis, Of yue, growing in our yerde, that merie is. Pluck em vp as they growe, and eat hem in: Be mery husbond, for your father kin, Dredeth no dreme, I can say no more.

Madame (qd. he) gramercy of your lore. But nathelesse, as touching dan Caton, That of wisdome hath so great renoun, Though he bade no dremes for to drede. By God, men may in olde bookes rede, Of many a man, more of auctoritie Than euer Caton was, so mote I thee. That all the reuers saith of his sentence, And haue well founde by experience, That dremes ben significations, As wel of ioye; as of tribulacions, That folke endure, in this life present: There nedeth to make of this none argument: The very prefe sheweth it in dede. One of the greatest auctours that men rede, Saith thus: that whilom two felowes went On pilgrimage, in full good entent, And haped so, they came into a toun, Where as there was such congregacioun Of people, and eke of straite herbigage, That they ne founde, as much as a cotage, In which they both might yloged be, Wherefore they mote of necessitie

As for that night, departe company, And eche of hem goeth to his hostelry, And tooke his lodging as it would fall.

That one of hem was lodged in a stall, Farre in a yerde, with oxen of the plough. That other man was lodged well ynough, As was his auenture, or his fortune, That vs gouerneth all, as in comune.

And so befel, long er it were day This man mette in his bedde, there as he lay, How that his felowe gan vpon him call, And said (alas) for in an oxes stall This night shal I be murdered, there I lie: Now helpe me dere brother er I die, In al haste, come to me (he said.)

This man out of his slepe for feare abraid: But when he was waked of his slepe, He turned him, and tooke of this no kepe, Him thought his dreme was but a vanite: Thus twise in his slepe dremed he.

And at third time yet his felawe, Cam as him thouzt, and said I now am slawe: Beholde my bloody woundes, depe and wide, Arise vp early, in the morow tide, And at the west gate of the toun (qd. he) A carte full of dong there shalt thou see, In which my body is hid ful priuely, Do thou that carte arest boldly. My golde caused my deth, soth to saine, And told him euery point how he was slaine With a full petous face, pale of hewe: And trust wel, his dreme he found right trewe; For on the morow, as sone as it was day, To his felowes Inne he toke the way: And when that he came to the oxes stall, After his felowe he began to call.

The hosteler answerde him anon, And said sir, your felowe is gon, As sone as it was day, he went out of the toun:

This man gan fall in suspeccion, Remembring of his dremes that he mette, And forth he goeth, no lenger would he lette, Vnto the west gate of the toun, and fonde A dong carte, as it were to dong londe, That was arayed in the same wise As ye haue herd the deed man deuise: And with hardie herte he gan to cry Vengeaunce and iustice of this felonie: My felowe murdred is this same night, And in this carte he lyeth, gaping vpright. I cry out on the ministers (qd. he) That should kepe and rule this citie:

Harowe alas, here lyeth my felowe slain.

What should I more of this tale saine? The people out start, and cast the cart to ground, And in the middle of the dong they found The deed man that murdred was al newe.

O blissful God, that art so good and trewe, Lo, how thou bewrayest murdre alway. Murdre wol out, that see we day by day: Murdre is so waltsome and abhominable To God, that so iuste is and reasonable, That he ne wol it suffre healed to be: Though it abide a yere, two or three, Murdre wol out, this is my conclusion.

And right anon, the ministers of the toun Haue hent the carter, and sore him pyned, And eke the hosteler so sore engyned, That they beknow her wickednesse anone, And were honged by the necke bone.

Here may ye see that dremes ben to drede. And certes in the same lefe I rede, Right in the next chapter after this, I gabbe not, so haue I ioye and blis.

Two men would haue passed ouer these For certaine causes, into a ferre countre, If the winde ne had be contrarie, That made him in a citie to tarrie, That stoode full mery vpon an hauen side: But on a day, ayenst an euen tide. The winde gan chaunge, and blewe as hem lest, Ioly and glad they went to rest, And cast hem full erly for to saile, But herken to one man fell a great meruaile.

To one of hem in sleping as he lay, He met a wonders dreme again the day: Him thought a man stoode by his beddes side, And him commaunded that he should abide, And said him thus, If thou to morow wende, Thou shalt be dreint, my tale is at an ende.

He woke, and tolde his felowe what he mette, And praied him his voyage for to lette, As for that day, he prayd him for to abide.

His felowe that lay by his beddes side, Gan for to laugh, and scorned him full faste: No dreme (qd. he) may so my herte agaste, That I woll let for to do my thinges: I set not a strawe for thy dreminges, For sweuens ben but vanities and iapes: Men meten all day of oules and of apes, And eke of many a mase therewithall, And dremen of a thing that neuer was, ne shall. But sithe I see that thou wolt here abide, And thus slouthe wilfully thy tide,

God wote it ruethme, and haue good day, And thus he toke his leue, and went his way.

But er he had half his course ysailed, I not why, ne what mischaunce it ayled, But casuelly the shippes botome to rent, And ship and men under the water went In sight of other shippes beside, That with hem sailed at the same tide.

And therefore, fair Pertelot so dere, By such ensamples olde maist thou lere That no man should be to rechelesse Of dremes, for I say thee doutlesse, That many a dreme full sore is for to drede.

Lo, in the life of Saint Kenelme, we rede, That was Kenelphus sonne, the noble king Of Mereturike, how Kenelm mette a thing, A little er he were murdred on a day: His murder in this vision he say: His norice him expouned it euery dele His sweuen, and badde him kepe him wele Fro trayson, but he was but seuen yere olde, And therefore little tale he thereof tolde Of any dreme, so holy was his herte: By God, I had rather than my sherte, That ye haue herde his legend, as haue I.

Dame Pertelot, I say to you truely, Macrobius, that writeth the auision In Afrike, of the worthy Scipion, Affirmeth dremes, and saith that they been Warning of things that we after seen.

And ferthermore I pray you loketh well In the olde Testament, of Daniel, If he helde dremes for vanitie.

Rede eke of Joseph, and there shal ye se Wonders ben somtime, but I say nat all, Warning of things that after shall fall.

Lo of Egypt the king, that hight Pharao, His baker and his butteler also, Wheder they felt none effect indremes, Who so woll seke actes in sundrie remes, May rede of dremes a wonder thing,

Lo Cresus, which was of Lide king, Mette he not that he sat vpon a tree, Which signified he should honged bee.

Lo Andromeda, that was Hector's Wife, That day that Hector should lese his life, She dremed in the same night beforne, How the life of Hector should belorne If that day he went vnto battaile: She warned him, but it might not auaile: He went for to fight neuerthelesse, But he was slaine anone of Achilles.

But that tale is to long to tell, And eke it is nigh day, I may nat dwell.

Shortly I say, as for conclusion, That I shall haue of this auision Aduersite: and I say farthermore, That I ne tell of laxatiues no store, For they ben venemous, I were it wele: I hem defie, I loue hem neuer a dele.

But let vs speke of mirthe, and stinte all this, Madame Pertelot, so haue I blis, Of one thing God hath me sent large grace: For when I see the beautie of your face, Ye ben so scarlet reed about your eyen, It maketh al my drede for to dien. For also siker, as In principio Mulier est hominis confusio.

Madame, the sentence of this latin is Woman is mannes ioye and his blis: For when I fele on night your soft side, Albeit that I may not on you ride, For that our parche is made so narowe alas, I am so full of ioye and of solas That I defie both sweuen and dreme: And with that word he flewe doun fro the beme, For it was day, and eke the hennes all: And with a chuck he gan hem for to call, For he had found a corne lay in the yerde: Royall he was, and no more aferde: He feddred Pertelot twentie time, And tradde her eke as oft er it was prime. He loketh as it were a grimme lioun, And on his toes he romed vp and doun. Him deened not to set his fete to the ground: He chucked, whan he had a corne yfound, And to him than ran his wiues all.

As royal as a prince in his hall, Leaue I this Chaunteclere in this pasture: And after woll I tell of his aduenture.

When the moneth in which the world began, That hight March that God first made man Was complete, and passed were also, Sith March began twenty daies and two, Befill that Chaunteclere in all his pride, His seuen wiues walking him beside, Cast vp his eyen to the bright sunne, That in the signe of Taurus was yrunne Fourty degrees and one; and somwhat more: He knew by kinde, and by none other lore, That it was prime, and crew with a blissful steuen: The sunne he saide is clombe vp to the heuen Fourty degrees and one, and somwhat more ywis, Madame Pertelot, my worldes blisse,

Herken how these blisful birdes sing, And see the fresh floures how they gan spring: Full is mine hert of reuel, and solas. But sodainly him fell a sorowful caas: For euer the latter ende of ioy is wo, God wote, worldly ioye is soone ago: And if a rethore coud faire endite, He in a chronicle might safely write As for a soueraine notabilitie.

Nowe euery wise man herken to me, This story is al so true I vndertake, As is the booke of Launcelot du lake, That women holden in full great reuerence: Now woll I turne ayen to my sentence.

A col fox (ful of sleight and iniquitie) That in the groue had wonned yeres three, By high imagination aforne caste, The same night, through the hedge braste Into the yerde there Chaunteclere the faire Was wont and eke his wiues to repaire: And in a bedde of wortes still he lay, Til it was passed vndren of the day, Waiting his time, on Chaunteclere to fall: As gladly done these homicides all, That in a waite lie to murdre men.

O false murdrer, rucking in thy den: O new Scariot, and new Gauilion, O False dissimuler, O greke Sinon That broughtest Troy vtterly to sorowe, O Chaunteclere, accursed be the morowe, That thou in thy yerde flew from the bemes: Thou were ful wel warned by thy dremes, That ilke day was perillous to thee. But what that God afore wote, must nedes bee, After the opinion of certain clerkes, Witnesse of him, that any clerke is, That in schole is great altercation In this matter, and great disputacion And hath ben of an hundred thousand men, But I ne can nat boulte it to the bren, As can the holy doctour saint Austin, Or Boece, or the bishop Bradwardin, Whether that goddes worthy fore weting, Straineth me nedely to do a thing: (Nedely clepe I simple necessite) Or if the free choice be graunted me To do the same thing, or do it nought, Though God forewote it, or it was wrought: Or of his weting straineth neuer a dele, But by necessitie condicionele, I wol not haue to done of such mattere, My tale is of a cocke, as ye shall here,

That toke his counsaile of his wife with sorow, To walk in the yerde vpon the morow, That he had met the dreme, as I you tolde. Womens counsailes ben oft ful colde: Womens counsaile brought vs first to wo, And made Adam fro Paradise to go, There as he was ful mery, and well at ease. But for I not whom I might displease, If I counsaile of wemen should blame, Passe ouer, I said it in my game. Redeth authors, where they trete of such mattere, And what they say of women, ye mowe here. These ben the cockes wordes, ond not mine; I can of women no harm deuine.

Faire in the sonde to bathe her merely, Lieth Pertelot and all her susters by, Ayenst the sunne, and Chaunteclere so fre, Song merier than the Marmaide in the se, For Phisiologus, saith vtterly, How that they singen well and merely.

And so befell, as he cast his eye Among the wortes on a butterflie, He was ware of the foxe that laie full lowe, Nothing than list him for to crowe, But cried cocke, cocke, and vp he stert, As one that was afraide in his hert. For naturally beastes desireth to flie Fro her contrarie, if he may it see, Tho he neuer erst had seen it with his eye. This Chaunteclere, when he gan him espie, He would haue fled, but the foxe anone Said: gentle sir, alas, what wol ye done? Be ye afrayd of me, that am your frende?

Now certes I were worse than a fende, If I to you would harme or villanie: I am not come your counsaile to espie. But truely the cause of my comming Was only to here howe ye sing: For sothly ye haue as mery a steuen, As any angel hath, that is in heuen, Therewith ye haue of musicke more feling, Than had Boece or any that can sing. My lorde your father, God his soule blesse, And eke your mother of her gentlenesse Haue in my house ben, to my great case: And certes sir, full faine would I you please. But for men speken of singing, I woll sey, So mote I broken wel mine eyen twey, Saue you, ne herde I neuer man so sing, As did your father in the morning. Certes it was of herte, all that he song, And for to make his voice more strong,

He would so paine him, that with both his eyen He must winke, so loude he must crien, And stonden on his tiptoes therwithall, And stretch forth his neck, long and small. And eke he was of such discrecion, That there was no man in no region, That him in songe or wisdome might passe. I haue wel redde dan Burnel the aue Among his verses, how that there was a Cocke, For that a priestes sonne yaue him a knocke Vpon his legges, while he was yong and nice, He made him for to lese his benefice. But certaine there is no comparison Betwixt the wisedome and discrecion Of your father, and of his subtiltie. Now singeth sir, for saint charitie, Let se, can ye your father counterfete?

This Chaunteclere his winges gan to bete, As a man that could not his treson aspie, So was he rauished with his flaterie.

Alas ye lordes, many a false flatterour Is in your courte, and many a false lesingour, That please you wel more by my faith, Than he that sothfastnesse vnto you saith. Redeth Ecclesiast of slatterie, Beware ye lordes of her trecherie. This Chaunteclere stode hie vpon his toos Stretchin his necke, and held his eyen cloos, And gan to crowe loud for the nones: And dan Russel the Foxe start vp at ones, And by the gorget hent Chaunteclere, And on his backe, toward the wood him bere. For yet was there no man that him sued.

O destinie, that maist not be eschued. Alas that Chaunteclere flewe fro the bemes, Alas his wife rought not of dremes: And on a Friday fell all this mischaunce.

O Venus, that art goddesse of pleasaunce, Sithens that thy seruant was this Chaunteclere, And in thy seruice did all his powere, More for delite than the worlde to multiplie, Why woldst thou suffer him on thy dai to die?

O Gaulfride, dere maister, soueraine, That whan that worthy king Richard was slain With shot, complaindst his deth so sore, Why ne had I now thy science and thy lore, The Friday for to chide, as did ye: For on a Friday shortly slaine was he. Than wold I shew you how that I coud plaine, For Chaunteclere's drede and for his paine.

Certes such cry ne lamentacion Nas neuer of Ladies made, whan that Ilion

Was won, and Pirrus with his bright swerde Whan he hent King Priam by the berde, And slough him, (as saieth Eneidos) As made all the hennes in the cloos, Whan they had loste of Chaunteclere the sight: But souerainly dame Pertelot shright Well louder than did Hasdruballes wife, Whan that her husbond hath lost his life, And that the Romaines had brent Cartage. She was so full of torment and of rage, That wilfully into the fire she sterte, And brent her self with a stedfast herte.

O wofull hennes, right so cryed he, As whan that Nero brent the citie Of Rome, cried the Senatours wiues, For that her husbondes should lese her liues, Withouten gilte Nero hath hem slaine.

Now wol I turne to my tale againe. The sely widowe, and her doughters two Herde the hennes crie and make wo, And at the dore sterte they anon, And saw the foxe towarde the wood gon, And bare vpon his backe the Cocke away: And cried out harow and well away: Aha the Foxe, and after hem they ran, And eke with staues many another man: Ran, Coll our dogge, Talbot, and eke garlonde, And Malkin, with her distasse in her honde: Ran Cowe and Calfe, and eke the verie hogges, For they so sore aferde were of the dogges, And shouting of men and of women eke, They ran so, her hert thought to breke. They yellen as fendes do in hell: The Duckes cried as men would them quell: The Geese for feare flewe ouer the trees, Out of the Hiues came the swarme of Bees, So hidous was the noise, a benedicite: Certes Jacke Strawe, ne his meine, Ne made neuer shoutes halfe so shrill, Whan that they would any Flemming kill, As that daie was made vpon the Foxe. Of brasse they blewe the trompes and of boxe, Of horne and bone, in which they blew and pouped And therwith they shriked and shouted: It seemed as though heauen should fall, Now good men, I pray you herken all.

Lo how fortune tourneth sodainly The hope and the pride of her enemy. This Cocke that laie vpon the Foxe backe, In all his drede vnto the Foxe he spake, And saied, sir, if I were as ye, Yet should I saie, as wise God help me,

Tourneth ayen, ye proud churles all: A very pestilence ypon you fall. Now am I come vnto this woods side, Maugre your hed, the Cocke shall here abide, I woll him eate-in faith, and that anon. The Foxe answred, in faith it shal be don: And as he spake the word, all 〈◊〉〈◊〉 This Cock brake from his mouth deliuerly, And high upon a tree he flewe anon: And whan the Foxe saw that he was gon,

Alas (qd. he) O Chaunteclcre, alas, I haue (qd. he) doe to you trespas, In as much as I made you aferde, Whan I you hent, and brought out of your yerde. But sir, I did it not in no wicked entent: Come doun, and I shal tel you what I ment, I shall you say sothe, God helpe me so.

Nay than (qd. he) I shrewe vs both two, And first I shrewe my self, both blood and bones, If thou begyle me ofter than ones: Thou shalt no more with thy flaterie Doe me sing with a winking eye. For he that winketh when he should see, All wilfully, God let him neuer thee. Naie (qd. the foxe) but God yeue him mischance, That is so indiscrete of gouernaunce That iangleth, whan that he should haue pees.

Lo, such it is for to be recheles And negligent, and trust on flatterie. But ye that holde this tale a lie As of a foxe, of a Cocke, and of a Hen, Taketh the moralitie good men For Saint Poule saieth, all that written is, To our doctrine it is written ywis. Taketh the fruit, and let the chaffe be still.

Now good God, if that it be thy will, As saieth my Lorde, so make vs all good men: And bring vs to the high blesse. Amen.