The Wife of Bath’s Tale: Prologue

Experience, though none authorityWere in this world, is right enough for meTo speak of woe that is in marriage:For, lordings, since I twelve year was of age,(Thanked be God that is etern on live),Husbands at the church door have I had five,For I so often have y-wedded be,And all were worthy men in their degree.But me was told, not longe time gone isThat sithen Christe went never but onesTo wedding, in the Cane of Galilee,That by that ilk example taught he me,That I not wedded shoulde be but once.Lo, hearken eke a sharp word for the nonce,Beside a welle Jesus, God and man,Spake in reproof of the Samaritan:“Thou hast y-had five husbandes,” said he;“And thilke man, that now hath wedded thee,Is not thine husband:” thus said he certain;What that he meant thereby, I cannot sayn.But that I aske, why the fifthe manWas not husband to the Samaritan?How many might she have in marriage?Yet heard I never tellen in mine ageUpon this number definitioun.Men may divine, and glosen up and down;But well I wot, express without a lie,God bade us for to wax and multiply;That gentle text can I well understand.Eke well I wot, he said, that mine husbandShould leave father and mother, and take to me;But of no number mention made he,Of bigamy or of octogamy;Why then should men speak of it villainy?

Lo here, the wise king Dan Solomon,I trow that he had wives more than one;As would to God it lawful were to meTo be refreshed half so oft as he!What gift of God had he for all his wives?No man hath such, that in this world alive is.God wot, this noble king, as to my wit,The first night had many a merry fitWith each of them, so well was him on live.Blessed be God that I have wedded five!Welcome the sixth whenever that he shall.For since I will not keep me chaste in all,When mine husband is from the world y-gone,Some Christian man shall wedde me anon.For then th’ apostle saith that I am freeTo wed, a’ God’s half, where it liketh me.He saith, that to be wedded is no sin;Better is to be wedded than to brin.What recketh me though folk say villainyOf shrewed Lamech, and his bigamy?I wot well Abraham was a holy man,And Jacob eke, as far as ev’r I can.And each of them had wives more than two;And many another holy man also.Where can ye see, in any manner age,That highe God defended marriageBy word express? I pray you tell it me;Or where commanded he virginity?I wot as well as you, it is no dread,Th’ apostle, when he spake of maidenhead,He said, that precept thereof had he none:Men may counsel a woman to be one,But counseling is no commandement;He put it in our owen judgement.For, hadde God commanded maidenhead,Then had he damned wedding out of dread;And certes, if there were no seed y-sow,Virginity then whereof should it grow?Paul durste not commanden, at the least,A thing of which his Master gave no hest.The dart is set up for virginity;Catch whoso may, who runneth best let see.But this word is not ta’en of every wight,But there as God will give it of his might.I wot well that th’ apostle was a maid,But natheless, although he wrote and said,He would that every wight were such as he,All is but counsel to virginity.And, since to be a wife he gave me leaveOf indulgence, so is it no repreveTo wedde me, if that my make should die,Without exception of bigamy;All were it good no woman for to touch(He meant as in his bed or in his couch),For peril is both fire and tow t’assembleYe know what this example may resemble.This is all and some, he held virginityMore profit than wedding in frailty:(Frailty clepe I, but if that he and sheWould lead their lives all in chastity), unlessI grant it well, I have of none envyWho maidenhead prefer to bigamy;It liketh them t’ be clean in body and ghost;Of mine estate I will not make a boast.

For, well ye know, a lord in his householdHath not every vessel all of gold;Some are of tree, and do their lord service.God calleth folk to him in sundry wise,And each one hath of God a proper gift,Some this, some that, as liketh him to shift.Virginity is great perfection,And continence eke with devotion:But Christ, that of perfection is the well,Bade not every wight he should go sellAll that he had, and give it to the poor,And in such wise follow him and his lore:He spake to them that would live perfectly, —And, lordings, by your leave, that am not I;I will bestow the flower of mine ageIn th’ acts and in the fruits of marriage.Tell me also, to what conclusionWere members made of generation,And of so perfect wise a wight y-wrought?Trust me right well, they were not made for nought.Glose whoso will, and say both up and down,That they were made for the purgatiounOf urine, and of other thinges smale,And eke to know a female from a male:And for none other cause? say ye no?Experience wot well it is not so.So that the clerkes be not with me wroth,I say this, that they were made for both,That is to say, for office, and for easeOf engendrure, there we God not displease. for pleasureWhy should men elles in their bookes set,That man shall yield unto his wife her debt?Now wherewith should he make his payement,If he us’d not his silly instrument?Then were they made upon a creatureTo purge urine, and eke for engendrure.But I say not that every wight is hold,That hath such harness as I to you told,To go and use them in engendrure;Then should men take of chastity no cure.Christ was a maid, and shapen as a man,And many a saint, since that this world began,Yet ever liv’d in perfect chastity.I will not vie with no virginity.Let them with bread of pured wheat be fed,And let us wives eat our barley bread.And yet with barley bread, Mark tell us can,Our Lord Jesus refreshed many a man.In such estate as God hath cleped us,I’ll persevere, I am not precious,In wifehood I will use mine instrumentAs freely as my Maker hath it sent.If I be dangerous God give me sorrow;Mine husband shall it have, both eve and morrow,When that him list come forth and pay his debt.A husband will I have, I will no let,Which shall be both my debtor and my thrall,And have his tribulation withalUpon his flesh, while that I am his wife.I have the power during all my lifeUpon his proper body, and not he;Right thus th’ apostle told it unto me,And bade our husbands for to love us well;All this sentence me liketh every deal.

Up start the Pardoner, and that anon;“Now, Dame,” quoth he, “by God and by Saint John,Ye are a noble preacher in this case.I was about to wed a wife, alas!What? should I bie it on my flesh so dear?Yet had I lever wed no wife this year.”“Abide,” quoth she; “my tale is not begunNay, thou shalt drinken of another tunEre that I go, shall savour worse than ale.And when that I have told thee forth my taleOf tribulation in marriage,Of which I am expert in all mine age,(This is to say, myself hath been the whip),Then mayest thou choose whether thou wilt sipOf thilke tunne, that I now shall broach.Beware of it, ere thou too nigh approach,For I shall tell examples more than ten:Whoso will not beware by other men,By him shall other men corrected be:These same wordes writeth Ptolemy;Read in his Almagest, and take it there.”“Dame, I would pray you, if your will it were,”Saide this Pardoner, “as ye began,Tell forth your tale, and spare for no man,And teach us younge men of your practique.”“Gladly,” quoth she, “since that it may you like.But that I pray to all this company,If that I speak after my fantasy,To take nought agrief what I may say;For mine intent is only for to play.

As ever may I drinke wine or aleI shall say sooth; the husbands that I hadThree of them were good, and two were badThe three were goode men, and rich, and oldUnnethes mighte they the statute holdIn which that they were bounden unto me. obey the lawYet wot well what I mean of this, pardie.As God me help, I laugh when that I thinkHow piteously at night I made them swink,But, by my fay, I told of it no store:They had me giv’n their land and their treasor, of no accountMe needed not do longer diligenceTo win their love, or do them reverence.They loved me so well, by God above,That I tolde no dainty of their love.A wise woman will busy her ever-in-oneTo get their love, where that she hath none.But, since I had them wholly in my hand,And that they had me given all their land,Why should I take keep them for to please,But it were for my profit, or mine ease?I set them so a-worke, by my fay,That many a night they sange, well-away!The bacon was not fetched for them, I trow,That some men have in Essex at Dunmow.I govern’d them so well after my law,That each of them full blissful was and faweTo bringe me gay thinges from the fair.They were full glad when that I spake them fair,For, God it wot, I chid them spiteously.Now hearken how I bare me properly.

Ye wise wives, that can understand,Thus should ye speak, and bear them wrong on hand,For half so boldely can there no man believe falselySwearen and lien as a woman can.(I say not this by wives that be wise,But if it be when they them misadvise.)A wise wife, if that she can her good,Shall beare them on hand the cow is wood,And take witness of her owen maidOf their assent: but hearken how I said.“Sir olde kaynard, is this thine array?Why is my neigheboure’s wife so gay?She is honour’d over all where she go’th,I sit at home, I have no thrifty cloth.What dost thou at my neigheboure’s house?Is she so fair? art thou so amorous?What rown’st thou with our maid? benedicite,Sir olde lechour, let thy japes be.And if I have a gossip, or a friend(Withoute guilt), thou chidest as a fiend,If that I walk or play unto his house.Thou comest home as drunken as a mouse,And preachest on thy bench, with evil prefe:Thou say’st to me, it is a great mischiefTo wed a poore woman, for costage:And if that she be rich, of high parage;Then say’st thou, that it is a tormentryTo suffer her pride and melancholy.And if that she be fair, thou very knave,Thou say’st that every holour will her have;She may no while in chastity abide,That is assailed upon every side.Thou say’st some folk desire us for richess,Some for our shape, and some for our fairness,And some, for she can either sing or dance,And some for gentiless and dalliance,Some for her handes and her armes smale:Thus goes all to the devil, by thy tale;Thou say’st, men may not keep a castle wallThat may be so assailed over all.And if that she be foul, thou say’st that sheCoveteth every man that she may see;For as a spaniel she will on him leap,Till she may finde some man her to cheap;And none so grey goose goes there in the lake,(So say’st thou) that will be without a make.And say’st, it is a hard thing for to weldA thing that no man will, his thankes, held.Thus say’st thou, lorel, when thou go’st to bed,And that no wise man needeth for to wed,Nor no man that intendeth unto heaven.With wilde thunder dint and fiery levenMote thy wicked necke be to-broke.Thou say’st, that dropping houses, and eke smoke,And chiding wives, make men to fleeOut of their owne house; ah! ben’dicite,What aileth such an old man for to chide?Thou say’st, we wives will our vices hide,Till we be fast, and then we will them shew.Well may that be a proverb of a shrew.Thou say’st, that oxen, asses, horses, hounds,They be assayed at diverse stounds,Basons and lavers, ere that men them buy, seasonsSpoones, stooles, and all such husbandry,And so be pots, and clothes, and array,But folk of wives make none assay,Till they be wedded, — olde dotard shrew! —And then, say’st thou, we will our vices shew.Thou say’st also, that it displeaseth me,But if that thou wilt praise my beauty,And but thou pore alway upon my face,And call me faire dame in every place;And but thou make a feast on thilke dayThat I was born, and make me fresh and gay;And but thou do to my norice honour,And to my chamberere within my bow’r,And to my father’s folk, and mine allies;Thus sayest thou, old barrel full of lies.And yet also of our prentice Jenkin,For his crisp hair, shining as gold so fine,And for he squireth me both up and down,Yet hast thou caught a false suspicioun:I will him not, though thou wert dead to-morrow.But tell me this, why hidest thou, with sorrow,The keyes of thy chest away from me?It is my good as well as thine, pardie.What, think’st to make an idiot of our dame?Now, by that lord that called is Saint Jame,Thou shalt not both, although that thou wert wood,Be master of my body, and my good,The one thou shalt forego, maugre thine eyen.What helpeth it of me t’inquire and spyen?I trow thou wouldest lock me in thy chest.Thou shouldest say, ‘Fair wife, go where thee lest;Take your disport; I will believe no tales;I know you for a true wife, Dame Ales.’We love no man, that taketh keep or chargeWhere that we go; we will be at our large.Of alle men most blessed may he be,The wise astrologer Dan Ptolemy,That saith this proverb in his Almagest:‘Of alle men his wisdom is highest,That recketh not who hath the world in hand.By this proverb thou shalt well understand,Have thou enough, what thar thee reck or careHow merrily that other folkes fare?For certes, olde dotard, by your leave,Ye shall have [pleasure] right enough at eve.He is too great a niggard that will werneA man to light a candle at his lantern;He shall have never the less light, pardie.Have thou enough, thee thar not plaine theeThou say’st also, if that we make us gayWith clothing and with precious array,That it is peril of our chastity.And yet, — with sorrow! — thou enforcest thee,And say’st these words in the apostle’s name:‘In habit made with chastity and shameYe women shall apparel you,’ quoth he,‘And not in tressed hair and gay perrie,As pearles, nor with gold, nor clothes rich.’After thy text nor after thy rubrichI will not work as muchel as a gnat.Thou say’st also, I walk out like a cat;For whoso woulde singe the catte’s skinThen will the catte well dwell in her inn;And if the catte’s skin be sleek and gay,She will not dwell in house half a day,But forth she will, ere any day be daw’d,To shew her skin, and go a caterwaw’d.This is to say, if I be gay, sir shrew,I will run out, my borel for to shew.Sir olde fool, what helpeth thee to spyen?Though thou pray Argus with his hundred eyenTo be my wardecorps, as he can bestIn faith he shall not keep me, but me lest:Yet could I make his beard, so may I the.

“Thou sayest eke, that there be thinges three,Which thinges greatly trouble all this earth,And that no wighte may endure the ferth:O lefe sir shrew, may Jesus short thy life.Yet preachest thou, and say’st, a hateful wifeY-reckon’d is for one of these mischances.Be there none other manner resemblancesThat ye may liken your parables unto, comparisonBut if a silly wife be one of tho?Thou likenest a woman’s love to hell;To barren land where water may not dwell.Thou likenest it also to wild fire;The more it burns, the more it hath desireTo consume every thing that burnt will be.Thou sayest, right as wormes shend a tree,Right so a wife destroyeth her husbond;This know they well that be to wives bond.”

Lordings, right thus, as ye have understand,Bare I stiffly mine old husbands on hand,That thus they saiden in their drunkenness;And all was false, but that I took witnessOn Jenkin, and upon my niece also.O Lord! the pain I did them, and the woe,‘Full guilteless, by Godde’s sweete pine;For as a horse I coulde bite and whine;I coulde plain, an’ I was in the guilt,Or elles oftentime I had been spiltWhoso first cometh to the nilll, first grint;I plained first, so was our war y-stint.They were full glad to excuse them full bliveOf things that they never aguilt their live.livesOf wenches would I beare them on hand,When that for sickness scarcely might they stand,Yet tickled I his hearte for that heWeen’d that I had of him so great cherte:I swore that all my walking out by nightWas for to espy wenches that he dight:Under that colour had I many a mirth.For all such wit is given us at birth;Deceit, weeping, and spinning, God doth giveTo women kindly, while that they may live.And thus of one thing I may vaunte me,At th’ end I had the better in each degree,By sleight, or force, or by some manner thing,As by continual murmur or grudging,Namely a-bed, there hadde they mischance,There would I chide, and do them no pleasance:I would no longer in the bed abide,If that I felt his arm over my side,Till he had made his ransom unto me,Then would I suffer him do his nicety.And therefore every man this tale I tell,Win whoso may, for all is for to sell;With empty hand men may no hawkes lure;For winning would I all his will endure,And make me a feigned appetite,And yet in bacon had I never delight:That made me that I ever would them chide.For, though the Pope had sitten them beside,I would not spare them at their owen board,For, by my troth, I quit them word for wordAs help me very God omnipotent,Though I right now should make my testamentI owe them not a word, that is not quitI brought it so aboute by my wit,That they must give it up, as for the bestOr elles had we never been in rest.For, though he looked as a wood lion,Yet should he fail of his conclusion.Then would I say, “Now, goode lefe tak keepHow meekly looketh Wilken oure sheep!Come near, my spouse, and let me ba thy cheekYe shoulde be all patient and meek,And have a sweet y-spiced conscience,Since ye so preach of Jobe’s patience.Suffer alway, since ye so well can preach,And but ye do, certain we shall you teachThat it is fair to have a wife in peace.One of us two must bowe doubteless:And since a man is more reasonableThan woman is, ye must be suff’rable.What aileth you to grudge thus and groan?Is it for ye would have my [love] alone?Why, take it all: lo, have it every deal,Peter! shrew you but ye love it wellFor if I woulde sell my belle chose,I coulde walk as fresh as is a rose,But I will keep it for your owen tooth.Ye be to blame, by God, I say you sooth.”Such manner wordes hadde we on hand.

Now will I speaken of my fourth husband.My fourthe husband was a revellour;This is to say, he had a paramour,And I was young and full of ragerie,Stubborn and strong, and jolly as a pie.Then could I dance to a harpe smale,And sing, y-wis, as any nightingale,When I had drunk a draught of sweete wine.Metellius, the foule churl, the swine,That with a staff bereft his wife of lifeFor she drank wine, though I had been his wife,Never should he have daunted me from drink:And, after wine, of Venus most I think.For all so sure as cold engenders hail,A liquorish mouth must have a liquorish tail.In woman vinolent is no defence,This knowe lechours by experience.But, lord Christ, when that it rememb’reth meUpon my youth, and on my jollity,It tickleth me about mine hearte-root;Unto this day it doth mine hearte boot,That I have had my world as in my time.But age, alas! that all will envenime,Hath me bereft my beauty and my pith:Let go; farewell; the devil go therewith.The flour is gon, there is no more to tell,The bran, as I best may, now must I sell.But yet to be right merry will I fand.Now forth to tell you of my fourth husband,I say, I in my heart had great despite,That he of any other had delight;But he was quit, by God and by Saint Joce:I made for him of the same wood a cross;Not of my body in no foul mannere,But certainly I made folk such cheer,That in his owen grease I made him fryFor anger, and for very jealousy.By God, in earth I was his purgatory,For which I hope his soul may be in glory.For, God it wot, he sat full oft and sung,When that his shoe full bitterly him wrung.There was no wight, save God and he, that wistIn many wise how sore I did him twist.He died when I came from Jerusalem,And lies in grave under the roode beam:Although his tomb is not so curiousAs was the sepulchre of Darius,Which that Apelles wrought so subtlely.It is but waste to bury them preciously.Let him fare well, God give his soule rest,He is now in his grave and in his chest.

Now of my fifthe husband will I tell:God let his soul never come into hell.And yet was he to me the moste shrew;That feel I on my ribbes all by rew,And ever shall, until mine ending day.But in our bed he was so fresh and gay,And therewithal so well he could me glose,When that he woulde have my belle chose,Though he had beaten me on every bone,Yet could he win again my love anon.I trow, I lov’d him better, for that heWas of his love so dangerous to me.We women have, if that I shall not lie,In this matter a quainte fantasy.Whatever thing we may not lightly have,Thereafter will we cry all day and crave.Forbid us thing, and that desire we;Press on us fast, and thenne will we flee.With danger utter we all our chaffare;Great press at market maketh deare ware,And too great cheap is held at little price;This knoweth every woman that is wise.My fifthe husband, God his soule bless,Which that I took for love and no richess,He some time was a clerk of Oxenford,And had left school, and went at home to boardWith my gossip, dwelling in oure town:God have her soul, her name was Alisoun.She knew my heart, and all my privity,Bet than our parish priest, so may I the.To her betrayed I my counsel all;For had my husband pissed on a wall,Or done a thing that should have cost his life,To her, and to another worthy wife,And to my niece, which that I loved well,I would have told his counsel every deal.And so I did full often, God it wot,That made his face full often red and hotFor very shame, and blam’d himself, for heHad told to me so great a privity.And so befell that ones in a Lent(So oftentimes I to my gossip went,For ever yet I loved to be gay,And for to walk in March, April, and MayFrom house to house, to heare sundry tales),That Jenkin clerk, and my gossip, Dame Ales,And I myself, into the fieldes went.Mine husband was at London all that Lent;I had the better leisure for to play,And for to see, and eke for to be seyOf lusty folk; what wist I where my graceWas shapen for to be, or in what place?Therefore made I my visitationsTo vigilies, and to processions,To preachings eke, and to these pilgrimages,To plays of miracles, and marriages,And weared upon me gay scarlet gites.These wormes, nor these mothes, nor these mitesOn my apparel frett them never a dealAnd know’st thou why? for they were used well.Now will I telle forth what happen’d me:I say, that in the fieldes walked we,Till truely we had such dalliance,This clerk and I, that of my purveyanceI spake to him, and told him how that he,If I were widow, shoulde wedde me.For certainly, I say for no bobance,Yet was I never without purveyanceOf marriage, nor of other thinges eke:I hold a mouse’s wit not worth a leek,That hath but one hole for to starte to,And if that faile, then is all y-do.(My dame taughte me that subtilty);And eke I said, I mette of him all night,He would have slain me, as I lay upright,And all my bed was full of very blood;But yet I hop’d that he should do me good;For blood betoken’d gold, as me was taught.And all was false, I dream’d of him right naught,But as I follow’d aye my dame’s lore,But now, sir, let me see, what shall I sayn?Aha! by God, I have my tale again.When that my fourthe husband was on bier,I wept algate and made a sorry cheer,As wives must, for it is the usage;And with my kerchief covered my visage;But, for I was provided with a make,I wept but little, that I undertakeTo churche was mine husband borne a-morrowWith neighebours that for him made sorrow,And Jenkin, oure clerk, was one of tho:As help me God, when that I saw him goAfter the bier, methought he had a pairOf legges and of feet so clean and fair,That all my heart I gave unto his hold.He was, I trow, a twenty winter old,And I was forty, if I shall say sooth,But yet I had always a colte’s tooth.Gat-toothed I was, and that became me well,I had the print of Sainte Venus’ seal.And fair, and rich, and young, and well begone:For certes I am all venerianIn feeling, and my heart is martian;Venus me gave my lust and liquorishness,Mine ascendant was Taure, and Mars therein:Alas, alas, that ever love was sin!I follow’d aye mine inclinationBy virtue of my constellation:That made me that I coulde not withdrawMy chamber of Venus from a good fellaw.And also in another privy place.For God so wisly be my salvation,I loved never by discretion,But ever follow’d mine own appetite,All were he short, or long, or black, or white,I took no keep, so that he liked me,What should I say? but that at the month’s endThis jolly clerk Jenkin, that was so hend,Had wedded me with great solemnity,And to him gave I all the land and feeThat ever was me given therebefore:But afterward repented me full sore.He woulde suffer nothing of my list.By God, he smote me ones with his fist,For that I rent out of his book a leaf,That of the stroke mine eare wax’d all deaf.Stubborn I was, as is a lioness,And of my tongue a very jangleress,And walk I would, as I had done beforn,From house to house, although he had it sworn:For which he oftentimes woulde preach prevent itAnd me of olde Roman gestes teachHow that Sulpitius Gallus left his wifeAnd her forsook for term of all hisFor nought but open-headed he her sayLooking out at his door upon a day.Another Roman told he me by name,That, for his wife was at a summer gameWithout his knowing, he forsook her eke.And then would he upon his Bible seekThat ilke proverb of Ecclesiast,Where he commandeth, and forbiddeth fast,Man shall not suffer his wife go roll about.Then would he say right thus withoute doubt:“Whoso that buildeth his house all of sallows,And pricketh his blind horse over the fallows,And suff’reth his wife to go seeke hallows,Is worthy to be hanged on the gallows.”But all for nought; I sette not a hawOf his proverbs, nor of his olde saw;Nor would I not of him corrected be.I hate them that my vices telle me,And so do more of us (God wot) than I.This made him wood with me all utterly;I woulde not forbear him in no case.Now will I say you sooth, by Saint Thomas,Why that I rent out of his book a leaf,For which he smote me, so that I was deaf.He had a book, that gladly night and dayFor his disport he would it read alway;He call’d it Valerie, and Theophrast,And with that book he laugh’d alway full fast.And eke there was a clerk sometime at Rome,A cardinal, that highte Saint Jerome,That made a book against Jovinian,Which book was there; and eke Tertullian,Chrysippus, Trotula, and Heloise,That was an abbess not far from Paris;And eke the Parables of Solomon,Ovide’s Art, and bourdes many one;And alle these were bound in one volume.And every night and day was his custume(When he had leisure and vacationFrom other worldly occupation)To readen in this book of wicked wives.He knew of them more legends and more livesThan be of goodde wives in the Bible.For, trust me well, it is an impossibleThat any clerk will speake good of wives,(But if it be of holy saintes’ lives)Nor of none other woman never the mo’.Who painted the lion, tell it me, who?By God, if women haddde written stories,As clerkes have within their oratories,They would have writ of men more wickednessThan all the mark of Adam may redressThe children of Mercury and of Venus,Be in their working full contrarious.Mercury loveth wisdom and science,And Venus loveth riot and dispence.And for their diverse disposition,Each falls in other’s exaltation.As thus, God wot, Mercury is desolateIn Pisces, where Venus is exaltate,And Venus falls where Mercury is raised.Therefore no woman by no clerk is praised.The clerk, when he is old, and may not doOf Venus’ works not worth his olde shoe,Then sits he down, and writes in his dotage,That women cannot keep their marriage.But now to purpose, why I tolde theeThat I was beaten for a book, pardie.

Upon a night Jenkin, that was our sire,Read on his book, as he sat by the fire,Of Eva first, that for her wickednessWas all mankind brought into wretchedness,For which that Jesus Christ himself was slain,That bought us with his hearte-blood again.Lo here express of women may ye findThat woman was the loss of all mankind.Then read he me how Samson lost his hairsSleeping, his leman cut them with her shears,Through whiche treason lost he both his eyen.Then read he me, if that I shall not lien,Of Hercules, and of his Dejanire,That caused him to set himself on fire.Nothing forgot he of the care and woeThat Socrates had with his wives two;How Xantippe cast piss upon his head.This silly man sat still, as he were dead,He wip’d his head, and no more durst he sayn,But, “Ere the thunder stint there cometh rain.”Of Phasiphae, that was queen of Crete,For shrewedness he thought the tale sweet.Fy, speak no more, it is a grisly thing,Of her horrible lust and her liking.Of Clytemnestra, for her lecheryThat falsely made her husband for to die,He read it with full good devotion.He told me eke, for what occasionAmphiorax at Thebes lost his life:My husband had a legend of his wifeEryphile, that for an ouche of goldHad privily unto the Greekes told,Where that her husband hid him in a place,For which he had at Thebes sorry grace.Of Luna told he me, and of Lucie;They bothe made their husbands for to die,That one for love, that other was for hate.Luna her husband on an ev’ning lateEmpoison’d had, for that she was his foe:Lucia liquorish lov’d her husband so,That, for he should always upon her think,She gave him such a manner love-drink,That he was dead before it were the morrow:And thus algates husbands hadde sorrow.Then told he me how one LatumeusComplained to his fellow AriusThat in his garden growed such a tree,On which he said how that his wives threeHanged themselves for heart dispiteous.“O leve brother,” quoth this Arius,“Give me a plant of thilke blessed tree,And in my garden planted shall it be.”Of later date of wives hath he read,That some have slain their husbands in their bed,And let their lechour dight them all the night,While that the corpse lay on the floor upright:And some have driven nails into their brain,While that they slept, and thus they have them slain:Some have them given poison in their drink:He spake more harm than hearte may bethink.And therewithal he knew of more proverbs,Than in this world there groweth grass or herbs.“Better (quoth he) thine habitationBe with a lion, or a foul dragon,Than with a woman using for to chide.Better (quoth he) high in the roof abide,Than with an angry woman in the house,They be so wicked and contrarious:They hate that their husbands loven aye.”He said, “A woman cast her shame awayWhen she cast off her smock;” and farthermo’,“A fair woman, but she be chaste also,Is like a gold ring in a sowe’s nose.Who coulde ween, or who coulde supposeThe woe that in mine heart was, and the pine?And when I saw that he would never fineTo readen on this cursed book all night,All suddenly three leaves have I plightOut of his book, right as he read, and ekeI with my fist so took him on the cheek,That in our fire he backward fell adown.And he up start, as doth a wood lion,And with his fist he smote me on the head,That on the floor I lay as I were dead.And when he saw how still that there I lay,He was aghast, and would have fled away,Till at the last out of my swoon I braid,“Oh, hast thou slain me, thou false thief?” I said“And for my land thus hast thou murder’d me?Ere I be dead, yet will I kisse thee.”And near he came, and kneeled fair adown,And saide”, “Deare sister Alisoun,As help me God, I shall thee never smite:That I have done it is thyself to wite,Forgive it me, and that I thee beseek.”And yet eftsoons I hit him on the cheek,And saidde, “Thief, thus much am I awreak.Now will I die, I may no longer speak.”

But at the last, with muche care and woeWe fell accorded by ourselves two:He gave me all the bridle in mine handTo have the governance of house and land,And of his tongue, and of his hand also.I made him burn his book anon right tho.And when that I had gotten unto meBy mast’ry all the sovereignety,And that he said, “Mine owen true wife,Do as thee list, the term of all thy life,Keep thine honour, and eke keep mine estate;After that day we never had debate.God help me so, I was to him as kindAs any wife from Denmark unto Ind,And also true, and so was he to me:I pray to God that sits in majestySo bless his soule, for his mercy dear.Now will I say my tale, if ye will hear. —

The Friar laugh’d when he had heard all this:“Now, Dame,” quoth he, “so have I joy and bliss,This is a long preamble of a tale.”And when the Sompnour heard the Friar gale,“Lo,” quoth this Sompnour, “Godde’s armes two,A friar will intermete him evermo’:Lo, goode men, a fly and eke a frereWill fall in ev’ry dish and eke mattere.What speak’st thou of perambulation?What? amble or trot; or peace, or go sit down:Thou lettest our disport in this mattere.”“Yea, wilt thou so, Sir Sompnour?” quoth the Frere;“Now by my faith I shall, ere that I go,Tell of a Sompnour such a tale or two,That all the folk shall laughen in this place.”“Now do, else, Friar, I beshrew thy face,”Quoth this Sompnour; “and I beshrewe me,But if I telle tales two or threeOf friars, ere I come to Sittingbourne,That I shall make thine hearte for to mourn:For well I wot thy patience is gone.”Our Hoste cried, “Peace, and that anon;”And saide, “Let the woman tell her tale.Ye fare as folk that drunken be of ale.“All ready, sir,” quoth she, “right as you lest,If I have licence of this worthy Frere.”“Yes, Dame,” quoth he, “tell forth, and I will hear.”

“I hold a mouse’s wit not worth a leek,That hath but one hole for to starte to”A very old proverb in French, German, and Latin.