The Prioress's Tale
Here biginneth the Prioresses Tale.
Ther was in Asie, in a greet citee,
Amonges cristen folk, a Iewerye,
Sustened by a lord of that contree
For foule usure and lucre of vilanye,
Hateful to Crist and to his companye;
And thurgh the strete men mighte ryde or wende,
For it was free, and open at either ende.
A litel scole of cristen folk ther stood
Doun at the ferther ende, in which ther were
Children an heep, y-comen of cristen blood,
That lerned in that scole yeer by yere
Swich maner doctrine as men used there,
This is to seyn, to singen and to rede,
As smale children doon in hir childhede.
Among thise children was a widwes sone,
A litel clergeon, seven yeer of age,
That day by day to scole was his wone,
And eek also, wher-as he saugh thimage
Of Cristes moder, hadde he in usage,
As him was taught, to knele adoun and seye
His Ave Marie, as he goth by the weye.
Thus hath this widwe hir litel sone y-taught
Our blisful lady, Cristes moder dere,
To worshipe ay, and he forgat it naught,
For sely child wol alday sone lere;
But ay, whan I remembre on this matere,
Seint Nicholas stant ever in my presence,
For he so yong to Crist did reverence.
This litel child, his litel book lerninge,
As he sat in the scole at his prymer,
He Alma redemptoris herde singe,
As children lerned hir antiphoner;
And, as he dorste, he drough him ner and ner,
And herkned ay the wordes and the note,
Til he the firste vers coude al by rote.
Noght wiste he what this Latin was to seye,
For he so yong and tendre was of age;
But on a day his felaw gan he preye
Texpounden him this song in his langage,
Or telle him why this song was in usage;
This preyde he him to construe and declare
Ful ofte tyme upon his knowes bare.
His felaw, which that elder was than he,
Answerde him thus: ‘this song, I have herd seye,
Was maked of our blisful lady free,
Hir to salue, and eek hir for to preye
To been our help and socour whan we deye.
I can no more expounde in this matere;
I lerne song, I can but smal grammere.’
‘And is this song maked in reverence
Of Cristes moder?’ seyde this innocent;
‘Now certes, I wol do my diligence
To conne it al, er Cristemasse is went;
Though that I for my prymer shal be shent,
And shal be beten thryës in an houre,
I wol it conne, our lady for to honoure.’
His felaw taughte him homward prively,
Fro day to day, til he coude it by rote,
And than he song it wel and boldely
Fro word to word, acording with the note;
Twyës a day it passed thurgh his throte,
To scoleward and homward whan he wente;
On Cristes moder set was his entente.
As I have seyd, thurgh-out the Iewerye
This litel child, as he cam to and fro,
Ful merily than wolde he singe, and crye
O Alma redemptoris ever-mo.
The swetnes hath his herte perced so
Of Cristes moder, that, to hir to preye,
He can nat stinte of singing by the weye.
Our firste fo, the serpent Sathanas,
That hath in Iewes herte his waspes nest,
Up swal, and seide, ‘o Hebraik peple, allas!
Is this to yow a thing that is honest,
That swich a boy shal walken as him lest
In your despyt, and singe of swich sentence,
Which is agayn your lawes reverence?’
Fro thennes forth the Iewes han conspyred
This innocent out of this world to chace;
An homicyde ther-to han they hyred,
That in an aley hadde a privee place;
And as the child gan for-by for to pace,
This cursed Iew him hente and heeld him faste,
And kitte his throte, and in a pit him caste.
I seye that in a wardrobe they him threwe
Wher-as these Iewes purgen hir entraille.
O cursed folk of Herodes al newe,
What may your yvel entente yow availle?
Mordre wol out, certein, it wol nat faille,
And namely ther thonour of god shal sprede,
The blood out cryeth on your cursed dede.
‘O martir, souded to virginitee,
Now maystou singen, folwing ever in oon
The whyte lamb celestial,’ quod she,
‘Of which the grete evangelist, seint Iohn,
In Pathmos wroot, which seith that they that goon
Biforn this lamb, and singe a song al newe,
That never, fleshly, wommen they ne knewe.’
This povre widwe awaiteth al that night
After hir litel child, but he cam noght;
For which, as sone as it was dayes light,
With face pale of drede and bisy thoght,
She hath at scole and elles-wher him soght,
Til finally she gan so fer espye
That he last seyn was in the Iewerye.
With modres pitee in hir brest enclosed,
She gooth, as she were half out of hir minde,
To every place wher she hath supposed
By lyklihede hir litel child to finde;
And ever on Cristes moder meke and kinde
She cryde, and atte laste thus she wroghte,
Among the cursed Iewes she him soghte.
She frayneth and she preyeth pitously
To every Iew that dwelte in thilke place,
To telle hir, if hir child wente oght for-by.
They seyde, ‘nay’; but Iesu, of his grace,
Yaf in hir thought, inwith a litel space,
That in that place after hir sone she cryde,
Wher he was casten in a pit bisyde.
O grete god, that parfournest thy laude
By mouth of innocents, lo heer thy might!
This gemme of chastitee, this emeraude,
And eek of martirdom the ruby bright,
Ther he with throte y-corven lay upright,
He Alma redemptoris gan to singe
So loude, that al the place gan to ringe.
The Cristen folk, that thurgh the strete wente,
In coomen, for to wondre up-on this thing,
And hastily they for the provost sente;
He cam anon with-outen tarying,
And herieth Crist that is of heven king,
And eek his moder, honour of mankinde,
And after that, the Iewes leet he binde,
This child with pitous lamentacioun
Up-taken was, singing his song alway;
And with honour of greet processioun
They carien him un-to the nexte abbay.
His moder swowning by the bere lay;
Unnethe might the peple that was there
This newe Rachel bringe fro his bere.
With torment and with shamful deth echon
This provost dooth thise Iewes for to sterve
That of this mordre wiste, and that anon;
He nolde no swich cursednesse observe.
Yvel shal have, that yvel wol deserve.
Therfor with wilde hors he dide hem drawe,
And after that he heng hem by the lawe.
Up-on his bere ay lyth this innocent
Biforn the chief auter, whyl masse laste,
And after that, the abbot with his covent
Han sped hem for to burien him ful faste;
And whan they holy water on him caste,
Yet spak this child, whan spreynd was holy water,
And song—’O Alma redemptoris mater!’
This abbot, which that was an holy man
As monkes been, or elles oghten be,
This yonge child to coniure he bigan,
And seyde, ‘o dere child, I halse thee,
In vertu of the holy Trinitee,
Tel me what is thy cause for to singe,
Sith that thy throte is cut, to my seminge?’
‘My throte is cut un-to my nekke-boon,’
Seyde this child, ‘and, as by wey of kinde,
I sholde have deyed, ye, longe tyme agoon,
But Iesu Crist, as ye in bokes finde,
Wil that his glorie laste and be in minde,
And, for the worship of his moder dere,
Yet may I singe “O Alma” loude and clere.
This welle of mercy, Cristes moder swete,
I lovede alwey, as after my conninge;
And whan that I my lyf sholde forlete,
To me she cam, and bad me for to singe
This antem verraily in my deyinge,
As ye han herd, and, whan that I had songe,
Me thoughte, she leyde a greyn up-on my tonge.
Wherfor I singe, and singe I moot certeyn
In honour of that blisful mayden free,
Til fro my tonge of-taken is the greyn;
And afterward thus seyde she to me,
“My litel child, now wol I fecche thee
Whan that the greyn is fro thy tonge y-take;
Be nat agast, I wol thee nat forsake.”‘
This holy monk, this abbot, him mene I,
His tonge out-caughte, and took a-wey the greyn,
And he yaf up the goost ful softely.
And whan this abbot had this wonder seyn,
His salte teres trikled doun as reyn,
And gruf he fil al plat up-on the grounde,
And stille he lay as he had been y-bounde.
The covent eek lay on the pavement
Weping, and herien Cristes moder dere,
And after that they ryse, and forth ben went,
And toke awey this martir fro his bere,
And in a tombe of marbul-stones clere
Enclosen they his litel body swete;
Ther he is now, god leve us for to mete.
O yonge Hugh of Lincoln, slayn also
With cursed Iewes, as it is notable,
For it nis but a litel whyle ago;
Preye eek for us, we sinful folk unstable,
That, of his mercy, god so merciable
On us his grete mercy multiplye,
For reverence of his moder Marye. Amen.
Here is ended the Prioresses Tale.
Here beginneth the Prioress’s Tale
There was in Asia, in a great city,
Amongst christian folk, a Jewry,
Sustained by a lord of that country
For foul usure and lucre of villainy,
Hateful to Christ and to his company;
And through the street men might ride or wend,
For it was free, and open at either end.
A little school of christian folk there stood
Down at the further end, in which there were
Children an heap, y-comen of christian blood,
That learned in that school year by year
Such manner doctrine as men used there,
This is to sayn, to singen and to read,
As small children do in their childhood.
Amongst these children was a widow’s son,
A little clergeon, seven year of age,
That day by day to school was his wont,
And eke also, where as he saw th’image
Of Christ’s mother, had he in usage,
As him was taught, to kneel a-down and say
His Ave Marie, as he goeth by the way.
Thus hath this widow her little son y-taught,
Our blissful lady, Christ’s mother dear,
To worship aye, and he forgot it naught,
For seely child will all day soon lere;
But aye, when I remember on this matter,
Saint Nicholas stant ever in my presence,
For he so young to Christ did reverence.
This little child, his little book learning,
As he sat in the school at his primer,
He Alma redemptoris heard sing,
As children learned their antiphoner;
And, as he durst, he drew him near and near,
And harkened aye the words and the note,
Till he the first verse could all by rote.
Nought wist he what this Latin was to say,
For he so young and tender was of age;
But on a day his fellow ’gan to pray
T’expounden him this song in his language,
Or tell him why this song was in usage;
This prayed he him to construe and declare
Full oft time upon his knees bare.
His fellow, which that elder was than he,
Answered him thus: “this song, I have heard say,
Was maked of our blissful lady free,
Her to salute, and eke her for to pray
To be our help and succour when we die.
I can no more expound in this matter;
I learn song, I can but small grammar.
“And is this song maked in reverence
Of Christ’s mother?” said this innocent;
“Now, certes, I will do my diligence
To ken it all, ere Christmas is went;
Though that I for my primer shall be shent,
And shall be beaten thrice in an hour,
I will it ken, our lady for to honour.”
His fellow taught him homeward privily,
From day to day, till he could it by rote,
And then he sung it well and boldly
From word to word, according with the note;
Twice a day it passed through his throat,
To schoolward and homeward when he went;
On Christ’s mother set was his intent.
As I have said, throughout the Jewry
The little child, as he came to and fro,
For merrily then would he sing, and cry
O Alma redemptoris evermo’.
The sweetness hath his heart pierced so
Of Christ’s mother, that, to her to pray,
He can not stint of singing by the way.
Our first foe, the serpent Sathanas,
That hath in Jews’ heart his wasps nest,
Up swelled, and said, “o Hebraic people, alas!
Is this to you a thing that is honest,
That such a boy shall walken as him lust
In your despite, and sing of such sentence,
Which is against your law’s reverence?”
From thence forth the Jews have conspired
This innocent out of this world to chase;
An homicide thereto have they hired,
That in an alley had a privy place;
And as the child ’gan forby for to pace,
This cursed Jew him hent and held him fast,
And cut his throat, and in a pit him cast.
I say that in a wardrobe they him threw
Where as these Jews purgen their entrail.
O cursed folk of Herods all new,
What may your evil intent you avail?
Murder will out, certain, it will not fail,
And namely there th’onour of god shall spread,
The blood out crieth on your cursed deed.
“O martyr, souded to virginity,
Now mayest thou singen, following ever in one
The white lamb celestial” quoth she,
“Of which the great evangelist, saint John,
In Patmos wrought, which saith that they that gon
Beforn this lamb, and sing a song all new,
That never, fleshly, women they ne knew.”
This povre widow awaiteth all that night
After her little child, but he came not;
For which, as soon as it was day’s light,
With pale face of dread and busy thought,
She hath at school and elsewhere him sought,
Till finally she ’gan so far espy
That he last seen was in the Jewry.
With mother’s pity in her breast enclosed,
She goeth, as she were half out of her mind,
To every place that she hath supposed
By likelihood her little child to find;
And ever on Christ’s mother meek and kind
She cried, and at last thus she wrought:
Among the cursed Jews she him sought.
She fraineth and she prayeth piteously,
To every Jew that dwelt in that place,
To tell her if her child went aught forby.
They said “nay”; but Jesus, of his grace,
Gave in her thought, inwith a little space,
That in that place after her son she cried,
Where he was casten in a pit beside.
O great god, that performest thy laud
By mouth of innocents, lo hear thy might!
The gem of chastity, this emerald,
And eke of martyrdom the ruby bright,
There he with throat y-carven lay upright,
He Alma redemptoris ’gan to sing
So loud, that all the place ’gan to ring.
The Christian folk that through the street went,
In common, for to wonder upon this thing,
And hastily they for the provost sent;
He came anon withouten tarrying,
And heryeth Christ that is of heaven king,
And eke his mother, honour of mankind,
And after that, the Jews let he bind,
This child with piteous lamentation
Up taken was, singing his song alway;
And with honour of great procession
They carryen him unto the next abbey.
His mother swooning by the bier lay;
Unneth might the people that was there
This new Rachel bring from his bier.
With torment and with shameful death each one,
This provost doeth these Jews for to starve
That of this murder wist, and that anon;
He nould no such cursedness observe.
Evil shall have, that evil will deserve.
Therefore with wild horse he did ’em draw,
And after that he hung ’em by the law.
Upon his bier aye lieth this innocent
Beforn the chief altar, while the mass last;
And after that, the abbot with his convent
Have sped ’em for to buryen him full fast;
And when they holy water on him cast,
Yet spake this child, when spreined was holy water,
And sung— “O Alma redemptoris mater!”
This abbot, which that was an holy man,
As monks be, or else oughten be,
This young child to conjure he began,
And said, “o dear child, I halse thee,
In virtue of the holy Trinity,
Tell me what is thy cause for to sing,
Sith that thy throat is cut, to my seeming?”
“My throat is cut unto my neck bone,”
Said this child, “and, as by way of kind,
I should have died, yea, long time ago,
But Jesus Christ, as ye in books find,
While that his glory last and be in mind,
And, for the worship of his mother dear,
Yet may I sing ‘O Alma’ loud and clear.
“This well of mercy, Christ’s mother sweet,
I loved alway, as after my cunning;
And when that I my life should forfeit,
To me she came, and bade me for to sing
This anthem verily in my dying,
As ye have heard, and, when that I had sung,
Methought, she laid a grain upon my tongue.
Wherefore I sing, and sing I mote certain
In honour of that blissful maiden free,
Till from my tongue off taken is the grain;
And afterward thus said she to me,
‘My little child, now will I fetch thee,
When that the grain is from thy tongue y-take;
Be not aghast; I will thee not forsake.’”
This holy monk, this abbot, him mean I,
His tongue out caught, and took away the grain,
And he gave up the ghost full softly.
And when this abbot had this wonder seen,
His salt tears trickled down as rain,
And gruf he fell all flat upon the ground,
And still he lay as he had been y-bound.
The convent eke lay on the pavement
Weeping, and heryen Christ’s mother dear,
And after that they rise, and forth been went,
And taken away this martyr from his bier;
And in a tomb of marble stones clear
Enclosen they his little body sweet;
There he is now, god leave us for to meet.
O young Hugh of Lincoln, slain also
With cursed Jews, as it is notable,
For it nis but a little while ago;
Pray eke for us, we sinful folk unstable,
That of his mercy, god so merciable
On us his great mercy multiply,
For reverence of his mother Mary. Amen.
Here is ended the Prioress’s Tale.
