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The Shipman's Tale

Here biginneth the Shipmannes Tale.

A marchant whylom dwelled at Seint Denys,

That riche was, for which men helde him wys;

A wyf he hadde of excellent beautee,

And compaignable and revelous was she,

Which is a thing that causeth more dispence 

Than worth is al the cheer and reverence

That men hem doon at festes and at daunces;

Swiche salutaciouns and contenaunces

Passen as dooth a shadwe up-on the wal.

But wo is him that payen moot for al;

The sely housbond, algate he mot paye;    

He moot us clothe, and he moot us arraye,

Al for his owene worship richely,

In which array we daunce Iolily.

And if that he noght may, par-aventure,

Or elles, list no swich dispence endure,

But thinketh it is wasted and y-lost,

Than moot another payen for our cost,

Or lene us gold, and that is perilous.

  This noble Marchant heeld a worthy hous, 

For which he hadde alday so greet repair

For his largesse, and for his wyf was fair,

That wonder is; but herkneth to my tale.

Amonges alle his gestes, grete and smale,

Ther was a monk, a fair man and a bold, 

I trowe of thritty winter he was old,

That ever in oon was drawing to that place.

This yonge monk, that was so fair of face,

Aqueinted was so with the gode man,

Sith that hir firste knoweliche bigan, 

That in his hous as famulier was he

As it possible is any freend to be.

  And for as muchel as this gode man

And eek this monk, of which that I bigan,

Were bothe two y-born in o village,

The monk him claimeth as for cosinage;

And he again, he seith nat ones nay,

But was as glad ther-of as fowel of day;

For to his herte it was a greet plesaunce.

Thus been they knit with eterne alliaunce, 

And ech of hem gan other for tassure

Of bretherhede, whyl that hir lyf may dure.

  Free was daun Iohn, and namely of dispence,

As in that hous; and ful of diligence

To doon plesaunce, and also greet costage. 

He noght forgat to yeve the leeste page

In al that hous; but, after hir degree,

He yaf the lord, and sitthe al his meynee,

When that he cam, som maner honest thing;

For which they were as glad of his coming    

As fowel is fayn, whan that the sonne up-ryseth.     

Na more of this as now, for it suffyseth.

  But so bifel, this marchant on a day

Shoop him to make redy his array

Toward the toun of Brugges for to fare, 

To byën ther a porcioun of ware;

For which he hath to Paris sent anon

A messager, and preyed hath daun Iohn

That he sholde come to Seint Denys to pleye

With him and with his wyf a day or tweye, 

Er he to Brugges wente, in alle wyse.

  This noble monk, of which I yow devyse,

Hath of his abbot, as him list, licence,

By-cause he was a man of heigh prudence,

And eek an officer, out for to ryde, 

To seen hir graunges and hir bernes wyde;

And un-to Seint Denys he comth anon.

Who was so welcome as my lord daun Iohn,

Our dere cosin, ful of curteisye?

With him broghte he a Iubbe of Malvesye, 

And eek another, ful of fyn Vernage,

And volatyl, as ay was his usage.

And thus I lete hem ete and drinke and pleye,

This marchant and this monk, a day or tweye.

  The thridde day, this marchant up aryseth, 

And on his nedes sadly him avyseth,

And up in-to his countour-hous goth he

To rekene with him-self, as wel may be,

Of thilke yeer, how that it with him stood,

And how that he despended hadde his good; 

And if that he encressed were or noon.

His bokes and his bagges many oon

He leith biforn him on his counting-bord;

Ful riche was his tresor and his hord,

For which ful faste his countour-dore he shette;

And eek he nolde that no man sholde him lette

Of his accountes, for the mene tyme;

And thus he sit til it was passed pryme.

  Daun Iohn was risen in the morwe also,

And in the gardin walketh to and fro,

And hath his thinges seyd ful curteisly. 

  This gode wyf cam walking prively

In-to the gardin, ther he walketh softe,

And him saleweth, as she hath don ofte.

A mayde child cam in hir companye,

Which as hir list she may governe and gye,

For yet under the yerde was the mayde.

‘O dere cosin myn, daun Iohn,’ she sayde,

‘What eyleth yow so rathe for to ryse?’

‘Nece,’ quod he, ‘it oghte y-nough suffyse

Fyve houres for to slepe up-on a night,

But it were for an old appalled wight,

As been thise wedded men, that lye and dare

As in a forme sit a wery hare,

Were al for-straught with houndes grete and smale.

But dere nece, why be ye so pale?

I trowe certes that our gode man

Hath yow laboured sith the night bigan,

That yow were nede to resten hastily?’

And with that word he lough ful merily,

And of his owene thought he wex al reed. 

  This faire wyf gan for to shake hir heed,

And seyde thus, ‘ye, god wot al,’ quod she;

‘Nay, cosin myn, it stant nat so with me. 

For, by that god that yaf me soule and lyf, 

In al the reme of France is ther no wyf

That lasse lust hath to that sory pley.

For I may singe “allas” and “weylawey,

That I was born,” but to no wight,’ quod she,

‘Dar I nat telle how that it stant with me.

Wherfore I thinke out of this land to wende,    

Or elles of my-self to make an ende,

So ful am I of drede and eek of care.’

  This monk bigan up-on this wyf to stare,

And seyde, ‘allas, my nece, god forbede

That ye, for any sorwe or any drede,

Fordo your-self; but telleth me your grief;

Paraventure I may, in your meschief,

Conseille or helpe, and therfore telleth me

Al your anoy, for it shal been secree;

For on my porthors here I make an ooth, 

That never in my lyf, for lief ne looth,

Ne shal I of no conseil yow biwreye.’

  ‘The same agayn to yow,’ quod she, ‘I seye;

By god and by this porthors, I yow swere, 

Though men me wolde al in-to peces tere,

Ne shal I never, for to goon to helle,

Biwreye a word of thing that ye me telle,

Nat for no cosinage ne alliance,

But verraily, for love and affiance.’ 

Thus been they sworn, and heer-upon they kiste,    

And ech of hem tolde other what hem liste.

  ‘Cosin,’ quod she, ‘if that I hadde a space,

As I have noon, and namely in this place,

Than wolde I telle a legende of my lyf,

What I have suffred sith I was a wyf

With myn housbonde, al be he your cosyn.’

  ‘Nay,’ quod this monk, ‘by god and seint Martyn,

He is na more cosin un-to me

Than is this leef that hangeth on the tree!

I clepe him so, by Seint Denys of Fraunce, 

To have the more cause of aqueintaunce

Of yow, which I have loved specially

Aboven alle wommen sikerly;

This swere I yow on my professioun.

Telleth your grief, lest that he come adoun,

And hasteth yow, and gooth your wey anon.’

  ‘My dere love,’ quod she, ‘o my daun Iohn,

Ful lief were me this conseil for to hyde,

But out it moot, I may namore abyde.

Myn housbond is to me the worste man 

That ever was, sith that the world bigan.

But sith I am a wyf, it sit nat me

To tellen no wight of our privetee,

Neither a bedde, ne in non other place;

God shilde I sholde it tellen, for his grace!

A wyf ne shal nat seyn of hir housbonde

But al honour, as I can understonde;

Save un-to yow thus muche I tellen shal;

As help me god, he is noght worth at al

In no degree the value of a flye. 

But yet me greveth most his nigardye;

And wel ye woot that wommen naturelly

Desyren thinges sixe, as wel as I.

They wolde that hir housbondes sholde be 

Hardy, and wyse, and riche, and ther-to free,

And buxom to his wyf, and fresh a-bedde.

But, by that ilke lord that for us bledde,

For his honour, my-self for to arraye,

A Sonday next, I moste nedes paye

An hundred frankes, or elles am I lorn.

Yet were me lever that I were unborn

Than me were doon a sclaundre or vileinye;

And if myn housbond eek it mighte espye,

I nere but lost, and therfore I yow preye

Lene me this somme, or elles moot I deye.

Daun Iohn, I seye, lene me thise hundred frankes;

Pardee, I wol nat faille yow my thankes,

If that yow list to doon that I yow praye.

For at a certein day I wol yow paye,

And doon to yow what plesance and servyce 

That I may doon, right as yow list devyse.

And but I do, god take on me vengeance

As foul as ever had Geniloun of France!’

  This gentil monk answerde in this manere; 

‘Now, trewely, myn owene lady dere,

I have,’ quod he, ‘on yow so greet a routhe,

That I yow swere and plighte yow my trouthe,

That whan your housbond is to Flaundres fare,

I wol delivere yow out of this care; 

For I wol bringe yow an hundred frankes.’ 

And with that word he caughte hir by the flankes,

And hir embraceth harde, and kiste hir ofte.

‘Goth now your wey,’ quod he, ‘al stille and softe,

And lat us dyne as sone as that ye may;

For by my chilindre it is pryme of day.

Goth now, and beeth as trewe as I shal be.’

  ‘Now, elles god forbede, sire,’ quod she,

And forth she gooth, as Iolif as a pye,

And bad the cokes that they sholde hem hye, 

So that men mighte dyne, and that anon.

Up to hir housbonde is this wyf y-gon,

And knokketh at his countour boldely.

  ‘Qui la?‘ quod he. ‘Peter! it am I,’

Quod she, ‘what, sire, how longe wol ye faste? 

How longe tyme wol ye rekene and caste

Your sommes, and your bokes, and your thinges?

The devel have part of alle swiche rekeninges!

Ye have y-nough, pardee, of goddes sonde;

Come doun to-day, and lat your bagges stonde. 

Ne be ye nat ashamed that daun Iohn

Shal fasting al this day elenge goon?

What! lat us here a messe, and go we dyne.’

  ‘Wyf,’ quod this man, ‘litel canstow devyne

The curious bisinesse that we have.

For of us chapmen, al-so god me save,

And by that lord that cleped is Seint Yve,

Scarsly amonges twelve ten shul thryve,

Continuelly, lastinge un-to our age.

We may wel make chere and good visage, 

And dryve forth the world as it may be,

And kepen our estaat in privetee,

Til we be deed, or elles that we pleye

A pilgrimage, or goon out of the weye.

And therfor have I greet necessitee

Up-on this queinte world tavyse me;

For evermore we mote stonde in drede

Of hap and fortune in our chapmanhede.

  To Flaundres wol I go to-morwe at day,

And come agayn, as sone as ever I may.

For which, my dere wyf, I thee biseke,

As be to every wight buxom and meke,

And for to kepe our good be curious,

And honestly governe wel our hous.

Thou hast y-nough, in every maner wyse, 

That to a thrifty houshold may suffyse.

Thee lakketh noon array ne no vitaille,

Of silver in thy purs shaltow nat faille.’

And with that word his countour-dore he shette,

And doun he gooth, no lenger wolde he lette, 

But hastily a messe was ther seyd, 

And spedily the tables were y-leyd,

And to the diner faste they hem spedde;

And richely this monk the chapman fedde.

  At-after diner daun Iohn sobrely 

This chapman took a-part, and prively

He seyde him thus, ‘cosyn, it standeth so,

That wel I see to Brugges wol ye go.

God and seint Austin spede yow and gyde!

I prey yow, cosin, wysly that ye ryde;

Governeth yow also of your diete

Atemprely, and namely in this hete.

Bitwix us two nedeth no strange fare;

Fare-wel, cosyn; god shilde yow fro care.

If any thing ther be by day or night,

If it lye in my power and my might,

That ye me wol comande in any wyse,

It shal be doon, right as ye wol devyse.

  O thing, er that ye goon, if it may be,

I wolde prey yow; for to lene me 

An hundred frankes, for a wyke or tweye, 

For certein beestes that I moste beye,

To store with a place that is oures.

God help me so, I wolde it were youres!

I shal nat faille surely of my day, 

Nat for a thousand frankes, a myle-way.

But lat this thing be secree, I yow preye,

For yet to-night thise beestes moot I beye;

And fare-now wel, myn owene cosin dere,

Graunt mercy of your cost and of your chere.’ 

  This noble marchant gentilly anon 

Answerde, and seyde, ‘o cosin myn, daun Iohn,

Now sikerly this is a smal requeste;

My gold is youres, whan that it yow leste.

And nat only my gold, but my chaffare;

Take what yow list, god shilde that ye spare.

  But o thing is, ye knowe it wel y-nogh,

Of chapmen, that hir moneye is hir plogh.

We may creaunce whyl we have a name,

But goldlees for to be, it is no game.

Paye it agayn whan it lyth in your ese;

After my might ful fayn wolde I yow plese.’

  Thise hundred frankes he fette forth anon,

And prively he took hem to daun Iohn. 

No wight in al this world wiste of this lone,

Savinge this marchant and daun Iohn allone.

They drinke, and speke, and rome a whyle and pleye,

Til that daun Iohn rydeth to his abbeye.

  The morwe cam, and forth this marchant rydeth

To Flaundres-ward; his prentis wel him gydeth, 

Til he cam in-to Brugges merily.     

Now gooth this marchant faste and bisily

Aboute his nede, and byeth and creaunceth.

He neither pleyeth at the dees ne daunceth;

But as a marchant, shortly for to telle, 

He let his lyf, and there I lete him dwelle.

  The Sonday next this Marchant was agon,

To Seint Denys y-comen is daun Iohn,

With crowne and berd all fresh and newe y-shave.

In al the hous ther nas so litel a knave,

Ne no wight elles, that he nas ful fayn,

For that my lord daun Iohn was come agayn.

And shortly to the point right for to gon,

This faire wyf accorded with daun Iohn,

That for thise hundred frankes he sholde al night      

Have hir in his armes bolt-upright;

And this acord parfourned was in dede.

In mirthe al night a bisy lyf they lede

Til it was day, that daun Iohn wente his way,

And bad the meynee ‘fare-wel, have good day!’      

For noon of hem, ne no wight in the toun,    

Hath of daun Iohn right no suspecioun.

And forth he rydeth hoom to his abbeye,

Or where him list; namore of him I seye.

  This marchant, whan that ended was the faire,    

To Seint Denys he gan for to repaire,

And with his wyf he maketh feste and chere,

And telleth hir that chaffare is so dere,

That nedes moste he make a chevisaunce.

For he was bounde in a reconissaunce 

To paye twenty thousand sheeld anon.

For which this marchant is to Paris gon,

To borwe of certein frendes that he hadde

A certein frankes; and somme with him he ladde.

And whan that he was come in-to the toun,    

For greet chertee and greet affeccioun,

Un-to daun Iohn he gooth him first, to pleye;

Nat for to axe or borwe of him moneye,

But for to wite and seen of his welfare,

And for to tellen him of his chaffare,

As freendes doon whan they ben met y-fere.

Daun Iohn him maketh feste and mery chere;

And he him tolde agayn ful specially,

How he hadde wel y-boght and graciously,

Thanked be god, al hool his marchandyse. 

Save that he moste, in alle maner wyse,

Maken a chevisaunce, as for his beste,

And thanne he sholde been in Ioye and reste.

  Daun Iohn answerde, ‘certes, I am fayn

That ye in hele ar comen hoom agayn.

And if that I were riche, as have I blisse,

Of twenty thousand sheeld shold ye nat misse,

For ye so kindely this other day

Lente me gold; and as I can and may,

I thanke yow, by god and by seint Iame!

But nathelees I took un-to our dame,

Your wyf at hoom, the same gold ageyn

Upon your bench; she woot it wel, certeyn,

By certein tokenes that I can hir telle. 

Now, by your leve, I may no lenger dwelle, 

Our abbot wol out of this toun anon;  

And in his companye moot I gon.

Grete wel our dame, myn owene nece swete,

And fare-wel, dere cosin, til we mete!’

  This Marchant, which that was ful war and wys,      

Creaunced hath, and payd eek in Parys,

To certeyn Lumbardes, redy in hir hond,

The somme of gold, and gat of hem his bond;

And hoom he gooth, mery as a papeiay.

For wel he knew he stood in swich array,

That nedes moste he winne in that viage

A thousand frankes above al his costage.

  His wyf ful redy mette him atte gate,

As she was wont of old usage algate,

And al that night in mirthe they bisette;

For he was riche and cleerly out of dette.

Whan it was day, this marchant gan embrace

His wyf al newe, and kiste hir on hir face,

And up he gooth and maketh it ful tough.

  ‘Namore,’ quod she, ‘by god, ye have y-nough!’ 

And wantounly agayn with him she pleyde; 

Til, atte laste, that this Marchant seyde,

‘By god,’ quod he, ‘I am a litel wrooth

With yow, my wyf, al-thogh it be me looth.

And woot ye why? by god, as that I gesse,

That ye han maad a maner straungenesse

Bitwixen me and my cosyn daun Iohn.

Ye sholde han warned me, er I had gon,

That he yow hadde an hundred frankes payed

By redy tokene; and heeld him yvel apayed, 

For that I to him spak of chevisaunce,

Me semed so, as by his contenaunce.

But nathelees, by god our hevene king,

I thoghte nat to axe of him no-thing.

I prey thee, wyf, ne do namore so; 

Tel me alwey, er that I fro thee go,

If any dettour hath in myn absence

Y-payëd thee; lest, thurgh thy necligence,

I mighte him axe a thing that he hath payed.’

  This wyf was nat afered nor affrayed,

But boldely she seyde, and that anon:

‘Marie, I defye the false monk, daun Iohn!

I kepe nat of hise tokenes never a deel;

He took me certein gold, that woot I weel!

What! yvel thedom on his monkes snoute! 

For, god it woot, I wende, withouten doute,

That he had yeve it me bycause of yow,

To doon ther-with myn honour and my prow,

For cosinage, and eek for bele chere

That he hath had ful ofte tymes here.

But sith I see I stonde in this disioint,

I wol answere yow shortly, to the point.

Ye han mo slakker dettours than am I!

For I wol paye yow wel and redily

Fro day to day; and, if so be I faille,

I am your wyf; score it up-on my taille,

And I shal paye, as sone as ever I may.

For, by my trouthe, I have on myn array,

And nat on wast, bistowed every deel.

And for I have bistowed it so weel 

For your honour, for goddes sake, I seye,

As be nat wrooth, but lat us laughe and pleye.

Ye shal my Ioly body have to wedde;

By god, I wol nat paye yow but a-bedde.

Forgive it me, myn owene spouse dere;

Turne hiderward and maketh bettre chere.’

  This marchant saugh ther was no remedye,

And, for to chyde, it nere but greet folye,

Sith that the thing may nat amended be.

‘Now, wyf,’ he seyde, ‘and I foryeve it thee; 

But, by thy lyf, ne be namore so large;

Keep bet our good, this yeve I thee in charge.’

Thus endeth now my tale, and god us sende

Taling y-nough un-to our lyves ende. Amen.

Here endeth the Shipmannes Tale.

Here beginneth the Shipman’s Tale.

  A merchant whilom dwelled at Saint Denis,

That rich was, for which men held him wise;

A wife he had of excellent beauty,

And companionable and revelous was she,

Which is a thing that causeth more dispense

Than worth is all the cheer and reverence

That men ’em do at feasts and at dances;

Such salutations and countenances

Passen as doth a shadow upon the wall.

But woe is him that payen mote for all;

The seely husband, algate he mote pay; 

He mote us clothe, and he mote us array,

All for his own worship richly,

In which array we dance jollily.

And if that he nought may, peradventure,

Or else, list no such dispense endure,

But thinketh it is wasted and y-lost,

Then mote another payen for our cost,

Or lend us gold, and that is perilous.

  This noble Merchant held a worthy house,

For which he had alday so great repair 

For his largesse, and for his wife was fair,

That wonder is; but harkneth to my tale.

Amongst all his guests, great and small,

There was a monk, a fair man and a bold,

trow of thirty winter he was old,

That ever in one was drawing to that place.

This young monk, that was so fair of face,

Acquainted was so with the good man,

Sith that their first knowledge began,  

That in his house as familiar was he

As it possible is any friend to be.

  And for as much as this good man

And eke this monk, of which that I began,

Were both two y-born in one village,

The monk him claimeth as for cousinage;

And he again, he saith not once nay,

But was as glad thereof as fowl of day;

For to his heart it was a great pleasance.

Thus been they knit with eterne alliance,

And each of ’em ’gan other for t’assure

Of brotherhood, while that their life may dure.

  Free was dan John, and namely of dispense,

As in that house; and full of diligence

To do pleasance, and also great costage. 

He nought forgot to give the least page

In all that house; but, after their degree,

He gave the lord, and sith all his meinie,

When that he came, some manner honest thing;

For which they were as glad of his coming

As fowl is fain, when that the sun up riseth.

No more of this as now, for it sufficeth.

  But so befell, this merchant on a day

Shape him to make ready his array

Toward the town of Bruges for to fare,

To buyen there a portion of ware;

For which he hath to Paris sent anon

A messenger, and prayed hath dan John,

That he should come to Saint Denis to play

With him and with his wife a day or tway,

Ere he to Bruges went, in all wise.

  This noble monk, of which I you devise,

Hath of his abbot, as him list, licence,

By cause he was a man of high prudence,

And eke an officer, out for to ride,

To see their granges and their barns wide;

And unto Saint Denis he cometh anon.

Who was so welcome as my lord dan John,

Our dear cousin, full of courtesy?

With him brought he a jub of Malmsey,

And eke another, full of fine Vernage,

And volatile, as aye was his usage.

And thus I let ’em eat and drink and play,

This merchant and this monk, a day or tway.

  The third day, this merchant up ariseth,

And on his needs staidly him adviseth,

And up into his counter-house goeth he

To reckon with himself, as well may be,

Of thilk year, how that it with him stood,

And how that he dispended had his good;

And if that he increased were or none.

His books and his bags many one

He layeth beforn him on his counting-board;

Full rich was his treasure and his hoard,

For which full fast his counter door he shut;

And eke he nould that no man should him let

Of his accounts, for the meantime;

And thus he sit until it was past prime.

  Dan John was risen in the morrow also,

And in the garden walketh to and fro,

And hath his things said full courteously.

  This good wife came walking privily

Into the garden, there he walketh soft,

And him saluteth, as she hath done oft.

A maid child came in her company,

Which as her list she may govern and guy,

For yet under the yard was the maid.

“O dear cousin mine, dan John,” she said,

“What aileth you so rathe for to rise?” 

  “Niece,” quoth he, “it ought enough suffice

Five hours for to sleep upon a night,

But it were for an old a-pallid wight,

As been these wedded men, that lie and dare

As in a form sit a weary hare,

Were all forstraught with hounds great and small.  

But dear niece, why be ye so pale?

trow certes that our good man

Hath you laboured sith the night began, 

That you were need to resten hastily?”

And with that word he laugh full merrily,

And of his own thought he wax all red.

  This fair wife ’gan for to shake her head

And said thus, “yea, god wot all,” quoth she.

“Nay, cousin mine, it stant not so with me.

For, by that god that gave me soul and life,

In all the realm of France is there no wife

That less lust hath to that sorry play.

For I may sing ‘alas’ and ‘waylaway,

That I was born,’ but to no wight,” quoth she,

“Dare I not tell how that it stand with me.

Wherefore I think out of this land to wend,

Or else of myself to make an end,

So full am I of dread and eke of care.”

  This monk began upon this wife to stare,

And said “alas, my niece, god forbid

That ye, for any sorrow or any dread,

Fordo yourself; but telleth me your grief;

Peradventure I may, in your mischief,

Counsel or help; and therefore telleth me

All your annoy, for it shall be secree;

For on my portess here I make an oath

That never in my life, for lief ne loath,

Ne shall I of no counsel you betray.”

  “The same again to you,” quoth she, “I say;

By god and by this portess, I you swear,

Though men ne would all into pieces tear,

Ne shall I never, for to go to hell,

Betray a word of thing that ye me tell,

Not for no cousinage ne alliance,

But verily, for love and affiance.”

Thus been they sworn, and hereupon they kissed,

And each of ’em told other what ’em list.

  “Cousin,” quoth she, “if that I had a space,

As I have none, and namely in this place,

Then would I tell a legend of my life,

What I have suffered sith I was a wife 

With mine husband, all be he your cousin.”

  “Nay,” quoth this monk, “by god and saint Martin,

He is no more cousin unto me

Than is this leaf that hangeth on the tree!

clepe him so, by Saint Denis of France,

To have the more cause of acquaintance

Of you, which I have loved specially

Aboven all women sickerly;

This swear I you on my profession.

Telleth your grief, lest that he come a-down,

And hasteth you, and goeth your way anon.”

  “My dear love,” quoth she, “o my dan John,

Full lief were me this counsel for to hide,

But out it mote; I may no more abide.

Mine husband is to me the worst man

That ever was, sith that the world began.

But sith I am a wife, it sit not me

To tellen no wight of our privity,

Neither a-bed, ne in none other place;

God shield I should it tellen, for his grace!

A wife ne shall not sayn of her husband

But all honour, as I can understand;

Save unto you thus much I tellen shall;

As help me god, he is not worth at all

In no degree the value of a fly.

But yet me grieveth most his niggardy;

And well ye wot that women naturally

Desiren things six, as well as I:

They would that their husbands should be

Hardy, and wise, and rich, and thereto free,

And buxom unto his wife, and fresh a-bed.

But, by that ilk lord that for us bled,

For his honour, myself for to array,

A Sunday next, I must needs pay

An hundred franks, or else I am lorn.

Yet were me liefer that I were unborn

Than me were done a slander or villainy;

And if mine husband eke it might espy,

nere but lost, and therefore I you pray

Lend me this sum, or else mote I die.

Dan John, I say, lend me these hundred franks;

Pardee, I will not fail you my thanks,

If that you list to do that I you pray.

For at a certain day I will you pay,

And do to you what pleasance and service

That I may do, right as you list devise.

And but I do, god take on me vengeance

As foul as ever had Ganelon of France.”

  This gentil monk answered in this manner;

“Now truly, mine own lady dear,

I have,” quoth he, “on you so great a ruth

That I you swear and plight you my truth,

That when your husband is to Flanders fare,

I will deliver you out of this care;

For I will bring you an hundred franks.”

And with that word he caught her by the flanks,

And her embraceth hard, and kissed her oft.

“Goeth now your way,” quoth he, “all still and soft,

And let us dine as soon as that ye may;

For by my cylinder it is prime of day.

Goeth now and beeth as true as I shall be.”

  “Now, else god forbid, sire,” quoth she;

And forth she goeth, as jolly as a ’pie,

And bade the cooks that they should ’em hie,

So that men might dine, and that anon.

Up to her husband is this wife y-gon,

And knocketh at his counter boldly.

  “Que la?” quoth he. “Peter! It am I,”  

Quoth she; “What, sire, how long will ye fast?

How long time will ye reckon and cast

Your sums, and your books, and your things?

The devil have part of all such reckonings!

Ye have enough, pardee, of god’s sand;  

Come down today, and let your bags stand.

Ne be ye not ashamed that dan John

Shall fasting all this day alenge gon?  

What! let us here a mess, and go we dine.”

  “Wife,” quoth this man, “little canst thou divine

The curious business that we have.

For of us chapmen, all so god me save,

And by that lord that cleped is saint Ive,

Scarcely among twelve ten shall thrive,

Continually, lasting unto our age.

We may well make cheer and good visage,

And drive forth the world as it may be,

And keepen our estate in privity,

Till we be dead, or else that we play

A pilgrimage, or gon out of the way.

And therefore have I great necessity

Upon this quaint world t’advise me;

For evermore we mote stand in dread

Of hap and fortune in our chapmanhood.

  To Flanders will I go tomorrow at day,

And come again, as soon as ever I may.

For which, my dear wife, I thee beseech,

As to be every wight buxom and meek,

And for to keep our good be curious,

And honestly govern well our house.

Thou hast enough, in every manner wise,

That to a thrifty household may suffice.

Thee lacketh no array ne no victual,

Of silver in thy purse shalt thou not fail.”

And with that word his counter-door he shut,

And down he goeth, no longer would he let,

But hastily a mass was there said,

And speedily the tables were y-laid,

And to the dinner fast they ’em sped;

And richly this monk the chapman fed.

  At after dinner dan John soberly

This chapman took apart, and privily

He said him thus: “cousin, it standeth so,

That well I see to Bruges will ye go.

God and Saint Austin speed you and guide!

I pray you, cousin, wisely that ye ride;

Governeth you also of your diet

A-temperately, and namely in this heat.

Betwixt us two needeth no strange fare;

Farewell, cousin; god shield you from care.

If any thing there be by day or night,

If it lie in my power and my might,

That ye me will command in any wise,

It shall been done, right as ye will devise.

  One thing, ere that ye go, if it may be,

I would pray you; for to lend me

An hundred franks, for a week or tway,

For certain beasts that I must buy,

To store with a place that is ours.

God help me so, I would it were yours!

I shall not fail surely of my day,

Not for a thousand franks, a mile way.

But let this thing be secree, I you pray,

For yet tonight these beasts mote I buy;

And fare now well, mine own cousin dear,

Grant mercy of your cost and of your cheer.”

  This noble merchant gentilly anon

Answered and said, “o cousin mine, dan John,

Now sickerly this is a small request; 

My gold is yours, when that it you lest.

And not only my gold, but my chaffer

Take what you list, god shield that ye spare.

  But one thing is, ye know it well enough,

Of chapmen, that their money is their plough.

We may creance while we have a name, 

But goldless for to be, it is no game.

Pay it again when it lieth in your ease;

After my might full fain would I you please.”

  These hundred franks he fetched forth anon,

And privily he took ’em to dan John.

No wight in all this world wist of this loan,

Saving this merchant and dan John alone.

They drink, and speak, and roam a while and play,

Till that dan John rideth to his abbey.

  The morrow came, and forth this merchant rideth

To Flanders-ward; his prentice well him guideth,

Till he came into Bruges merrily.

Now goeth this merchant fast and busily

About his need, and buyeth and creanceth.

He neither playeth at the dice ne danceth;

But as a merchant, shortly for to tell,

He led his life, and there I let him dwell.

  The Sunday next the merchant was a-gone,

To Saint Denis y-comen is dan John,

With crown and beard all fresh and new y-shave.

In all the house there nas so little a knave,

Ne no wight else, that he nas full fain,

That my lord dan John was come again.

And shortly to the point right for to gon,

This fair wife accorded with dan John,

That for these hundred franks he should all night

Have her in his arms bolt upright;

And this accord performed was in deed.

In mirth all night a busy life they lead

Till it was day, that dan John went his way,

And bade the meinie “farewell, have good day!” 

For none of ’em, ne no wight in the town,

Hath of dan John right no suspicion.

And forth he rideth home to his abbey,

Or where him list; no more of him I say.

  This merchant, when that ended was the fair,

To Saint Denis he ’gan for to repair,

And with his wife he maketh feast and cheer,

And telleth her that chaffer is so dear, 

That needs must he make a chevisance

For he was bounden in a reconnaissance

To pay twenty thousand shield anon.

For which this merchant is to Paris gone,

To borrow of certain friends that he had

A certain franks, and some with him he led.

And when that he was come into the town,

For great cherte and great affection, 

Unto dan John he goeth him first, to play;

Not for to ask or borrow of him money,

But for to wit and see of his welfare,

And for to tellen him of his chaffer,

As friends do when they been met y-fare.

Dan John him maketh feast and merry cheer;

And he him told again full specially,

How he had well y-bought and graciously,

Thanked be god, all whole his merchandise.

Save that he must, in all manner wise,

Maken a chevisance, as for his beast, 

And then he should be in joy and rest.

  Dan John answered, “certes, I am fain

That ye in health are comen home again.

And if that I were rich, as have I bliss,

Of twenty thousand shield should ye not miss,

For ye so kindly this other day

Lent me gold; and as I can and may,

I thank you, by god and by saint Jame!

But natheless I took unto our dame,

Your wife at home, the same gold again

Upon your bench; she wot it well, certain,

By certain tokens that I can her tell.

Now, by your leave, I may no longer dwell,

Our abbot will out of this town anon;

And in his company motegon.

Greet well our dame, mine own niece sweet,

And fare well, dear cousin, till we meet!”

  This merchant, which that was full ware and wise,

Creanced hath, and paid eke in Paris,  

To certain Lombards, ready in their hand,

The sum of gold, and gat of him his bond;

And home he goeth, merry as a popinjay. 

For well he knew he stood in such array,

That needs must he win in that voyage

A thousand franks above all his costage.

  His wife full ready met him at gate,

As she was wont of old usage algate,

And all that night in mirth they beset;

For he was rich and clearly out of debt.

When it was day, this merchant ’gan embrace

His wife all new, and kissed her on her face,

And up he goeth and maketh it full tough.

  “No more,” quoth she, “by god, ye have enough!”

And wantonly again with him she played;

Till, at last, thus this Merchant said,

“By god,” quoth he, “I am a little wroth

With you, my wife, although it be me loath.

And wot ye why? By god, as that I guess,

That ye have made a manner strangeness

Betwixten me and my cousin dan John.

Ye should have warned me, ere I had gone,

That he you had an hundred franks paid

By ready token; and held him evil apaid,

For that I to him spake of chevisance,

Me seemed so, as by his countenance.

But natheless, by god our heaven king,

I thought not to ask of him nothing.

I pray thee, wife, ne do no more so;

Tell me alway, ere that I from thee go,

If any debtor hath in mine absence

Y-paid thee; lest, through thy negligence,

I might him ask a thing that he hath paid.”

  This wife was not a-feared nor afraid,

But boldly she said, and that anon:

 “Mary, I defy the false monkdan John!

I keep not of his tokens never a deal;

He took me certain gold, that wot I well!

What! evil theedom on his monk’s snout! 

For, god it wot, I wend, withouten doubt,

That he had give it me because of you,

To do therewith mine honour and my prow,

For cousinage, and eke for bele cheer  

That he hath had full oft times here.

But sith I see I stand in this disjoint, 

I will answer you shortly, to the point.

Ye have mo’ slacker debtors than am I!

For I will pay you well and readily

From day to day, and if so be I fail,

I am your wife, score it upon my tail,

And I shall pay, as soon as ever I may.

For by my truth, I have on mine array,

And not on wist, bestowed every deal;

And for I have bestowed it so well

For your honour, for god’s sake, I say,

As be not wroth, but let us laugh and play.

Ye shall my jolly body have to wed;

By god, I will not pay you but a-bed.

Forgive it me, mine own spouse dear;

Turn hitherward and maketh better cheer.”

  This merchant saw there was no remedy,

And, for to chide, it nere but great folly,

Sith that the thing may not amended be.

“Now wife,” he said, “and I forgive it thee;

But, by thy life, ne be no more so large;

Keep bet our good, this give I thee in charge.”

Thus endeth my tale, and god us send

Tailing enough unto our lives end.  Amen.

Here endeth the Shipman’s Tale.