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The Wife of Bath’s Prologue

The Prologe of the Wyves Tale of Bathe.

’Experience, though noon auctoritee

Were in this world, were right y-nough to me

To speke of wo that is in mariage;

For, lordinges, sith I twelf yeer was of age,

Thonked be god that is eterne on lyve,

Housbondes at chirche-dore I have had fyve;

For I so ofte have y-wedded be;

And alle were worthy men in hir degree.

But me was told certeyn, nat longe agon is,

That sith that Crist ne wente never but onis

To wedding in the Cane of Galilee,

That by the same ensample taughte he me

That I ne sholde wedded be but ones.

Herke eek, lo! which a sharp word for the nones

Besyde a welle Iesus, god and man, 

Spak in repreve of the Samaritan:

“Thou hast y-had fyve housbondes,” quod he,

“And thilke man, the which that hath now thee,

Is noght thyn housbond;” thus seyde he certeyn;

What that he mente ther-by, I can nat seyn;

But that I axe, why that the fifthe man

Was noon housbond to the Samaritan?

How manye mighte she have in mariage?

Yet herde I never tellen in myn age

Upon this nombre diffinicioun;

Men may devyne and glosen up and doun.

But wel I woot expres, with-oute lye,

God bad us for to wexe and multiplye;

That gentil text can I wel understonde.

Eek wel I woot he seyde, myn housbonde 

Sholde lete fader and moder, and take me;

But of no nombre mencioun made he,

Of bigamye or of octogamye;

Why sholde men speke of it vileinye?

Lo, here the wyse king, dan Salomon;

I trowe he hadde wyves mo than oon;

As, wolde god, it leveful were to me

To be refresshed half so ofte as he!

Which yifte of god hadde he for alle his wyvis!

No man hath swich, that in this world alyve is.    

God woot, this noble king, as to my wit,

The firste night had many a mery fit

With ech of hem, so wel was him on lyve!

Blessed be god that I have wedded fyve!

Welcome the sixte, whan that ever he shal. 

For sothe, I wol nat kepe me chast in al;

Whan myn housbond is fro the world y-gon,

Som Cristen man shal wedde me anon;

For thanne thapostle seith, that I am free

To wedde, a goddes half, wher it lyketh me. 

He seith that to be wedded is no sinne;

Bet is to be wedded than to brinne.

What rekketh me, thogh folk seye vileinye

Of shrewed Lameth and his bigamye?

I woot wel Abraham was an holy man,

And Iacob eek, as ferforth as I can;

And ech of hem hadde wyves mo than two;

And many another holy man also.

Whan saugh ye ever, in any maner age,

That hye god defended mariage

By expres word? I pray you, telleth me;

Or wher comanded he virginitee?

I woot as wel as ye, it is no drede,

Thapostel, whan he speketh of maydenhede;

He seyde, that precept ther-of hadde he noon.

Men may conseille a womman to been oon,

But conseilling is no comandement;

He putte it in our owene Iugement.

For hadde god comanded maydenhede,

Thanne hadde he dampned wedding with the dede;       

And certes, if ther were no seed y-sowe,

Virginitee, wher-of than sholde it growe?

Poul dorste nat comanden atte leste

A thing of which his maister yaf noon heste.

The dart is set up for virginitee;

Cacche who so may, who renneth best lat see.

  But this word is nat take of every wight,

But ther as god list give it of his might.

I woot wel, that thapostel was a mayde;

But natheless, thogh that he wroot and sayde,

He wolde that every wight were swich as he,

Al nis but conseil to virginitee;

And for to been a wyf, he yaf me leve

Of indulgence; so it is no repreve

To wedde me, if that my make dye, 

With-oute excepcioun of bigamye.

Al were it good no womman for to touche,

He mente as in his bed or in his couche;

For peril is bothe fyr and tow tassemble;

Ye knowe what this ensample may resemble. 

This is al and som, he heeld virginitee

More parfit than wedding in freletee.

Freeltee clepe I, but-if that he and she

Wolde leden al hir lyf in chastitee.

  I graunte it wel, I have noon envye, 

Thogh maydenhede preferre bigamye;

Hem lyketh to be clene, body and goost,

Of myn estaat I nil nat make no boost.

For wel ye knowe, a lord in his houshold,

He hath nat every vessel al of gold;

Somme been of tree, and doon hir lord servyse.

God clepeth folk to him in sondry wyse,

And everich hath of god a propre yifte,

Som this, som that,—as him lyketh shifte.

  Virginitee is greet perfeccioun, 

And continence eek with devocioun.

But Crist, that of perfeccioun is welle,

Bad nat every wight he shold go selle

All that he hadde, and give it to the pore,

And in swich wyse folwe hime and his fore. 

He spak to hem that wolde live parfitly;

And lordinges, by your leve, that am nat I.

I wol bistowe the flour of al myn age

In the actes and in fruit of mariage.

  Telle me also, to what conclusioun 

Were membres maad of generacioun,

And for what profit was a wight y-wroght?

Trusteth right wel, they wer nat maad for noght.

Glose who-so wole, and seye bothe up and doun,

That they were maked for purgacioun

Of urine, and our bothe thinges smale

Were eek to knowe a femele from a male,

And for noone other cause: sey ye no?

The experience woot wel it is noght so;

So that the clerkes be nat with me wrothe, 

I sey this, that they maked been for bothe,

This is to seye, for office, and for ese

Of engendrure, ther we nat god displese.

Why sholde men elles in hir bokes sette,

That man shal yelde to his wyf hir dette?

Now wher-with sholde he make his payement,

If he ne used his sely instrument?

Than were they maad up-on a creature,

To purge uryne, and eek for engendrure.

  But I seye noght that every wight is holde,

That hath swich harneys as I to yow tolde,

To goon and usen hem in engendrure;

Than sholde men take of chastitee no cure.

Crist was a mayde, and shapen as a man,

And many a seint, sith that the world bigan,

Yet lived they ever in parfit chastitee.

I nil envye no virginitee;

Lat hem be breed of pured whete-seed,

And lat us wyves hoten barly-breed;

And yet with barly-breed, Mark telle can, 

Our lord Iesu refresshed many a man.

In swich estaat as god hath cleped us

I wol persevere, I nam nat precious.

In wyfhode I wol use myn instrument

As frely as my maker hath it sent. 

If I be daungerous, god yeve me sorwe!

Myn housbond shal it have bothe eve and morwe,

Whan that him list com forth and paye his dette.

An housbonde I wol have, I nil nat lette,

Which shal be bothe my dettour and my thral, 

And have his tribulacioun with-al

Up-on his flessh, whyl that I am his wyf.

I have the power duringe al my lyf

Up-on his propre body, and noght he.

Right thus the apostel tolde it un-to me; 

And bad our housbondes for to love us weel.

Al this sentence me lyketh every-deel’—

Up sterte the Pardoner, and that anon,

‘Now dame,’ quod he, ‘by god and by seint Iohn,

Ye been a noble prechour in this cas!

I was aboute to wedde a wyf; allas!

What sholde I bye it on my flesh so dere?

Yet hadde I lever wedde no wyf to-yere!’

  ‘Abyde!’ quod she, ‘my tale is nat bigonne;

Nay, thou shalt drinken of another tonne

Er that I go, shal savoure wors than ale.

And whan that I have told thee forth my tale

Of tribulacioun in mariage,

Of which I am expert in al myn age,

This to seyn, my-self have been the whippe;— 

Than maystow chese whether thou wolt sippe

Of thilke tonne that I shal abroche.

Be war of it, er thou to ny approche;

For I shal telle ensamples mo than ten.

Who-so that nil be war by othere men,

By him shul othere men corrected be.

The same wordes wryteth Ptholomee;

Rede in his Almageste, and take it there.’

  ‘Dame, I wolde praye yow, if your wil it were,’

Seyde this Pardoner, ‘as ye bigan, 

Telle forth your tale, spareth for no man,

And teche us yonge men of your praktike.’

  ‘Gladly,’ quod she, ‘sith it may yow lyke.

But yet I praye to al this companye,

If that I speke after my fantasye,

As taketh not a-grief of that I seye;

For myn entente nis but for to pleye.

  Now sires, now wol I telle forth my tale.—

As ever mote I drinken wyn or ale,

I shal seye sooth, tho housbondes that I hadde, 

As three of hem were gode and two were badde.

The three men were gode, and riche, and olde;

Unnethe mighte they the statut holde

In which that they were bounden un-to me.

Ye woot wel what I mene of this, pardee!

As help me god, I laughe whan I thinke

How pitously a-night I made hem swinke;

And by my fey, I tolde of it no stoor.

They had me yeven hir gold and hir tresoor;

Me neded nat do lenger diligence 

To winne hir love, or doon hem reverence.

They loved me so wel, by god above,

That I ne tolde no deyntee of hir love!

A wys womman wol sette hir ever in oon

To gete hir love, ther as she hath noon. 

But sith I hadde hem hoolly in myn hond,

And sith they hadde me yeven all hir lond,

What sholde I taken hede hem for to plese,

But it were for my profit and myn ese?

I sette hem so a-werke, by my fey,

That many a night they songen “weilawey!”

The bacoun was nat fet for hem, I trowe,

That som men han in Essex at Dunmowe.

I governed hem so wel, after my lawe,

That ech of hem ful blisful was and fawe 

To bringe me gaye thinges fro the fayre.

They were ful glad whan I spak to hem fayre;

For god it woot, I chidde hem spitously.

  Now herkneth, how I bar me proprely,

Ye wyse wyves, that can understonde. 

  Thus shul ye speke and bere hem wrong on honde;

For half so boldely can ther no man

Swere and lyen as a womman can.

I sey nat this by wyves that ben wyse,

But-if it be whan they hem misavyse.

A wys wyf, if that she can hir good,

Shal beren him on hond the cow is wood,

And take witnesse of hir owene mayde

Of hir assent; but herkneth how I sayde.

  ‘Sir olde kaynard, is this thyn array?

Why is my neighebores wyf so gay?

She is honoured over-al ther she goth;

I sitte at hoom, I have no thrifty cloth.

What dostow at my neighebores hous?

Is she so fair? artow so amorous?

What roun ye with our mayde? benedicite!

Sir olde lechour, lat thy Iapes be!

And if I have a gossib or a freend,

With-outen gilt, thou chydest as a feend,

If that I walke or pleye un-to his hous!

Thou comest hoom as dronken as a mous,

And prechest on thy bench, with yvel preef!

Thou seist to me, it is a greet meschief

To wedde a povre womman, for costage;

And if that she be riche, of heigh parage, 

Than seistow that it is a tormentrye

To suffre hir pryde and hir malencolye.

And if that she be fair, thou verray knave,

Thou seyst that every holour wol hir have;

She may no whyle in chastitee abyde, 

That is assailled up-on ech a syde.

  Thou seyst, som folk desyre us for richesse,

Somme for our shap, and somme for our fairnesse;

And som, for she can outher singe or daunce,

And som, for gentillesse and daliaunce;

Som, for hir handes and hir armes smale;

Thus goth al to the devel by thy tale.

Thou seyst, men may nat kepe a castel-wal;

It may so longe assailled been over-al.

  And if that she be foul, thou seist that she    

Coveiteth every man that she may se;

For as a spaynel she wol on him lepe,

Til that she finde som man hir to chepe;

Ne noon so grey goos goth ther in the lake,

As, seistow, that wol been with-oute make. 

And seyst, it is an hard thing for to welde

A thing that no man wol, his thankes, helde.

Thus seistow, lorel, whan thow goost to bedde;

And that no wys man nedeth for to wedde,

Ne no man that entendeth un-to hevene.

With wilde thonder-dint and firy levene

Mote thy welked nekke be to-broke!

  Thow seyst that dropping houses, and eek smoke,

And chyding wyves, maken men to flee

Out of hir owene hous; a! benedicite!

What eyleth swich an old man for to chyde?

  Thow seyst, we wyves wol our vyces hyde

Til we be fast, and than we wol hem shewe;

Wel may that be a proverbe of a shrewe!

  Thou seist, that oxen, asses, hors, and houndes,   

They been assayed at diverse stoundes;

Bacins, lavours, er that men hem bye,

Spones and stoles, and al swich housbondrye,

And so been pottes, clothes, and array;

But folk of wyves maken noon assay

Til they be wedded; olde dotard shrewe!

And than, seistow, we wol oure vices shewe.

  Thou seist also, that it displeseth me

But-if that thou wolt preyse my beautee,

And but thou poure alwey up-on my face, 

And clepe me “faire dame” in every place;

And but thou make a feste on thilke day

That I was born, and make me fresh and gay,

And but thou do to my norice honour,

And to my chamberere with-inne my bour,    

And to my fadres folk and his allyes;—

Thus seistow, olde barel ful of lyes!

  And yet of our apprentice Ianekyn,

For his crisp heer, shyninge as gold so fyn,

And for he squiereth me bothe up and doun,    

Yet hastow caught a fals suspecioun;

I wol hym noght, thogh thou were deed to-morwe.

  But tel me this, why hydestow, with sorwe,

The keyes of thy cheste awey fro me?

It is my good as wel as thyn, pardee.

What wenestow make an idiot of our dame?

Now by that lord, that called is seint Iame,

Thou shalt nat bothe, thogh that thou were wood,

Be maister of my body and of my good;

That oon thou shalt forgo, maugree thyne yën; 

What nedeth thee of me to enquere or spyën?

I trowe, thou woldest loke me in thy chiste!

Thou sholdest seye, “wyf, go wher thee liste,

Tak your disport, I wol nat leve no talis;

I knowe yow for a trewe wyf, dame Alis.”

We love no man that taketh kepe or charge

Wher that we goon, we wol ben at our large.

  Of alle men y-blessed moot he be,

The wyse astrologien Dan Ptholome,

That seith this proverbe in his Almageste,

“Of alle men his wisdom is the hyeste,

That rekketh never who hath the world in honde.”

By this proverbe thou shalt understonde,

Have thou y-nogh, what thar thee recche or care

How merily that othere folkes fare?

For certeyn, olde dotard, by your leve,

Ye shul have queynte right y-nough at eve.

He is to greet a nigard that wol werne

A man to lighte his candle at his lanterne;

He shal have never the lasse light, pardee; 

Have thou y-nough, thee thar nat pleyne thee.

  Thou seyst also, that if we make us gay

With clothing and with precious array,

That it is peril of our chastitee;

And yet, with sorwe, thou most enforce thee, 

And seye thise wordes in the apostles name,

“In habit, maad with chastitee and shame,

Ye wommen shul apparaille yow,” quod he,

“And noght in tressed heer and gay perree,

As perles, ne with gold, ne clothes riche;”

After thy text, ne after thy rubriche

I wol nat wirche as muchel as a gnat.

Thou seydest this, that I was lyk a cat;

For who-so wolde senge a cattes skin,

Thanne wolde the cat wel dwellen in his in; 

And if the cattes skin be slyk and gay,

She wol nat dwelle in house half a day,

But forth she wole, er any day be dawed,

To shewe hir skin, and goon a-caterwawed;

This is to seye, if I be gay, sir shrewe, 

I wol renne out, my borel for to shewe.

  Sire olde fool, what eyleth thee to spyën?

Thogh thou preye Argus, with his hundred yën,

To be my warde-cors, as he can best,

In feith, he shal nat kepe me but me lest; 

Yet coude I make his berd, so moot I thee.

  Thou seydest eek, that ther ben thinges three,

The whiche thinges troublen al this erthe,

And that no wight ne may endure the ferthe;

O leve sir shrewe, Iesu shorte thy lyf!

Yet prechestow, and seyst, an hateful wyf

Y-rekened is for oon of thise meschances.

Been ther none othere maner resemblances

That ye may lykne your parables to,

But-if a sely wyf be oon of tho? 

  Thou lykenest wommanes love to helle,

To bareyne lond, ther water may not dwelle.

Thou lyknest it also to wilde fyr;

The more it brenneth, the more it hath desyr

To consume every thing that brent wol be. 

Thou seyst, that right as wormes shende a tree,

Right so a wyf destroyeth hir housbonde;

This knowe they that been to wyves bonde.’

  Lordinges, right thus, as ye have understonde,

Bar I stifly myne olde housbondes on honde, 

That thus they seyden in hir dronkenesse;

And al was fals, but that I took witnesse

On Ianekin and on my nece also.

O lord, the peyne I dide hem and the wo,

Ful giltelees, by goddes swete pyne!

For as an hors I coude byte and whyne.

I coude pleyne, thogh I were in the gilt,

Or elles often tyme hadde I ben spilt.

Who-so that first to mille comth, first grint;

I pleyned first, so was our werre y-stint.

They were ful glad to excusen hem ful blyve

Of thing of which they never agilte hir lyve.

  Of wenches wolde I beren him on honde,

Whan that for syk unnethes mighte he stonde.

Yet tikled it his herte, for that he 

Wende that I hadde of him so greet chiertee.

I swoor that al my walkinge out by nighte

Was for tespye wenches that he dighte;

Under that colour hadde I many a mirthe.

For al swich wit is yeven us in our birthe;

Deceite, weping, spinning god hath yive

To wommen kindely, whyl they may live.

And thus of o thing I avaunte me,

Atte ende I hadde the bettre in ech degree,

By sleighte, or force, or by som maner thing, 

As by continuel murmur or grucching;

Namely a bedde hadden they meschaunce,

Ther wolde I chyde and do hem no plesaunce;

I wolde no lenger in the bed abyde,

If that I felte his arm over my syde,

Til he had maad his raunson un-to me;

Than wolde I suffre him do his nycetee.

And ther-fore every man this tale I telle,

Winne who-so may, for al is for to selle.

With empty hand men may none haukes lure;

For winning wolde I al his lust endure,

And make me a feyned appetyt;

And yet in bacon hadde I never delyt;

That made me that ever I wolde hem chyde.

For thogh the pope had seten hem biside,

I wolde nat spare hem at hir owene bord.

For by my trouthe, I quitte hem word for word.

As help me verray god omnipotent,

Thogh I right now sholde make my testament,

I ne owe hem nat a word that it nis quit.

I broghte it so aboute by my wit,

That they moste yeve it up, as for the beste;

Or elles hadde we never been in reste.

For thogh he loked as a wood leoun,

Yet sholde he faille of his conclusioun.

  Thanne wolde I seye, ‘gode lief, tak keep

How mekely loketh Wilkin oure sheep;

Com neer, my spouse, lat me ba thy cheke!

Ye sholde been al pacient and meke,

And han a swete spyced conscience,

Sith ye so preche of Iobes pacience.

Suffreth alwey, sin ye so wel can preche;

And but ye do, certain we shal yow teche

That it is fair to have a wyf in pees.

Oon of us two moste bowen, doutelees; 

And sith a man is more resonable

Than womman is, ye moste been suffrable.

What eyleth yow to grucche thus and grone?

Is it for ye wolde have my queynte allone?

Why taak it al, lo, have it every-deel; 

Peter! I shrewe yow but ye love it weel!

For if I wolde selle my bele chose,

I coude walke as fresh as is a rose;

But I wol kepe it for your owene tooth.

Ye be to blame, by god, I sey yow sooth.’ 

  Swiche maner wordes hadde we on honde.

Now wol I speken of my fourthe housbonde.

  My fourthe housbonde was a revelour,

This is to seyn, he hadde a paramour;

And I was yong and ful of ragerye, 

Stiborn and strong, and Ioly as a pye.

Wel coude I daunce to an harpe smale,

And singe, y-wis, as any nightingale,

Whan I had dronke a draughte of swete wyn.

Metellius, the foule cherl, the swyn,

That with a staf birafte his wyf hir lyf,

For she drank wyn, thogh I hadde been his wyf,

He sholde nat han daunted me fro drinke;

And, after wyn, on Venus moste I thinke:

For al so siker as cold engendreth hayl, 

A likerous mouth moste han a likerous tayl.

In womman vinolent is no defence,

This knowen lechours by experience.

  But, lord Crist! whan that it remembreth me

Up-on my yowthe, and on my Iolitee, 

It tikleth me aboute myn herte rote.

Unto this day it dooth myn herte bote

That I have had my world as in my tyme.

But age, allas! that al wol envenyme,

Hath me biraft my beautee and my pith;

Lat go, fare-wel, the devel go therwith!

The flour is goon, ther is na-more to telle,

The bren, as I best can, now moste I selle;

But yet to be right mery wol I fonde.

Now wol I tellen of my fourthe housbonde.    

  I seye, I hadde in herte greet despyt

That he of any other had delyt.

But he was quit, by god and by seint Ioce!

I made him of the same wode a croce;

Nat of my body in no foul manere,

But certeinly, I made folk swich chere,

That in his owene grece I made him frye

For angre, and for verray Ialousye.

By god, in erthe I was his purgatorie,

For which I hope his soule be in glorie.

For god it woot, he sat ful ofte and song

Whan that his shoo ful bitterly him wrong.

Ther was no wight, save god and he, that wiste,

In many wyse, how sore I him twiste.

He deyde whan I cam fro Ierusalem,

And lyth y-grave under the rode-beem,

Al is his tombe noght so curious

As was the sepulcre of him, Darius,

Which that Appelles wroghte subtilly;

It nis but wast to burie him preciously.

Lat him fare-wel, god yeve his soule reste,

He is now in the grave and in his cheste.

  Now of my fifthe housbond wol I telle.

God lete his soule never come in helle!

And yet was he to me the moste shrewe;

That fele I on my ribbes al by rewe,

And ever shal, un-to myn ending-day.

But in our bed he was so fresh and gay,

And ther-with-al so wel coude he me glose,

Whan that he wolde han my bele chose,

That thogh he hadde me bet on every boon,

He coude winne agayn my love anoon.

I trowe I loved him beste, for that he

Was of his love daungerous to me.

We wommen han, if that I shal nat lye,

In this matere a queynte fantasye;

Wayte what thing we may nat lightly have,

Ther-after wol we crye al-day and crave.

Forbede us thing, and that desyren we;

Prees on us faste, and thanne wol we flee.

With daunger oute we al our chaffare;

Greet prees at market maketh dere ware,

And to greet cheep is holde at litel prys;

This knoweth every womman that is wys.

  My fifthe housbonde, god his soule blesse!    

Which that I took for love and no richesse,

He som-tyme was a clerk of Oxenford,

And had left scole, and wente at hoom to bord

With my gossib, dwellinge in oure toun,

God have hir soule! hir name was Alisoun. 

She knew myn herte and eek my privetee

Bet than our parisshe-preest, so moot I thee!

To hir biwreyed I my conseil al.

For had myn housbonde pissed on a wal,

Or doon a thing that sholde han cost his lyf, 

To hir, and to another worthy wyf,

And to my nece, which that I loved weel,

I wolde han told his conseil every-deel.

And so I dide ful often, god it woot,

That made his face ful often reed and hoot 

For verray shame, and blamed him-self for he

Had told to me so greet a privetee.

  And so bifel that ones, in a Lente,

(So often tymes I to my gossib wente,

For ever yet I lovede to be gay, 

And for to walke, in March, Averille, and May,

Fro hous to hous, to here sondry talis),

That Iankin clerk, and my gossib dame Alis,

And I my-self, in-to the feldes wente.

Myn housbond was at London al that Lente;    

I hadde the bettre leyser for to pleye,

And for to see, and eek for to be seye

Of lusty folk; what wiste I wher my grace

Was shapen for to be, or in what place?

Therefore I made my visitaciouns,

To vigilies and to processiouns,

To preching eek and to thise pilgrimages,

To pleyes of miracles and mariages,

And wered upon my gaye scarlet gytes.

Thise wormes, ne thise motthes, ne thise mytes,    

Upon my peril, frete hem never a deel;

And wostow why? for they were used weel.

  Now wol I tellen forth what happed me.

I seye, that in the feeldes walked we,

Til trewely we hadde swich daliance,

This clerk and I, that of my purveyance

I spak to him, and seyde him, how that he,

If I were widwe, sholde wedde me.

For certeinly, I sey for no bobance,

Yet was I never with-outen purveyance

Of mariage, nof othere thinges eek.

I holde a mouses herte nat worth a leek,

That hath but oon hole for to sterte to,

And if that faille, thanne is al y-do.

  I bar him on honde, he hadde enchanted me; 

My dame taughte me that soutiltee.

And eek I seyde, I mette of him al night;

He wolde han slayn me as I lay up-right,

And al my bed was ful of verray blood,

But yet I hope that he shal do me good;

For blood bitokeneth gold, as me was taught.

And al was fals, I dremed of it right naught,

But as I folwed ay my dames lore,

As wel of this as of other thinges more.

  But now sir, lat me see, what I shal seyn?

A! ha! by god, I have my tale ageyn.

  Whan that my fourthe housbond was on bere,

I weep algate, and made sory chere,

As wyves moten, for it is usage,

And with my coverchief covered my visage; 

But for that I was purveyed of a make,

I weep but smal, and that I undertake.

  To chirche was myn housbond born a-morwe

With neighebores, that for him maden sorwe;

And Iankin oure clerk was oon of tho. 

As help me god, whan that I saugh him go

After the bere, me thoughte he hadde a paire

Of legges and of feet so clene and faire,

That al myn herte I yaf un-to his hold.

He was, I trowe, a twenty winter old,

And I was fourty, if I shal seye sooth;

But yet I hadde alwey a coltes tooth.

Gat-tothed I was, and that bicam me weel;

I hadde the prente of sëynt Venus seel.

As help me god, I was a lusty oon, 

And faire and riche, and yong, and wel bigoon;

And trewely, as myne housbondes tolde me,

I had the beste quoniam mighte be.

For certes, I am al Venerien

In felinge, and myn herte is Marcien. 

Venus me yaf my lust, my likerousnesse,

And Mars yaf me my sturdy hardinesse.

Myn ascendent was Taur, and Mars ther-inne.

Allas! allas! that ever love was sinne!

I folwed ay myn inclinacioun

By vertu of my constellacioun;

That made me I coude noght withdrawe

My chambre of Venus from a good felawe.

Yet have I Martes mark up-on my face,

And also in another privee place.

For, god so wis be my savacioun,

I ne loved never by no discrecioun,

But ever folwede myn appetyt,

Al were he short or long, or blak or whyt;

I took no kepe, so that he lyked me, 

How pore he was, ne eek of what degree.

  What sholde I seye, but, at the monthes ende,

This Ioly clerk Iankin, that was so hende,

Hath wedded me with greet solempnitee,

And to him yaf I al the lond and fee 

That ever was me yeven ther-bifore;

But afterward repented me ful sore.

He nolde suffre nothing of my list.

By god, he smoot me ones on the list,

For that I rente out of his book a leef, 

That of the strook myn ere wex al deef.

Stiborn I was as is a leonesse,

And of my tonge a verray Iangleresse,

And walke I wolde, as I had doon biforn,

From hous to hous, al-though he had it sworn.

For which he often tymes wolde preche,

And me of olde Romayn gestes teche,

How he, Simplicius Gallus, lefte his wyf,

And hir forsook for terme of al his lyf,

Noght but for open-heeded he hir say 

Lokinge out at his dore upon a day.

  Another Romayn tolde he me by name,

That, for his wyf was at a someres game

With-oute his witing, he forsook hir eke.

And than wolde he up-on his Bible seke

That ilke proverbe of Ecclesiaste,

Wher he comandeth and forbedeth faste,

Man shal nat suffre his wyf go roule aboute;

Than wolde he seye right thus, with-outen doute,

  “Who-so that buildeth his hous al of salwes, 

  And priketh his blinde hors over the falwes,

  And suffreth his wyf to go seken halwes,

  Is worthy to been hanged on the galwes!”

But al for noght, I sette noght an hawe

Of his proverbes nof his olde sawe,

Ne I wolde nat of him corrected be.

I hate him that my vices telleth me,

And so do mo, god woot! of us than I.

This made him with me wood al outrely;

I nolde noght forbere him in no cas. 

  Now wol I seye yow sooth, by seint Thomas,

Why that I rente out of his book a leef,

For which he smoot me so that I was deef.

  He hadde a book that gladly, night and day,

For his desport he wolde rede alway. 

He cleped it Valerie and Theofraste,

At whiche book he lough alwey ful faste.

And eek ther was som-tyme a clerk at Rome,

A cardinal, that highte Seint Ierome,

That made a book agayn Iovinian; 

In whiche book eek ther was Tertulan,

Crisippus, Trotula, and Helowys,

That was abbesse nat fer fro Parys;

And eek the Parables of Salomon,

Ovydes Art, and bokes many on, 

And alle thise wer bounden in o volume.

And every night and day was his custume,

Whan he had leyser and vacacioun

From other worldly occupacioun,

To reden on this book of wikked wyves. 

He knew of hem mo legendes and lyves

Than been of gode wyves in the Bible.

For trusteth wel, it is an impossible

That any clerk wol speke good of wyves,

But-if it be of holy seintes lyves, 

Ne of noon other womman never the mo.

Who peyntede the leoun, tel me who?

By god, if wommen hadde writen stories,

As clerkes han with-inne hir oratories,

They wolde han writen of men more wikkednesse      

Than all the mark of Adam may redresse.

The children of Mercurie and of Venus

Been in hir wirking ful contrarious;

Mercurie loveth wisdom and science,

And Venus loveth ryot and dispence.

And, for hir diverse disposicioun,

Ech falleth in otheres exaltacioun;

And thus, god woot! Mercurie is desolat

In Pisces, wher Venus is exaltat;

And Venus falleth ther Mercurie is reysed; 

Therfore no womman of no clerk is preysed.

The clerk, whan he is old, and may noght do

Of Venus werkes worth his olde sho,

Than sit he doun, and writ in his dotage

That wommen can nat kepe hir mariage!

  But now to purpos, why I tolde thee

That I was beten for a book, pardee.

Up-on a night Iankin, that was our syre,

Redde on his book, as he sat by the fyre,

Of Eva first, that, for hir wikkednesse,

Was al mankinde broght to wrecchednesse,

For which that Iesu Crist him-self was slayn,

That boghte us with his herte-blood agayn.

Lo, here expres of womman may ye finde,

That womman was the los of al mankinde. 

  Tho redde he me how Sampson loste his heres,

Slepinge, his lemman kitte hem with hir sheres;

Thurgh whiche tresoun loste he bothe his yën.

  Tho redde he me, if that I shal nat lyen,

Of Hercules and of his Dianyre, 

That caused him to sette himself a-fyre.

  No-thing forgat he the penaunce and wo

That Socrates had with hise wyves two;

How Xantippa caste pisse up-on his heed;

This sely man sat stille, as he were deed;

He wyped his heed, namore dorste he seyn

But “er that thonder stinte, comth a reyn.”

  Of Phasipha, that was the quene of Crete,

For shrewednesse, him thoughte the tale swete;

Fy! spek na-more—it is a grisly thing—

Of hir horrible lust and hir lyking.

  Of Clitemistra, for hir lecherye,

That falsly made hir housbond for to dye,

He redde it with ful good devocioun.

  He tolde me eek for what occasioun

Amphiorax at Thebes loste his lyf;

Myn housbond hadde a legende of his wyf,

Eriphilem, that for an ouche of gold

Hath prively un-to the Grekes told

Wher that hir housbonde hidde him in a place, 

For which he hadde at Thebes sory grace.

  Of Lyma tolde he me, and of Lucye,

They bothe made hir housbondes for to dye;

That oon for love, that other was for hate;

Lyma hir housbond, on an even late,

Empoysoned hath, for that she was his fo.

Lucya, likerous, loved hir housbond so,

That, for he sholde alwey up-on hir thinke,

She yaf him swich a maner love-drinke,

That he was deed, er it were by the morwe; 

And thus algates housbondes han sorwe.

  Than tolde he me, how oon Latumius

Compleyned to his felawe Arrius,

That in his gardin growed swich a tree,

On which, he seyde, how that his wyves three 

Hanged hem-self for herte despitous.

“O leve brother,” quod this Arrius,

“Yif me a plante of thilke blissed tree,

And in my gardin planted shal it be!”

  Of latter date, of wyves hath he red, 

That somme han slayn hir housbondes in hir bed,

And lete hir lechour dighte hir al the night

Whyl that the corps lay in the floor up-right.

And somme han drive nayles in hir brayn

Whyl that they slepte, and thus they han hem slayn.      

Somme han hem yeve poysoun in hir drinke.

He spak more harm than herte may bithinke.

And ther-with-al, he knew of mo proverbes

Than in this world ther growen gras or herbes.

“Bet is,” quod he, “thyn habitacioun 

Be with a leoun or a foul dragoun,

Than with a womman usinge for to chyde.

Bet is,” quod he, “hye in the roof abyde

Than with an angry wyf doun in the hous;

They been so wikked and contrarious;

They haten that hir housbondes loveth ay.”

He seyde, “a womman cast hir shame away,

Whan she cast of hir smok;” and forther-mo,

“A fair womman, but she be chaast also,

Is lyk a gold ring in a sowes nose.” 

Who wolde wenen, or who wolde suppose

The wo that in myn herte was, and pyne?

  And whan I saugh he wolde never fyne

To reden on this cursed book al night,

Al sodeynly three leves have I plight

Out of his book, right as he radde, and eke,

I with my fist so took him on the cheke,

That in our fyr he fil bakward adoun.

And he up-stirte as dooth a wood leoun,

And with his fist he smoot me on the heed, 

That in the floor I lay as I were deed.

And when he saugh how stille that I lay,

He was agast, and wolde han fled his way,

Til atte laste out of my swogh I breyde:

“O! hastow slayn me, false theef?” I seyde,    

“And for my land thus hastow mordred me?

Er I be deed, yet wol I kisse thee.”

  And neer he cam, and kneled faire adoun,

And seyde, “dere suster Alisoun,

As help me god, I shal thee never smyte;

That I have doon, it is thy-self to wyte.

Foryeve it me, and that I thee biseke”—

And yet eft-sones I hitte him on the cheke,

And seyde, “theef, thus muchel am I wreke;

Now wol I dye, I may no lenger speke.”

But atte laste, with muchel care and wo,

We fille acorded, by us selven two.

He yaf me al the brydel in myn hond

To han the governance of hous and lond,

And of his tonge and of his hond also, 

And made him brenne his book anon right tho.

And whan that I hadde geten un-to me,

By maistrie, al the soveraynetee,

And that he seyde, “myn owene trewe wyf,

Do as thee lust the terme of al thy lyf,

Keep thyn honour, and keep eek myn estaat”—

After that day we hadden never debaat.

God help me so, I was to him as kinde

As any wyf from Denmark un-to Inde,

And also trewe, and so was he to me.

I prey to god that sit in magestee,

So blesse his soule, for his mercy dere!

Now wol I seye my tale, if ye wol here.’

..

Biholde the wordes bitween the Somonour and the Frere.

..

The Frere lough, whan he hadde herd al this,

‘Now, dame,’ quod he, ‘so have I Ioye or blis,    

This is a long preamble of a tale!’

And whan the Somnour herde the Frere gale,

‘Lo!’ quod the Somnour, ‘goddes armes two!

A frere wol entremette him ever-mo.

Lo, gode men, a flye and eek a frere 

Wol falle in every dish and eek matere.

What spekestow of preambulacioun?

What! amble, or trotte, or pees, or go sit doun;

Thou lettest our disport in this manere.’

  ‘Ye, woltow so, sir Somnour?’ quod the Frere, 

‘Now, by my feith, I shal, er that I go,

Telle of a Somnour swich a tale or two,

That alle the folk shal laughen in this place.’

  ‘Now elles, Frere, I bishrewe thy face,’

Quod this Somnour, ‘and I bishrewe me,

But-if I telle tales two or thre

Of freres er I come to Sidingborne,

That I shal make thyn herte for to morne;

For wel I woot thy patience is goon.’

  Our hoste cryde ‘pees! and that anoon!’ 

And seyde, ‘lat the womman telle hir tale.

Ye fare as folk that dronken been of ale.

Do, dame, tel forth your tale, and that is best.’

  ‘Al redy, sir,’ quod she, ‘right as yow lest, 

If I have licence of this worthy Frere.’

  ‘Yis, dame,’ quod he, ‘tel forth, and I wol here.'

Here endeth the Wyf of Bathe hir Prologe.

The Prologue of the Wife’s Tale of Bath.

  “Experience, though none authority

Were in this world, were right enough to me

To speak of woe that is in marriage;

For, lordings, sith I twelve year was of age,  

Thanked be god that is eterne on live,

Husbands at church door I have had five;

For I so oft have y-wedded be;

And all were worthy men in their degree.

But me was told certain, not long a-gon is,

That sith that Christ ne went never but once

To wedding in the Cane of Galilee,

That by the same example taught he me

That I ne should wedded be but once.

Hark eek, lo! what a sharp word for the nones

Beside a well Jesus, god and man,

Spake in repreve of the Samaritan:

‘Thou hast y-had five husbands,’ quoth he,

‘And thilk man which that hath now thee,

Is not thine husband;’ thus said he certain;

What that he meant thereby, I can not sayn;

But that I ask, why that the fifth man

Was no husband to the Samaritan?

How many might she have in marriage?

Yet heard I never tellen in mine age

Upon this number definition;

Men may divine and glosen up and down.

But well I wot express, without lie,

God bade us for to wax and multiply;

That gentil text can I well understand.

Eke well I wot he said, mine husband

Should let father and mother, and take me;

But of no number mention made he,

Of bigamy or of octogamy;

Why should men then speak of it villainy?

Lo, hear the wise king, dan Solomon;

trow he had wives mo’ than one;

As, would god, it lawful were to me

To be refreshed half so oft as he!

Which gift of god had he for all his wivis!

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 fit

With each of ’em, so well was him on live!

Blessed be god that I have wedded five!

Welcome the sixth, when that ever he shall.

For sooth, I will not keep me chaste in all;

When mine husband is from the world y-gone,

Some Christian man shall wed me anon;

For then th’apostle saith, that I am free

To wed, a god’s half, where it liketh me.

He saith that to be wedded is no sin;

Bet is to be wedded than to burn.

What reck’eth me, though folk say villainy

Of shrewd Lamech and his bigamy?

wot well Abraham was an holy man,

And Jacob eke, as far-forth as I can;

And each of ’em had wives more than two;

And many another holy man also.

Where saw ye ever, in any manner age,

That high god defended marriage 

By express word? I pray you, telleth me;

Of where commanded he virginity?

wot as well as ye, it is no dread,

Th’apostle, when he speaketh of maidenhead;

He said, that precept thereof had he none.

Men may counsel a woman to be one,

But counselling is no commandment;

He put it in our own judgement.

For had god commanded maidenhead,

Then had he damned wedding with the deed;

And certes, if there were no seed y-sow,

Virginity, whereof then should it grow?

Paul durst not commanden at 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 take of every wight,

But there as god list give it of his might.

wot well, that th’apostle was a maid;

But natheless, though that he wrote and said,

He would that every wight were such as he,

All nis but counsel to virginity;

And for to be a wife, he gave me leave

Of indulgence; so it is no reprieve

To wed me, if that my make die,

Without exception of bigamy.

All were it good no women for to touch,

He meant as in his bed or in his couch;

For peril is both fire and tow t’assemble;

Ye know what this example may resemble.

This is all and some, he held virginity

More perfect than wedding in frailty.

Frailty clepe I, but if that he and she

Would leaden all their life in chastity.

  I grant it well, I have no envy,

Though maidenhead prefer bigamy;

’Em liketh to be clean, body and ghost,

Of mine state I nill not make no boast,

For well ye know, a lord in his household,

He nath not every vessel all of gold;

Some be of tree, and do her lord service.

God clepeth folk to him in sundry wise,

And everich hath of god a proper gift, 

Some this, some that,—as him liketh shift.

  Virginity is great perfection,

And continence eke with devotion.

But Christ, that of perfection is well,

Bade not every wight he should go sell

All that he had, and give it to the poor,

And in such wise follow him and his fore 

He spake to ’em that would live perfectly;

And lordings, by your leave, that am not I.

I will bestow the flower of all mine age

In the acts and in fruit of marriage.

  Tell me also, to what conclusion

Were members made of generation,

And for what profit was a wight y-wrought?

Trusteth right well, they were not made for naught.

Gloze whoso will, and say both up and down,

That they were made for purgation

Of urine, and our both things small

Were eke to know a female from a male,

And for no other cause: say ye no?

The experience wot well it is not so;

So that the clerks be not with me wroth,

say this, that they maked be for both,

This is to say, for office, and for ease

Of engendrure, there we not god displease.

Why should men else in their books set,

That man shall yield to his wife her debt?

Now wherewith should he make his payment,

If he ne used his seely instrument?   

Then were they made upon a creature,

To 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 usen ’em in engendrure;

Then should men take of chastity no cure.

Christ was a maid, and shapen as a man,

And many a saint, sith that the world began;  

Yet lived they ever in perfect chastity.

nill envy no virginity;  

Let ’em be bred of pured wheat-seed,

And let us wives highten barley-bread;

And yet with barley-bread, Mark tell can,

Our lord Jesus refreshed many a man.

In such state as god hath cleped us

I will persevere, I nam not precious.

In wifehood I will use mine instrument

As 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.

An husband I will have, I nill not let,

Which shall be both my debtor and my thrall,

And have his tribulation withal

Upon his flesh, while that I am his wife.

I have the power during all my life

Upon his proper body, and not he.

Right thus the 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 been a noble preacher in this case!

I was about to wed a wife; alas!

What should I buy it on my flesh so dear?

Yet had I liefer wed no wife this year!”

  “Abide,” quoth she, “my tale is not begun;

Nay, thou shalt drinken of another tun

Ere that I go, shall savour worse than ale.

And when that I have told thee forth my tale

Of tribulation in marriage,

Of which I am expert in all mine age,

This is to sayn, myself have been the whip;—

Then mayest thou choose whether thou wilt sip

Of thilk tun that I shall a-broach.

Beware of it, ere thou too nigh approach;

For I shall tell examples more than ten.

Whoso that nill be ware by other men,

By him shall other men corrected be.

The same words writeth Ptolemy;

Read in his Almagest, and take it there.”

  “Dame, I would pray you, if your will it were,”

Said this Pardoner, “as ye began,

Tell forth your tale, spareth for no man,

And teach us young men of your practice.”

  “Gladly,” quoth she, “sith it may you like.

But yet I pray to all this company,

If that I speak after my fantasy,

As taketh not a-grief of that I say;

For mine intent nis but for to play.

  Now sires, now will I tell forth my tale.—

As ever mote I drinken wine or ale,

I shall say sooth, though husbands that I had,

As three of ’em were good and two were bad.

The three men were good, and rich, and old;

Unneth might they the statute hold  

In which that they were bounden unto me.

Ye wot well what I mean of this, pardee!

As help me god, I laugh when I think

How piteously a-night I made ’em swink;

And by my fay, I told of it no store.

They had me given their gold and their treasure;

Me needed not do longer diligence

To win their love, or do ’em reverence.

They loved me so well, by god above,

That I ne told no dainty of their love!

A wise woman will set her ever in one

To get her love, there as she hath none.

But sith I had ’em wholly in mine hand,

And sith they had me given all their land,

What should I taken heed ’em for to please,

But it were for profit and mine ease?

I set ’em so a-work, by my fay,

That many a night they sungen ‘waylaway!’

The bacon was not fit for ’em, I trow,

That some men have in Essex at Dunmow.

I governed ’em so well, after my law,

That each of ’em full blissful was and fawe

To bring me gay things from the fair.

They were full glad when I spake to ’em fair;

For god it wot, I chid ’em spitously.

  Now harkneth, how I bear me properly,

Ye wise wives, that can understand.

  Thus should ye speak and bear ’em wrong on hand;

For half so boldly can there no man

Swear and lien as a woman can.

say not this by wives that been wise,

But if it be when they ’em misadvise.

A wise wife, if that she can her good,

Shall bearen him on hand the cow is wood,

And take witness of her own maid

Of her assent. But harkneth how I said.

  Sir old canard, is this thine array?   

Why is my neighbour’s wife so gay?

She is honoured over all there she goeth;

I sit at home, I have no thrifty cloth.

What doest thou at my neighbour’s house?

Is she so fair? art thou so amorous?

What roun ye with our maid? benedicite!   

Sir old lecher, let thy japes be!

And if I have a gossip or a friend, 

Withouten 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 proof!

Thou sayest to me, it is a great mischief

To wed a povre woman, for costage;

And if that she be rich, of high parage,

Then sayest thou that it is a tormentry

To suffer her pride and her melancholy.

And if that she be fair, thou very knave,

Thou sayest that every lecher will her have;

She may no while in chastity abide,

That is assailed upon each a side.

  Thou sayest, some folk desire us for richesse,

Some for our shape, and some for our fairness;

And some, for she can either sing or dance,

And some, for gentilesse and dalliance;

Some, for her hands and her arms small;

Thus goeth all to the devil by thy tale.

Thou sayest, men may not keep a castle wall;

It may so long assailed be overall.

  And if that she be foul, thou sayest that she

Coveteth every man that she may see,

For as a spaniel she will on him leap,

Till that she find some man her to cheap

Ne no so gray goose goeth there in the lake,

As, sayest thou, that will be without make.

And sayest, it is an hard thing for to wield

A thing that no man will, his thanks, held.

Thus sayest thou, scoundrel, when thou goest to bed;

And that no wise man needeth for to wed,

Ne no man that intendeth unto heaven.

With wild thunder-dent and fiery leven

Mote thy welked neck be to-broke!

  Thou sayest that dropping houses, and eke smoke,

And chiding wives, maken men to flee

Out of their own house; a! benedicite!

What aileth such an old man for to chide?

  Thou sayest, we wives will our vices hide

Till we be fast, and then we will ’em show;

Well may that be a proverb of a shrew!

  Thou sayest, that oxen, asses, horse, and hounds,

They been assayed at diverse stounds

Basins, lavers, ere that men ’em buy,

Spoons and stools, and all such husbandry,

And so been pots, cloths, and array;

But folk of wives maken no assay

Till they be wedded; old dotard shrew!

And then, sayest thou, we will our vices show.

  Thou sayest also, that it displeaseth me

But if that thou wilt praise my beauty,

And but thou pore alway upon my face,

And clepe me “fair dame” in every place;

And but thou make a feast on thilk day

That I was born, and make me fresh and gay,

And but thou do to my nourish honour,  

And to my chamberer within my bower,

And to my father’s folk and his allies;—

Thus sayest thou, old barrel-full of lies!

  And yet of our apprentice Jankin,

For his crisp hair, shining as gold so fine, 

And for he squireth me both up and down, 

Yet hast thou caught a false suspicion;

I will him not, though thou were dead tomorrow.  

  But tell me this, why hidest thou, with sorrow,

The keys of thy chest away from me?

It is my good as well as thine, pardee!

What weenest thou make an idiot of our dame?

Now by that lord, that called is saint Jame,

Thou shalt not both, though that thou were wood,

Be master of my body and of my good;

That one thou shalt forgo, maugre thine eyen

What helpeth it of me to enquire or spyen?

trow thou wouldest lock me in thy chest!

Thou shouldest say, ‘wife, go where thee list;

Take your disport; I will not ’lieve no tales;

I know you for a true wife, dame Alice.’

We love no man that taketh keep or charge

Where that we go, we will be at our large.

  Of all men y-blessed mote he be,

The wise astrologian Dan Ptolemy,

That saith this proverb in his Almagest,

‘Of all men his wisdom is the highest

That recketh never who hath the world in hand.’

By this proverb thou shalt understand,

Have thou enough, what need thee reck’ or care

How merrily that other folks fare?

For, certain, old dotard, by your leave,

Ye shall have quaint right enough at eve.

He is too great a niggard that would werne

A man to light a candle at his lantern;

He shall have never the less light, pardee;

Have thou enough, thee thar not ’plain thee. 

  Thou sayest also, that if we make us gay

With clothing, and with precious array,

That it is peril of our chastity;

And yet, with sorrow, thou must enforce thee,

And say these words in the apostles’ name,

‘In habit, made with chastity and shame,

Ye women shall apparel you,’ quoth he,

‘And not in tressed hair and gay perry,

As pearls, ne with gold, ne clothes rich;’

After thy text, ne after thy rubric,

I will not wirche as much as a gnat.  

Thou saidest this, that I was like a cat;

For whoso would singe a cat’s skin,

Then would the cat well dwellen in his inn;

And if the cat’s skin be slick and gay,

She will not dwell in house half a day,

But forth she will, ere any day be dawned,

To show her skin and go a-caterwauled.

This is to say, if I be gay, sir shrew,

I will run out, my burel for to show.  

  Sire old fool, what aileth thee to spyen?

Though thou pray Argos, with his hundred eyen,

To be my wardecorps, as he can best, 

In faith, he shall not keep me but me lest;

Yet could I make his beard, so mote I thee.

  Thou saidest eke, that there be things three,

The which things troublen all this earth,

And that no wight may endure the fourth;

O lief sir shrew, Jesus short thy life!  

Yet preachest thou, and sayest, an hateful wife

Y-reckoned is for one of these mischances.

Be there none other manner resemblances

That ye may liken your parables to,

But if a seely wife be one of tho’?   

  Thou likenest woman’s love to hell,

To barren land, there water may not dwell.

Thou likenest it also to wild fire;

The more it burneth, the more it hath desire

To consume every thing that burnt will be.

Thou sayest, right as worms shend a tree, 

Right so a wife destroyeth her husband;

This know they that been to wives bound.

  Lordings, right thus, as ye have understand,

Bear I stiffly mine old husbands on hand,

That thus they saiden in their drunkenness;

And all was false, but that I took witness

On Jankin, and on my niece also.

O lord, the pain I did ’em and the woe,

Full guiltless, by god’s sweet pine!

For as an horse I could bite and whine.

I could ’plain, though I were in the guilt,

Or else often time had I been spilt.

Whoso that first to mill cometh, first grint

I ’plained first, so was our war y-stint.

They were full glad to excuse ’em full blive

Of thing of which they never a-guilt their live.

  Of wenches would I bearen him on hand,

When that for sick unneths might he stand.   

Yet tickled it his heart, for that he

Wend that I had of him so great cherte

I swore that all my walking out by night

Was for t’espy wenches that he dight

Under that colour had I many a mirth.

For all such wit is given us in our birth;

Deceit, weeping, spinning god hath give

To women kindly, while they may live.

And thus of one thing I a-vaunt me,

At end I had the better in each degree,

By sleight, or force, or by some manner thing,

As by continual murmur or grouching;

Namely a-bed hadden they mischance,

There would I chide and do ’em 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 hawks lure;

For winning would I all his lust endure,

And make me a feigned appetite;

And yet in bacon had I never delight;

That made me that ever I would ’em chide.

For though the pope had setten ’em beside,

I would not spare ’em at their own board,

For, by my troth, I quit ’em word for word.

As help me very god omnipotent,

Though I right now should make my testament,

I ne owe ’em not a word that it nis quit.

I brought it so about by my wit,

That they must give it up, as for the best,

Or else 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, ‘good lief, take keep

How meekly looketh Wilkin our sheep;

Come near, my spouse, let me ba thy cheek! 

Ye should have been all patient and meek,

And have a sweet spiced conscience,

Sith ye so preach of Job’s patience.

Suffereth alway, since ye so well can preach;

And but ye do, certain we shall you teach

That it is fair to have a wife in peace.

One of us two must bowen, doubtless;

And sith a man is more reasonable

Than woman is, ye must be sufferable.

What aileth you to grouch thus and groan?

Is it for ye would have my quaint alone?

Why, take it all, lo, have it every deal;

Peter! I shrew you but ye love it well!

For if I would sell my bele chose,

I could walk as fresh as is a rose;

But I will keep it for your own tooth.

Ye be to blame, by god, I say you sooth.’

  Such manner words had we on hand.

Now will I speaken of my fourth husband.

  My fourth husband was a reveller,

This is to sayn, he had a paramour;

And I was young and full of ragery,

Stubborn and strong, and jolly as a ’pie.

How could I dance to an harp small,

And sing, y-wis, as any nightingale,

When I had drunk a draught of sweet wine.

Metellius, the foul churl, the swine,

That with a staff bereft his wife her life,

For she drank wine, though I had been his wife,

He should not have daunted me from drink;

And after wine on Venus most I think:

For all so certain as cold engendereth hail,

lickerous mouth must have a lickerous tale.

In women vinolent is no defence,   

This knowen lechers by experience.

  But, lord Christ! when that it remembereth me

Upon my youth, and on my jollity,

It tickleth me about mine heart root.

Unto this day it doeth mine heart boot

That I have had my world as in my time.

But age, alas! that all will envenom,

Hath me bereft my beauty and my pith;

Let go, farewell, the devil go therewith!

The flour is gone; there is no more to tell,

The bran, as I best can, now must I sell;

But yet to be right merry will I find.

Now will I tellen of my fourth husband.

  say, I had in heart great despite

That he of any other had delight.

But he was quit, by god and by saint Joce! 

I made him of the same wood a cross;

Not of my body in no foul manner,

But certainly, I made folk such cheer,

That in his own grease I made him fry

For anger, and for very jealousy.

By god, in earth I was his purgatory,

For which I hope his soul be in glory.

For god it wot, he sat full oft and sung

When that his shoe full bitterly him wrong.

There was no wight, save god and he, that wist,

In many a wise, how sore I him twist.

He died when I came from Jerusalem,

And lieth y-grave under the rood–beam,

All is his tomb not so curious 

As was the sepulchre of him, Darius,

Which that Appelles wrought subtly;

It nis but wast to bury him preciously.

Let him farewell; god give his soul rest,

He is now in the grave and in his chest.

  Now of my fifth husband will I tell.

God let his soul never come in hell!

And yet was he to me the most shrew;

That feel I on my ribs all by row,

And ever shall, unto mine ending day.

But in our bed he was so fresh and gay,

And therewithal so well could he me gloze,

When that he would have my bele chose,   

That though he had me beat on every bone,

He could win again my love anon.

trow I loved him best, for that he

Was of his love dangerous to me.

We women have, if that I shall not lie,

In this matter a quaint fantasy:

Wait what thing we might not lightly have,

Thereafter will we cry all day and crave.

Forbid us thing, and that desiren we;

Press on us fast, and then will we flee.

With danger out we all our chaffer;

Great press at market maketh dear ware,

And too great cheap is hold at little price;

This knoweth every woman that is wise.

  My fifth husband, god his soul bless!

Which that I took for love and no richesse,

He sometime was a clerk at Oxford,

And had left school, and went at home to board

With my godsib, dwelling in our town;

God have her soul! her name was Alison.

She knew mine heart and eke my privity,

Bet than our parish priest, so mote I thee!

To her betrayed all my counsel all.

For had mine 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 hot

For very shame, and blamed himself for he

Had told to me so great a privity.

  And so befell that once, in a Lent,

(So often times I to my godsib went,

For ever yet I loved to be gay,

And for to walk, in March, April, and May,

From house to house, to hear sundry tales),

That Jankin clerk, and my godsib dame Alice,

And I myself, into the fields 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 say

Of lusty folk; what wist I where my grace

Was shapen for to be, or in what place?

Therefore I made my visitations,

To vigils and to processions,

To preaching eke and to these pilgrimages,

To plays of miracles and marriages,

And weared upon my gay scarlet gites 

These worms, ne these moths, ne these mites,

Upon my peril, fret ’em never a deal; 

And wist thou why? for they were used well. 

  Now will I tellen forth what happed me.

say, that in the fields walked we,

Till truly we had such dalliance,

This clerk and I, that of my purveyance

I spake to him, and said him, how that he,

If I were widow, should wed me.

For certainly, I say for no bobance,

Yet was I never without purveyance

Of marriage, nof other things eke 

I hold a mouse’s heart not worth a leek,

That hath but one hole for to start to,   

And if that fail, then is all y-do.

  I bear him on hand, he had enchanted me;

My dame taught me that subtlety.

And eke I said, I met 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 hope that ye shall do me good;

For blood betokeneth gold, as me was taught.

And all was false; I dreamed of it right naught,

But as I followed aye my dames lore,

As well of this as of other things more.

  But now sir, let me see, what I shall sayn?

A! ha! by god, I have my tale again.

  When that my fourth husband was on bier,

I weep algate, and made sorry cheer, 

As wives moten, for it is usage,

And with my coverchief covered my visage;

But for that I was purveyed of a make,

I wept but small, and that I undertake.

  To church was mine husband born a-morrow

With neighbours, that for him maden sorrow;

And Jankin, our clerk, was one of tho’.

As help me God, when that I saw him go

After the bier, me thought he had a pair

Of legs and of feet so clean and fair,

That all mine 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 alway a colt’s tooth.

Gat-toothed I was, and that became me well;

I had the print of saint Venus’ seal.

As help me god, I was a lusty one,

And fair, and rich, and young, and well begun;

And truly, as mine husband told me,

I had the best quoniam might be.   

For certes, I am all Venusean

In feeling, and my heart is Martian.

Venus me gave me lust, my lickerousness,

And Mars gave me my sturdy hardiness.

Mine ascendant was Taur, and Mars therein.

Alas! alas! That ever love was sin!

I followed aye mine inclination

By virtue of my constellation;

That made me I could not withdraw

My chamber of Venus from a good fellow.

Yet have I Mart’s mark upon my face,

And also in another privy place.

For, god so wise be my salvation,

I ne loved never by no discretion,

But ever followed mine appetite,

All were he short or long, or black or white;

I took no keep, so that he liked me,

How poor he was, ne eke of what degree.

  What should I say, but, at the month’s end,

This jolly clerk Jankin, that was so hend,

Hath wedded me with great solemnity,

And to him gave I all the land and fee

That ever was me given there-before;

But afterward repented me full sore;

He nould suffer nothing of my list.

By god, he smote me once on the list,

For that I rent out of his book a leaf,

That of the stroke my ear wax 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 often times would preach,

And he of old Roman gests teach, 

How he, Simplicius Gallus, left his wife,

And her forsook for term of all his life,

Not but for open-heeded he her say

Looking out at his door upon a day.

  Another Roman told he me by name,

That, for his wife was at a summer’s game

Withouten her witting, he forsook her eke.

And then would he upon his Bible seek

That ilk proverb of Ecclesiast,

Where he commandeth and forbideth fast,

Men shall not suffer his wife go roll about;  

Then would he say right thus, withouten doubt,

  ‘Whoso that buildeth his house all of sallows,

  And pricketh his blind horse over the fallows,

  And suffreth his wife to go seeken hallows,

  Is worthy to be hanged on the gallows!’

But all for naught, I set not an haw

Of his proverbs nof his old saw,

Ne I would not of him corrected be.

I hate him that my vices telleth me,

And so do more, god wot! of us than I.

This made him with me wood all outrightly; 

nould 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 day,

For his disport he would read alway;

He cleped it Valery and Theophrast,

At which book he laugh alway full fast.

And eke there was sometime a clerk at Rome,

A cardinal, that hight saint Jerome,

That made a book against Jovinian;

In which book eke there was Tertullian,

Crisippus, Trotula, and Heloïse,

That was abbess not far from Paris,

And eke the Parables of Solomon,

Ovid’s Art, and books many one,

And all these were bounden in one volume.

And every night and day was his custom,

When he had leisure and vacation

From other worldly occupation,

To readen on this book of wicked wives.

He knew of ’em mo’ legends and lives,

Than been of good wives in the Bible.

For trusteth well, it is an impossible

That any clerk will speak good of wives,

But if it be of holy saints lives,

Ne of none other woman never the mo’.

Who painted the lion, tell me who?

By god, if women had written stories,

As clerks have within their oratories,

They would have written of men more wickedness

Than all the mark of Adam may redress.

The children of Mercury and of Venus

Been in their working full contrarious;

Mercury loveth wisdom and science,

And Venus loveth riot and dispense.

And, for their diverse disposition,

Each falleth in other’s exaltation;

And thus, god wot! Mercury is desolate

In Pisces, where Venus is exultant;

And Venus falleth there Mercury is raised;

Therefore no woman of no clerk is praised.

The clerk, when he is old, and may not do

Of Venus’ works worth his old shoe,

Then sit he down, and writ in his dotage

That women can not keep their marriage!

  But now to purpose, why I told thee

That I was beaten for a book, pardee.

Upon a night Jankin, that was our sire,

Read on his book, as he sat by the fire,

Of Eve first, that, for her wickedness

Was all mankind brought to wretchedness,

For which that Jesus Christ himself was slain,

That bought us with his heart blood again.

Lo, here express of women may ye find,

That woman was the loss of all mankind.

  Then read he me how Samson lost his hairs,

Sleeping, his leman cut ’em with her shears;

Through which treason lost he both his eyen.

  Then read he me, if that I shall not lien,

Of Hercules and of his Deianira,

That caused him to set himself a-fire.

  Nothing forgot he the penance and woe

That Socrates had with his wives two;

How Xantippe cast piss upon his head;

This seely man sat still, as he were dead; 

He wiped his head, no more durst he sayn,

But ‘ere that thunder stint, cometh a rain!’

  Of Pasiphae, that was the queen of Crete,

For shrewedness, him thought the tale sweet;

Fie! speak no more—it is a grisly thing—

Of her horrible lust and her liking.

  Of Clytemnestra, for her lechery,

That falsely made her husband for to die,

He read it with full good devotion.

  He told me eke for what occasion

Amphiaraus at Thebes lost his life;

Mine husband had a legend of his wife,

Eriphyle, that for a brooch of gold

Hath privily unto the Greeks told

Where that her husband hid him in a place,

For which he had at Thebes sorry grace.

  Of Livia told he me, and of Lucy:

They both made their husbands for to die,

That one for love, the other was for hate;

Livia her husband, on an even late,

Empoisonen hath, for that she was his foe.

Lucia, lickerous, loved her husband so

That, for he should alway upon her think,

She gave him such a manner love-drink,

That he was dead, ere it were by the morrow;

And thus algates husbands have sorrow.  

  Then told he me, how one Latumius

Complained unto his fellow Arrius,

That in his garden growed such a tree,

On which he said how that his wives three

Hanged ’emself for heart despitous.

‘O lief brother,’ quoth this Arrius,   

‘Give me a plant of thilk blessed tree,

And in my garden planted shall it be.’

  Of latter date, of wives hath he read,

That some have slain their husbands in their bed,

And let their lecher dight her all the night,

When that the corpse lay in the floor upright.

And some have drive nails in their brain,

While that they slept, and thus they have ’em slain.

Some have ’em give poison in their drink.

He spake more harm than heart may bethink.

And therewithal he knew of mo’ proverbs

Than in this world there groweth grass or herbs.

‘Bet is,’ quoth he, ‘thine habitation

Be with a lion or a foul dragon,

Than with a woman using for to chide.

Bet is,’ quoth he, ‘high in the roof abide,

Than with an angry wife down in the house;

They been so wicked and contrarious;

They haten that their husbands loveth aye.’

He said, ‘a woman cast her shame away,

When she cast off her smock;’ and furthermo’,

‘A fair woman, but she be chaste also,

Is like a gold ring in a sow’s nose.’

Who would weenen, or who would suppose

The woe that in my heart was, and pine?

  And when I saw that he would never fin,

To readen on this cursed book all night,

All suddenly three leaves have I plight

Out of his book, right as he read, and eke

I with my fist so took him on the cheek,

That in our fire he fell backward a-down.

And he up start as doth a wood lion,

And with his fist he smote me on the head,

That in the floor I lay as I were dead.

And when he saw how still that I lay,

He was aghast, and would have fled his way,

Till at last out of my sough I braid:

‘O! hast thou slain me, false thief,’ I said,

‘And for my land thus hast thou murdered me?

Ere I be dead, yet will I kiss thee.’

  And near he came, and kneeled fair a-down,

And said, ‘dear sister Alison,

As help me god, I shall thee never smite;

That I have done, it is thyself to wyte 

Forgive it me, and that I thee beseech’—

And yet eftsoons I hit him on the cheek,

And said, ‘thief, thus much am I reck’;

Now will I die, I may no longer speak.’

But at last, with much care and woe,

We fell accorded, by us selven two.

He gave me all the bridle in mine hand,

To have the governance of house and land,

And of his tongue and of his hand also,

And made him burn his book anon right tho

And when that I had getten unto me,

By mastery, all the sovereignty,

And that he said, ‘mine own true wife,

Do as thee lust the term of all thy life,

Keep thine honour, and keep eke mine estate’— 

After that day we hadden never debate.

God help me so, I was to him as kind

As any wife from Denmark unto Inde,

And also true, and so was he to me.

I pray to god, that sit in majesty,

So bless his soul, for his mercy dear!

Now will I say my tale, if ye will hear.”

..

Behold the words between the Summoner and the Friar..

..

  The Friar laughed, when he had heard all this;

“Now, dame,” quoth he, “so have I joy or bliss;

This is a long preamble of a tale!”

And when the Summoner heard the Friar gale,

“Lo!” quoth the Summoner, “god’s arms two!

A Friar will entremet him evermo’.  

Lo, good men, a fly and eke a friar

Will fall in every dish and eke matter.

What speakest thou of preambulation?

What! amble, or trot, or peace, or go sit down;

Thou lettest our disport in this manner.”

  “Yea, wilt thou so, sir Summoner?” quoth the Friar,

“Now, by my faith I shall, ere that I go,

Tell of a Summoner such a tale or two,

That all the folk shall laughen in this place.”

  “Now else, Friar, I beshrew thy face,”

Quoth this Summoner, “and I beshrew me,

But if I tell tales two or three

Of Friars ere I come to Sittingbourne,

That I shall make thine heart for to mourn,

For well I wot thy patience is gone.”

  Our host cried “peace! And that anon!”

And said, “let the woman tell her tale.

Ye fare as folk that drunken been of ale.

Do, dame, tell forth your tale, and that is best.”

  “All ready, sir,” quoth she, “right as you lest,

If I have licence of this worthy Friar.”

“Yes, dame,” quoth he, “tell forth, and I will hear.”

Here endeth the Wife of Bath her Prologue.