The Shipman’s Tale3675
The Prologue
Our Host upon his stirrups stood anon,
And saidë; “Good men, hearken every one,
This was a thrifty3676 talë for the nones.
Sir Parish Priest,” quoth he, “for Goddë’s bones,
Tell us a tale, as was thy forword yore:3677
I see well that ye learned men in lore
Can3678 muchë good, by Goddë’s dignity.”
The Parson him answér’d, “Ben’dicite!
What ails the man, so sinfully to swear?”
Our Host answér’d, “O Jankin, be ye there?
Now, good men,” quoth our Host, “hearken to me.
I smell a Lollard3679 in the wind,” quoth he.
“Abide, for Goddë’s dignë3680 passión,
For we shall have a predicatión:
This Lollard here will preachen us somewhat.”
“Nay, by my father’s soul, that shall he not,”
Saidë the Shipman; “Here shall he not preach,
He shall no gospel glosë3681 here nor teach.
We all believe in the great God,” quoth he.
“He wouldë sowë some difficultý,
Or springë cockle3682 in our cleanë corn.
And therefore, Host, I warnë thee beforn,
My jolly body shall a talë tell,
And I shall clinkë you so merry a bell,
That I shall waken all this company;
But it shall not be of philosophy,
Nor of physíc, nor termës quaint of law;
There is but little Latin in my maw.”3683
The Tale
A Merchant whilom dwell’d at Saint Deníse,
That richë was, for which men held him wise.
A wife he had of excellent beautý,
And companiable and revellous3684 was she,
Which is a thing that causeth more dispence
Than worth is all the cheer and reverence
That men them do at feastës and at dances.
Such salutatións and countenánces
Passen, as doth the shadow on the wall;
Put woe is him that payë must for all.
The sely3685 husband algate3686 he must pay,
He must us3687 clothe and he must us array
All for his owen worship richëly:
In which array we dancë jollily.
And if that he may not, paráventure,
Or ellës list not such dispence endure,
But thinketh it is wasted and y-lost,
Then must another payë for our cost,
Or lend us gold, and that is perilous.
This noble merchant held a noble house;
For which he had all day so great repair,3688
For his largesse, and for his wife was fair,
That wonder is; but hearken to my tale.
Amongës all these guestës great and smale,
There was a monk, a fair man and a bold,
I trow a thirty winter he was old,
That ever-in-one3689 was drawing to that place.
This youngë monk, that was so fair of face,
Acquainted was so with this goodë man,
Since that their firstë knowledgë began,
That in his house as familiár was he
As it is possible any friend to be.
And, for as muchel as this goodë man,
And eke this monk of which that I began,
Were both the two y-born in one villáge,
The monk him claimed, as for cousinage,3690
And he again him said not oncë nay,
But was as glad thereof as fowl of day;
For to his heart it was a great pleasánce.
Thus be they knit with etern’ alliánce,
And each of them gan other to assure
Of brotherhood while that their life may dure.
Free was Dan3691 John, and namely3692 of dispence,
As in that house, and full of diligence
To do pleasánce, and also great costáge;3693
He not forgot to give the leastë page
In all that house; but, after their degree,
He gave the lord, and sithen3694 his meinie,3695
When that he came, some manner honest thing;
For which they were as glad of his comíng
As fowl is fain when that the sun upriseth.
No more of this as now, for it sufficeth.
But so befell, this merchant on a day
Shope3696 him to makë ready his array
Toward the town of Bruges for to fare,
To buyë there a portión of ware;3697
For which he hath to Paris sent anon
A messenger, and prayed hath Dan John
That he should come to Saint Denís, and play3698
With him, and with his wife, a day or tway,
Ere he to Bruges went, in allë wise.
This noble monk, of which I you devise,3699
Had of his abbot, as him list, licence,
(Because he was a man of high prudence,
And eke an officer out for to ride,
To see their granges and their barnës wide);3700
And unto Saint Denis he came anon.
Who was so welcome as my lord Dan John,
Our dearë cousin, full of courtesy?
With him he brought a jub3701 of malvesie,3702
And eke another full of fine vernage,3703
And volatile,3704 as aye was his uságe:
And thus I let them eat, and drink, and play,
This merchant and this monk, a day or tway.
The thirdë day the merchant up ariseth,
And on his needës sadly him adviseth;3705
And up into his countour-house3706 went he,
To reckon with himself as well may be,
Of thilkë3707 year, how that it with him stood,
And how that he dispended bad his good,
And if that he increased were or non.
His bookës and his baggës many a one
He laid before him on his counting-board.
Full richë was his treasure and his hoard;
For which full fast his countour door he shet;
And eke he would that no man should him let3708
Of his accountës, for the meanë time:
And thus he sat, till it was passed prime.
Dan John was risen in the morn also,
And in the garden walked to and fro,
And had his thingës said full courteously.
The good wife came walking full privily
Into the garden, where he walked soft,
And him saluted, as she had done oft;
A maiden child came in her companý,
Which as her list she might govérn and gie,3709
For yet under the yardë3710 was the maid.
“O dearë cousin mine, Dan John,” she said,
“What aileth you so rath3711 for to arise?”
“Niecë,” quoth he, “it ought enough suffice
Five hourës for to sleep upon a night;
But3712 it were for an old appalled3713 wight,
As be these wedded men, that lie and dare,3714
As in a formë sits a weary hare,
Allë forstraught3715 with houndës great and smale;
But, dearë niecë, why be ye so pale?
I trowë certes that our goodë man
Hath you so laboúred, since this night began,
That you were need to restë hastily.”
And with that word he laugh’d full merrily,
And of his owen thought he wax’d all red.
This fairë wife gan for to shake her head,
And saidë thus; “Yea, God wot all,” quoth she.
“Nay, cousin mine, it stands 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 lessë lust hath to that sorry play;
For I may sing alas and well-away!
That I was born; but to no wight,” quoth she,
“Dare I not tell how that it stands with me.
Wherefore I think out of this land to wend,
Or ellës 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 niecë, God forbid
That ye for any sorrow, or any dread,
Fordo3716 yourself: but tellë me your grief,
Paráventure I may, in your mischíef,3717
Counsel or help; and therefore tellë me
All your annoy, for it shall be secré.
For on my portos3718 here I make an oath,
That never in my life, for lief nor loth,3719
Ne shall I of no counsel you bewray.”
“The same again to you,” quoth she, “I say.
By God and by this portos I you swear,
Though men me woulden all in pieces tear,
Ne shall I never, for3720 to go to hell,
Bewray one word of thing that ye me tell,
For no cousinage, nor alliánce,
But verily for love and affiánce.”3721
Thus be they sworn, and thereupon they kiss’d,
And each of them told other what them list.
“Cousin,” quoth she, “if that I haddë space,
As I have none, and namely3722 in this place,
Then would I tell a legend of my life,
What I have suffer’d since I was a wife
With mine husbánd, all3723 be he your cousín.
“Nay,” quoth this monk, “by God and Saint Martín,
He is no morë cousin unto me,
Than is the leaf that hangeth on the tree;
I call him so, by Saint Denis of France,
To have the morë cause of ácquaintánce
Of you, which I have loved specially
Aboven allë women sickerly,3724
This swear I you on my professioún;3725
Tell me your grief, lest that he come adown,
And hasten you, and go away anon.”
“My dearë love,” quoth she, “O my Dan John,
Full lief3726 were me this counsel for to hide,
But out it must, I may no more abide.
My husband is to me the worstë man
That ever was since that the world began;
But since I am a wife, it sits3727 not me
To tellë no wight of our privity,
Neither in bed, nor in none other place:
God shield3728 I shouldë tell it for his grace;
A wifë shall not say of her husbánd
But all honoúr, as I can understand;
Save unto you thus much I tellë shall;
As help me God, he is nought worth at all,
In no degree, the value of a fly.
But yet me grieveth most his niggardý.3729
And well ye wot, that women naturally
Desire thingës six, as well as I.
They wouldë that their husbands shouldë be
Hardy,3730 and wise, and rich, and thereto free,
And buxom3731 to his wife, and fresh in bed.
But, by that ilkë3732 Lord that for us bled,
For his honoúr myself for to array,
On Sunday next I mustë needës pay
A hundred francs, or ellës am I lorn.3733
Yet were me lever3734 that I were unborn,
Than me were done slander or villainý.
And if mine husband eke might it espy,
I were but lost; and therefore I you pray,
Lend me this sum, or ellës must I dey.3735
Dan John, I say, lend me these hundred francs;
Pardie, I will not failë you, my thanks,3736
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 servíce
That I may do, right as you list devise.
And but3737 I do, God take on me vengeánce,
As foul as e’er had Ganilion3738 of France.”
This gentle monk answér’d in this mannére;
“Now truëly, mine owen lady dear,
I have,” quoth he, “on you so greatë ruth,3739
That I you swear, and plightë you my truth,
That when your husband is to Flanders fare,3740
I will deliver you out of this care,
For I will bringë you a hundred francs.”
And with that word he caught her by the flanks,
And her embraced hard, and kissed her oft.
“Go now your way,” quoth he, “all still and soft,
And let us dine as soon as that ye may,
For by my calinder ’tis prime of day;
Go now, and be as true as I shall be.”
“Now ellës God forbiddë, Sir,” quoth she;
And forth she went, as jolly as a pie,
And bade the cookës that they should them hie,3741
So that men mightë dine, and that anon.
Up to her husband is this wifë gone,
And knocked at his contour boldëly.
“Qui est la?”3742 quoth he. “Peter! it am I,”
Quoth she; “What, Sir, how longë all will ye fast?
How longë time will ye reckon and cast
Your summës, and your bookës, and your things?
The devil have part of all such reckonings!
Ye have enough, pardie, of Goddë’s sond.3743
Come down to-day, and let your baggës stond.
Ne be ye not ashamed, that Dan John
Shall fasting all this day elengë3744 gon?
What? let us hear a mass, and go we dine.”
“Wife,” quoth this man, “little canst thou divine
The curious businessë that we have;
For of us chapmen, all so God me save,
And by that lord that cleped is Saint Ive,
Scarcely amongës twenty, ten shall thrive
Continually, lasting unto our age.
We may well makë cheer and good viságe,
And drivë forth the world as it may be,
And keepen our estate in privity,
Till we be dead, or ellës that we play
A pilgrimage, or go out of the way.
And therefore have I great necessity
Upon this quaint3745 world to advisë3746 me.
For evermorë must we stand in dread
Of hap and fortune in our chapmanhead.3747
To Flanders will I go to-morrow at day,
And come again as soon as e’er I may:
For which, my dearë wife, I thee beseek
As be to every wight buxom3748 and meek,
And for to keep our good be curious,
And honestly governë well our house.
Thou hast enough, in every manner wise,
That to a thrifty household may suffice.
Thee lacketh none array, nor no vitail;
Of silver in thy purse thou shalt not fail.”
And with that word his contour door he shet,3749
And down he went; no longer would he let;3750
And hastily a mass was therë said,
And speedily the tables werë laid,
And to the dinner fastë they them sped,
And richëly this monk the chapman fed.
And 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 ye will go;
God and Saint Austin speedë you and guide.
I pray you, cousin, wisely that ye ride:
Governë you also of your diét
Attemperly,3751 and namely3752 in this heat.
Betwixt us two needeth no strangë fare;3753
Farewell, cousín, God shieldë 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 be done, right as ye will devise.
But one thing ere ye go, if it may be;
I wouldë pray you for to lend to me
A hundred frankës, for a week or twy,
For certain beastës that I mustë buy,
To storë with3754 a placë that is ours
(God help me so, I would that it were yours);
I shall not failë surely of my day,
Not for a thousand francs, a milë way.
But let this thing be secret, I you pray;
For yet tonight these beastës must I buy.
And fare now well, mine owen cousin dear;
Grand mercy3755 of your cost and of your cheer.”
This noble merchant gentilly3756 anon
Answér’d and said, “O cousin mine, Dan John,
Now sickerly this is a small request:
My gold is yourës, when that it you lest,
And not only my gold, but my chaffare;3757
Take what you list, God shieldë that ye spare.3758
But one thing is, ye know it well enow
Of chapmen, that their money is their plough.
We may creancë3759 while we have a name,
But goldless for to be it is no game.
Pay it again when it lies in your ease;
After my might full fain would I you please.”
These hundred frankës set he forth anon,
And privily he took them to Dan John;
No wight in all this world wist of this loan,
Saving the merchant and Dan John alone.
They drink, and speak, and roam a while, and play,
Till that Dan John rode unto his abbay.
The morrow came, and forth this merchant rideth
To Flanders-ward, his prentice well him guideth,
Till he came unto Bruges merrily.
Now went this merchant fast and busily
About his need, and buyed and creanced;
He neither played at the dice, nor danced;
But as a merchant, shortly for to tell,
He led his life; and there I let him dwell.
The Sunday next3760 the merchant was y-gone,
To Saint Denís y-comen is Dan John,
With crown and beard all fresh and newly shave,
In all the house was not so little a knave,3761
Nor no wight ellës that was not full fain
For that my lord Dan John was come again.
And shortly to the point right for to gon,
The fairë wife accorded with Dan John,
That for these hundred francs he should all night
Havë her in his armës 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 meinie3762 “Farewell; have good day.”
For none of them, nor no wight in the town,
Had of Dan John right no suspicioún;
And forth he rodë home to his abbay,
Or where him list; no more of him I say.
The merchant, when that ended was the fair,
To Saint Denís he gan for to repair,
And with his wife he madë feast and cheer,
And toldë her that chaffare3763 was so dear,
That needës must he make a chevisance;3764
For he was bound in a recognisance
To payë twenty thousand shields3765 anon.
For which this merchant is to Paris gone,
To borrow of certain friendës that he had
A certain francs, and some with him he lad.3766
And when that he was come into the town,
For great cherté3767 and great affectioún
Unto Dan John he wentë first to play;
Not for to borrow of him no monéy,
Bat for to weet3768 and see of his welfare,
And for to tellë him of his chaffare,
As friendës do, when they be met in fere.3769
Dan John him madë 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 allë manner wise,
Maken a chevisance, as for his best;
And then he shouldë be in joy and rest.
Dan John answered, “Certes, I am fain3770
That ye in health be comë home again:
And if that I were rich, as have I bliss,
Of twenty thousand shields should ye not miss,
For ye so kindëly the other day
Lentë me gold, and as I can and may
I thankë you, by God and by Saint Jame.
But natheless I took unto our Dame,
Your wife at home, the samë gold again,
Upon your bench; she wot it well, certáin,
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 I mustë gon.
Greet well our Dame, mine owen niecë sweet,
And farewell, dearë cousin, till we meet.”
This merchant, which that was full ware and wise,
Creanced hath, and paid eke in París
To certain Lombards ready in their hond
The sum of gold, and got of them his bond,
And home he went, merry as a popinjay.
For well he knew he stood in such array
That needës must he win in that voyáge3771
A thousand francs, above all his costáge.3772
His wife full ready met him at the gate,
As she was wont of old uságe algate;3773
And all that night in mirthë they beset;3774
For he was rich, and clearly out of debt.
When it was day, the merchant gan embrace
His wife all new, and kiss’d her in her face,
And up he went, and maked it full tough.
“No more,” quoth she, “by God ye have enough;”
And wantonly again with him she play’d,
Till at the last this merchant to her said.
“By God,” quoth he, “I am a little wroth
With you, my wife, although it be me loth;
And wot ye why? by God, as that I guess,
That ye have made a manner strangëness3775
Betwixtë me and my cousín, Dan John.
Ye should have warned me, ere I had gone,
That he you had a hundred frankës paid
By ready token; he had him evil apaid3776
For that I to him spake of chevisance,3777
(He seemed so as by his countenance);
But natheless, by God of heaven king,
I thoughtë not to ask of him no thing.
I pray thee, wife, do thou no morë so.
Tell me alway, ere that I from thee go,
If any debtor hath in mine absénce
Y-payed thee, lest through thy negligence
I might him ask a thing that he hath paid.”
This wife was not afeared nor afraid,
But boldëly she said, and that anon;
“Mary! I defy that false monk Dan John,
I keep3778 not of his tokens never a deal:3779
He took me certain gold, I wot it well.—
What? evil thedom3780 on his monkë’s snout!—
For, God it wot, I ween’d withoutë doubt
That he had given it me, because of you,
To do therewith mine honour and my prow,3781
For cousinage, and eke for bellë cheer
That he hath had full oftentimë here.
But since I see I stand in such disjoint,3782
I will answér you shortly to the point.
Ye have more slackë 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 troth, I have on mine array,
And not in waste, bestow’d it every deal.
And, for I have bestowed it so well,
For your honoúr, for Goddë’s sake I say,
As be not wroth, but let us laugh and play.
Ye shall my jolly body have to wed;3783
By God, I will not pay you but in bed;
Forgive it me, mine owen spousë dear;
Turn hitherward, and makë better cheer.”
The merchant saw none other remedy;
And for to chide, it were but a follý,
Since that the thing might not amended be.
“Now, wife,” he said, “and I forgive it thee;
But by thy lifë be no more so large;3784
Keep better my good, this give I thee in charge.”
Thus endeth now my tale; and God us send
Taling enough, until our livës’ end!