50

We alle desyren, if it mighte be,
To han housbondes hardy, wyse, and free10,
And secree17, and no nigard, ne no fool,
Ne him that is agast of every tool18,
Ne noon avauntour19, by that God above!
How dorste ye sayn for shame unto youre love,
That any thing mighte make yow aferd?
Have ye no mannes herte, and han a berd? 100
Allas! and conne ye been agast of swevenis?
No-thing, God wot, but vanitee, in sweven is.
Swevenes engendren of replecciouns,

And ofte of fume, and of complecciouns20,
Whan humours21 been to22 habundant in a

wight.

And lyk the burned1 gold was his colour.
This gentil cok hadde in his governaunce
Sevene hennes, for to doon all his plesaunce,
Whiche were his sustres and his paramours,
And wonder lyk to him, as of colours.
Of whiche the faireste hewed on hir throte
Was clepeds faire damoysele Pertelote.
Curteys she was, discreet, and debonaire,
And compaignable, and bar hir-self so faire,
Sin thilke day that she was seven night old,
That trewely she hath the herte in hold
Of Chauntecleer loken in every lith5,
He loved hir so, that wel him was therwith.
But such a Ioye was it to here hem singe,
Whan that the brighte sonne gan to springe,
In swete accord, 'my lief is faren in londes.'
For thilke tyme, as I have understonde,
Bestes and briddes coude speke and singe.
And so bifel, that in a dawenynge,
As Chauntecleer among his wyves alle
Sat on his perche, that was in the halle,
And next him sat this faire Pertelote,
This Chauntecleer gan gronen in his throte,
As man that in his dreem is dreccheds sore.
And whan that Pertelote thus herde him rore,
She was agast, and seyde, 'o herte deere,
What eyleth yow, to grone in this manere? 70 That werken many a man in sleep ful wo;

60

Ye ben a verray sleper, fy for shame!'
And he answerde and seyde thus, madame,
I pray yow, that ye take nat agrief":
By God, me mette10 I was in swich meschief
Right now, that yet myn herte is sore afright.
Now God,' quod he, 'my swevene11 rede12
aright,

And keep my body out of foul prisoun!
Me mette, how that I romed up and doun
Withinne our yerde, wher as I saugh a beste,
Was lyk an hound, and wolde han maad
areste13

Upon my body, and wolde han had me deed.
His colour was bitwixe yelwe and reed;
And tipped was his tail, and bothe his eres
With blak, unlyk the remenant of his heres;
His snowte smal, with glowinge even tweye.
Yet of his look for fere almost I deye;
This caused me my groning, douteles.'

80

Certes this dreem, which ye han met23 to-night,
Cometh of the grete superfluitee

Of youre rede colera24, pardee,

110

Which causeth folk to dremen in here25 dremes
Of arwes26, and of fyr with rede lemes27,
Of grete bestes, that they wol hem byte,
Of contek28, and of whelpes grete and lyte;
Right as the humour of malencolye29
Causeth ful many a man, in sleep, to crye,
For fere of blake beres, or boles30 blake,
Or elles, blake develes wole him take.
Of othere humours coude I telle also,

Lo Catoun31, which that was so wys a man,
Seyde he nat thus, ne do no forss2 of dremes?
Now, sire,' quod she, 'whan we flee fro the
bemes,

For Goddes love, as33 tak som laxatyf;
Up peril of my soule, and of my lyf,
I counseille yow the beste, I wol nat lye,
That both of colere, and of malencolye29
Ye purge yow; and for ye shul nat tarie,
Though in this toun is noon apotecarie,
I shal my-self to herbes techen yow,
That shul ben for your hele, and for your
prow34;

129

And in our yerd tho herbes shal I fynde,
The whiche han of here propretee, by kynde35,
To purgen yow binethe, and eek above.
Forget not this, for Goddes owene love!
Ye been ful colerik of compleccioun.
Ware36 the sonne in his ascencioun
Ne fynde yow nat repleet of humours hote;

Of erbe yve, growing in our yerd, that mery is;
Pekke hem up right as they growe, and ete
hem in.

Be mery, housbond, for your fader kyn!
Dredeth no dreem; I can say yow namore.'
'Madame,' quod he, 'graunt mercy of your
lore.

160

This night I shal be mordred ther19 I lye.
Now help me, dere brother, or I dye;
In alle haste com to me,' he sayde.

This man out of his sleep for fere abrayde20;
But whan that he was wakned of his sleep,
He turned him, and took of this no keep21, 190
Him thoughte22 his dreem nas but a vanitee.
Thus twyes in his sleping dremed he.

And atte thridde tyme yet his felawe
Com, as him thoughte, and seide, 'I am now
slawe23;

Bihold my bloody woundes, depe and wyde!
Arys up erly in the morwe-tyde24,

200

210

And at the west gate of the toun,' quod he,
'A carte ful of donge ther shaltow see,
151 In which my body is hid ful prively;
Do thilke carte arresten 25 boldely.
My gold caused my mordre, sooth to sayn;'
And tolde him every poynt how he was slayn,
With a ful pitous face, pale of hewe.
And truste wel, his dreem he fond ful trewe;
For on the morwe, as sone as it was day,
To his felawes in he took the way;
And whan that he cam to this oxes stalle,
After his felawe he bigan to calle.
The hostiler answerde him anon,
And seyde, 'sire, your felawe is agon,
As sone as day he wente out of the toun.'
This man gan fallen in suspecioun,
Remembring on his dremes that he mette,
And forth he goth, no lenger wolde he lette26,
Unto the west gate of the toun, and fond
A dong-carte, as it were to donge lond,
That was arrayed in that same wyse
As ye han herd the dede man devyse27;
And with an hardy herte he gan to crye
Vengeaunce and Iustice of this felonye: 220
'My felawe mordred is this same night,
And in this carte he lyth gapinge upright.
I crye out on the ministres28,' quod he,
'That sholden kepe and reulen this citee;
Harrow! allas! her lyth my felawe slayn!'
What sholde I more un-to this tale sayn?
The peple out-sterte, and caste the cart to
grounde,

But natheles, as touching dauns Catoun,
That hath of wisdom such a gret renoun,
Though that he bad no dremes for to drede,
By God, men may in olde bokes rede
Of many a man, more of auctoritee
Than evere Catoun was, so moot I thee",
That al the revers10 seyn of this sentence11,
And han wel founden by experience,
That dremes ben significaciouns,
As wel of Ioye as tribulaciouns
That folk enduren in this lyf present.
Ther nedeth make of this noon argument;
The verray preve12 sheweth it in dede.
Oon of the gretteste auctours that men rede13
Seith thus, that whylom two felawes wente
On pilgrimage, in a ful good entente;
And happed so, thay come into a toun,
Wher as ther was swich congregacioun
Of peple, and eek so streit1 of herbergage15,
That they ne founde as muche as o cotage, 170
In which they bothe mighte y-logged be.
Wherfor thay mosten, of necessitee,
As for that night, departen compaignye;
And ech of hem goth to his hostelrye,
And took his logging as it wolde falle.
That oon of hem was logged in a stalle,
Fer16 in a yerd, with oxen of the plough;
That other man was logged wel y-nough,
As was his aventure17, or his fortune,
That us governeth alle as in commune18.
And so bifel, that, long er it were day,
This man mette in his bed, ther as he lay,
How that his felawe gan up-on him calle,
And seyde, 'allas! for in an oxes stalle

180

may I thrive (a
strong affirmative;
cp. 1. 246)

10 opposite
11 opinion

12 proof

13 Cicero

14 scant

15 lodging-places
16 afar

8 lord,

17 luck

dominus)

18 in general

'Here may men seen that dremes been to That no man sholde been to recchelees28 drede.

Of dremes, for I sey thee, doutelees,
That many a dreem ful sore is for to drede.
'Lo, in the lyf of seint Kenelm, I rede, 290
That was Kenulphus sone, the noble king
Of Mercenrike29, how Kenelm mette a thing;
A lyte30 er he was mordred, on a day,
His mordre in his avisioun31 he say32.

250 His norice33 him expouned every del

If thilke day he wente in-to bataille;
She warned him, but it mighte nat availle;
He wente for to fighte natheles,
But he was slayn anoon1 of Achilles.
But thilke tale is al to long to telle,
And eek it is ny3 day, I may nat dwelle.
Shortly I seye, as for conclusioun,
That I shal han of this avisioun
Adversitee; and I seye forther-more,
That I ne telle of laxatyves no store,
For they ben venimous5, I woot it wel;
I hem defye, I love hem nevere a del.

That it was pryme12, and crew with blisful
stevene13.
'The sonne, "

he sayde, 'is clomben up on

380

hevene
Fourty degrees and oon, and more, y-wis.
330 Madame Pertelote, my worldes blis,
Herkneth thise blisful briddes14 how they singe,
And see the fresshe floures how they springe;
Ful is myn hert of revel and solas.'
But sodeinly him fil a sorweful cas15;
For evere the latter ende of Ioye is wo.
God woot that worldly Ioye is sone ago16;

'Now let us speke of mirthe, and stinte al And if a rethor17 coude faire endyte18,
this;

Madame Pertelote, so have I blis",

Of o thing God hath sent me large grace;
For whan I see the beautee of your face,
Ye ben so scarlet-reed about youre yën,
It maketh al my drede for to dyen;
For, also siker7 as In principio,
Mulier est hominis confusios;

Madame, the sentence of this Latin is-
Womman is mannes Ioye and al his blis;

389

400

He in a chronique saufly19 mighte it write,
As for a sovereyn notabilitee20.
Now every wys man, lat him herkne me;
340 This storie is al-so trewe, I undertake21,
As is the book of Launcelot de Lake22,
That wommen holde in ful gret reverence.
Now wol I torne agayn to my sentence.
A col23-fox, ful of sly iniquitee,
That in the grove hadde woned yeres three,
By heigh imaginacioun forn-cast24,
The same night thurgh-out the hegges25 brast 26
350 Into the yerd, ther Chauntecleer the faire
Was wont, and eek his wyves, to repaire;
the And in a bed of wortes27 stille he lay,
Til it was passed undern28 of the day,
Wayting his tyme on Chauntecleer to falle
As gladly doon thise homicydes alle,
That in awayt liggen29 to mordre men.
O false mordrer, lurking in thy den!
O newe Scariot30, newe Genilon31!
False dissimilour32, O Greek Sinon33,
That broghtest Troye al-outrely34 to sorwe!
O Chauntecleer, acursed be that morwe,
That thou into that yerd flough fro the bemes!
Thou were ful wel y-warned by thy dremes,
That thilke day was perilous to thee.
But what that God forwot35 mot nedes be,
After the opinioun of certeyn clerkis.

He loketh as it were a grim leoun;
And on his toos he rometh up and doun, 360
Him deyned10 not to sette his foot to grounde.
He chukketh, whan he hath a corn y-founde,
And to him rennen11 thanne his wyves alle.
Thus roial, as a prince is in his halle,
Leve I this Chauntecleer in his pasture;
And after wol I telle his aventure.

Whan that the month in which the world Witnesse on36 him, that any perfit clerk is,
bigan,
That in scole is gret altercacioun

That highte March, whan God first maked man, In this matere, and greet disputisoun,

Was complet, and y-passed were also,
Sin March bigan, thritty dayes and two,
Bifel that Chauntecleer, in al his pryde,
His seven wyves walking by his syde,
Caste up his eyen to the brighte sonne,
That in the signe of Taurus hadde y-ronne
Twenty degrees and oon, and somwhat more;
And knew by kynde, and by noon other lore,

26 burst

27 herbs

410

28 about eleven a. m. 29 lie

30 Judas Iscariot

31 The traitor that caused the defeat of Charlemagne and the death of Roland.

32 deceiver

33 Designer of the wooden horse by which Troy was entered.

34 entirely

35 foreknows

36 by

He wolde han fled, but that the fox anon Seyde, 'Gentil sire, allas! wher wol ye gon? Be ye affrayed of me that am your freend? Now certes, I were worse than a feend, If I to yow wolde harm or vileinye. I am nat come your counseil for tespye; But trewely, the cause of my cominge Was only for to herkne how that ye singe. 470 For trewely ye have as mery a stevene18, As eny aungel hath, that is in hevene; Therwith ye han in musik more felinge 430 Than hadde Boece, or any that can singe.