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Was long and streyt1, and gastly for to see.
And therout cam a rage and such a vese2,
That it made al the gates for to rese3.
The northern light in at the dorës schon,
For wyndowe on the wal ne was ther noon,
Thurgh which men mighten any light discerne.
The dore was al of ademaunt eterne,

I-clenched overthwart and endëlong *

4

With iren tough; and, for to make it strong,
Every piler the temple to susteene

Was tonnë greet, of iren bright and schene.
Ther saugh I first the derke ymaginyng
Of felonye, and al the compassyng;
The cruel ire, as reed as eny gleede;
The pikëpurs, and eek the palë drede;
The smyler with the knyf under the cloke;
The schepne brennyng with the blakë smoke ;
The tresoun of the murtheryng in the bed;
The open werre, with woundës al bi-bled;

9

10

8

Contek with bloody knyf, and scharp manace.
Al ful of chirkyng was that sory place.
The sleëre of himself" yet saugh I there,
His hertë-blood hath bathed al his here;
The nayl y-dryven in the schode 12 a-nyght;
The colde deth, with mouth gapyng upright.
Amyddes of the temple sat meschaunce,
With disconfort and sory contenaunce.
Yet saugh I woodnesse 13 laughying in his rage;
Armed complaint, outhees, and fiers outrage.
The caroigne 15 in the bussh, with throte y-corve 16:
A thousand slain, and not of qualme y-storve "
The tiraunt, with the prey by force y-raft 18;
The toun destroyed, ther was no thyng laft.
Yet sawgh I brent 19 the schippes hoppesteres 20

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3 shake.

6 live coal.

across and 7 stable.

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20 the dancing ships.

17 dead of

The hunte1 strangled with the wilde beres 2:
The sowe freten3 the child right in the cradel;
The cook i-skalded, for al his longe ladel.
Nought was foryete by the infortune of Marte;
The cartere over-ryden with his carte,

Under the whel ful lowe he lay adoun.

Ther were also of Martes divisioun,

The barbour, and the bocher; and the smyth
That forgeth scharpë swerdës on his stith "
And al above depeynted in a tour

Saw I conquést sittyng in gret honour,
With the scharpë swerd over his heed
Hangynge by a sotil twynës threed.

GOOD COUNSEIL OF CHAUCER.

Fle fro the pres, and dwelle with sothfastnesse ;
Suffice thee thy good, though hit be smal;
For hord hath hate, and clymbyng tikelnesse9,
Pres hath envye, and wele blent over al1o.
Savour no more then thee behovë shal;
Do wel thy-self that other folk canst rede,
And trouthe thee shal delyver, hit ys no drede ".

Peynë thee not eche croked to redresse
In trust of hir that turneth as a bal12,

Gret restë stant in lytil besynesse ;
Bewar also to spurne ayein a nal13,

13

Stryve not as doth a crokkë with a wal1;
Dauntë thy-selfe that dauntest otheres dede,
And trouthe thee shal delyver, hit is no drede.

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5

as regards.

security.

12 i.e. Fortune.

9 in

10 wealth everywhere blinds people. 11 there is no doubt.

3 (I saw) the sow eat.
7 painted.
8 subtle, thin.

⚫ forgotten.

14 i.e. as weak does with strong.

2

That thee is sent receyve in buxumnesse1,
The wrasteling of this world asketh a fal;
Heer is no hoom, heer is but wyldernesse.
Forth pilgrime, forth! forth best, out of thy stal!
Loke up on hye, and thonke God of al;
Weyvë3 thy lust, and let thy gost thee lede,
And trouthe shal thee delyver, hit is no drede.

L'Envoye1.

Therfor, thou vache, leve thyn old wrecchednesse ;
Unto the worlde leve now to be thral";

Crye him mercy, that of his heigh goodnesse
Made thee of naught; and, in especial,
Draw unto him, and pray in general

For thee, and eek for other, hevenly mede';

And trouthe schal thee delivere, it is no drede.

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POEMS COMMONLY ATTRIBUTED TO CHAUCER.

THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE.

It has already been said (p. 7) that Chaucer translated the Romaunt, and that a version has been current under his name for centuries. There is only one MS. of this translation, in the Hunterian Museum at Glasgow, so that we have no means of comparing texts, and thus settling the difficult questions that have been raised about it. As it stands, the poem contains various features which, in the opinion of the most advanced school of Chaucerian criticism, mark it out as being not Chaucer's ; the principal difficulty being connected with the rhymes, some of which seem to be irreconcileable with Chaucer's principles of pronunciation. The question cannot be properly discussed here, but in deference to what seems to be the balance of opinion we quote the Romaunt under the head of 'Poems attributed to Chaucer.' The passage given is remarkable as the original of the 'May morning' passages which abound in Chaucer and his successors. Whether by Chaucer or not, it is a vigorous and exact rendering of the French.

That it was May me thoughtë tho1,

It is .v. yere or more ago;
That it was May, thus dremëd me,
In tyme of love and jolité,
That al thing gynneth waxen gay,
For ther is neither busk nor hay 2
In May, that it nyl shrouded been,
And it with newë levës wreen 3.
These wodës eek recoveren grene,
That drie in wynter ben to sene;
And the erth wexith proud withalle,
For swotë dewes that on it falle;
And the pore estat forget,

In which that wynter had it set.

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And than bycometh the ground so proud,
That it wole have a newë shroud,

And makith so queynt his robe and faire,
That it had hewes an hundred payre,

Of gras and flouris, ynde and pers1,
And many hewës full dyvers:
That is the robe I mene, iwis,

Through which the ground to preisen is.
The briddës, that han left her song,
While thei han suffrid cold so strong
In wedres gryl2 and derk to sighte,
Ben in May for the sonnë brighte,
So glade, that they shewe in syngyng,
That in her hertis is sich lykyng,
That they mote syngen and be light.
Than doth the nyghtyngale hir myght,
To mak noyse, and syngen blythe.
Than is blisful many sithe3,
The chelaundre1, and the papyngay.
Than youngë folk entenden ay,
For to ben gay and amorous,

The tyme is than so savorous.

Hard is the hert that loveth nought
In May, whan al this mirth is wrought;
Whan he may on these braunches here
The smalë briddës syngen clere

Her blisful swetë song pitous,
And in this sesoun delytous:

Whan love affraieth 5 alle thing.

Methought a nyght, in my sleping,

Right in my bed ful redily,
That it was by the morowe erly,
And up I roos, and gan me clothe;

6

Anoon I wissh myn hondis bothe;
A sylvre nedle forth I drough

7

Out of an aguler queynt ynough,

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