A Modern Translation
An ABC
Here begins the song according to the order of the letters of the alphabet.
Almighty, all-merciful Queen, to whom all this world flees for succor, to have release from sin, sorrow and trouble, glorious Virgin, flower of all flowers, to you I flee, confounded in error! You mighty, gracious lady, help and relieve me, pity my perilous malady! My cruel adversary has vanquished me.
Bounty has so fixed his tent in your heart that well I know you will be my succor; you can not reject him who with pious mind asks your aid. Your heart is ever so bounteous; you are the liberal giver of full felicity, haven of refuge, of quiet and rest. Lo, how the seven thieves pursue me! Help, bright lady, before my ship goes to pieces!
Comfort is there none, save in you, dear lady, for lo! my sin and confusion, which ought not to come into your presence, have brought against me a grievous suit, founded on strict justice and my despair. And in justice they might well maintain that I would be worthy of condemnation, were it not for your mercy, blessed queen of heaven.
Doubt is there none that you, queen of mercy, are the source of grace and mercy on earth. Through you God vowed to be reconciled with us. For surely, dear, blessed mother of Christ, were the bow of justice and wrath bent now in such wise as it was at first, the righteous God would hear of no mercy; but through you we have favor, as we desire.
Ever has my hope of refuge been in you, for in various manners you have to this day received me into mercy so often. But grant me favor, lady, at the Great Court,* when we shall come before the high Judge! So little fruit shall be found in me at that time that, unless you well chasten me before that day, by strict justice my work will destroy me.
Fleeing, I flee to your tent for aid, to hide me from the terrible tempest, beseeching you that, though I may be wicked, you will not withdraw yourself from me. Ah, help me in this need! Though I have been a beast in will and in act, lady, clothe me with your grace. Take heed, lady, your enemy and mine is determined to pursue me unto my death.
Glorious maid and mother, who never in earth or heaven was bitter, but ever full of sweetness and mercy, in order that my Father may not be angry with me, help me. Please speak, for I dare not behold Him! Alas the time! I have done such things on earth that surely, unless you will be my relief, He will exile my spirit to eternal stench.
He promised, tell Him, to become a man, to have kinship with us, as was His will; and with His precious blood He drew up the contract upon the cross as general release for every penitent that believes in Him. And therefore, bright lady, pray for us! Then you shall both put to rest all His displeasure, and snatch the prey from our foe.
I know it well, you will truly be our comfort, as you are so full of bounty. For when a soul falls into sin, your pity goes and hails him back again. Then you make his peace with his Lord and draw him away from the crooked path. Whoever loves you shall find, as he leaves this life, he loves not in vain.
Kalendars and illuminated texts* are those in this world that are lighted with your name; and whosoever takes to you by the straight path need not fear to be maimed in soul. Now, queen of comfort, since you are she from whom I seek my medicine, let my foe no more re-open my wound; I commit my health entirely into your hand.
Lady, I cannot portray the sorrow you had beneath the cross, nor His grievous suffering. But by the pains of both I pray you, let not the foe of us all make his boast that he has vanquished in his fatal battles what You both have ransomed for such a great price. As I first said, you, the foundation of our being, please keep your merciful bright eyes upon us.
Moses, who saw the bush burning with red flames, of which was never a stick consumed, saw the sign of your unspotted maidenhood. You are the bush which Moses deemed had been afire, on which descended the Holy Spirit; and this was a symbol. Now, lady, defend us from the fire which shall last eternally in hell.
Noble princess, who never had any peer, surely, if there may be any comfort for us, it comes from you, you beloved mother of Christ. No other melody or song do we have to make us rejoice in our adversity, no other advocate who will and dare so pray for us; and you do so for such small payment, and help us for an Ave-Maria* or two.
O true light for blind eyes, O true delight of them in labor and trouble, O treasurer of grace to mankind, you who for your humility God chose as mother! From His handmaiden He made you mistress of heaven and earth, to whom we offer up our petitions. This world ever waits upon your goodness, for you never fail any creature in need.
Purpose I have at times to seek out why the Holy Ghost sought you, when Gabriel’s voice came to your ear. He did not work such a marvel to make war upon us, but to save us whom afterwards He redeemed. Then we need no weapon to save us; but only required penance, when we have not done it, and to ask and receive mercy.
Queen of comfort, yet when I consider that I have sinned toward both Him and you, and that my soul is worthy to sink, alas, where can I, a churl, go? Who shall be my mediator to your Son? Who but yourself, who are the fountain of pity? More pity do you have on our adversity than any tongue in this world can tell.
Reform me, mother, and chasten me, for truly my Father’s chastening I dare in no way to endure, so hideous is His just reckoning. Mother, from whom all mercy to humankind has ever sprung, may you be you my judge and my soul’s healer as well. For pity in you always abounds for all who will beg you for pity.
Sooth* is it that God grants no mercy without you; for God of His goodness forgives none unless it should please you. He has made you vicar and mistress of all the world and empress of heaven as well; and He restrains His justice according to your will, and in token of that He has crowned you in such a royal fashion.
Temple of devotion, where God has His abode from which infidels are forbidden, to you I bring my penitent soul. Receive me; I can flee no further! O queen of heaven, with those venomous thorns for which the earth was accursed so long ago I am so wounded, as you may well see, that I am almost lost; it pains me so grievously.
Virgin so splendid in apparel, who leads us unto the high tower of Paradise, counsel and guide me, how I may obtain your grace and your succor, although I have been in filth and error. Lady, please summon me to that court that is called your bench, O fresh flower, where mercy shall ever remain!
Xristus* your Son descended into this world to suffer His passion upon the cross, and that Longinus* also should pierce His heart and let His heart’s blood run down; and all this was to save me. I am false and unkind to Him, and yet He desires not my damnation. For this I thank you, comfort of all humankind.
Young Isaac was truly the prefiguration of His death; he so obeyed his father that it troubled him not to be slain; even so your Son wished to die as a lamb. Now lady full of mercy, since He measured out His mercy so liberally, I entreat you, please do not be scant; for we all sing and say that you are ever our shield against vengeance.
Zachariah* calls you the open spring to wash the sinful soul from its guilt. Therefore I ought well to read this lesson, which teaches us that, were it not for your tender heart, we would be lost. Now, lady bright, since you can and will be merciful to the seed of Adam, bring us to that palace that is built for penitents who are deserving of mercy. Amen.
___
1 Great Court. I.e., Judgment Day
2 Illuminated texts. Calendars were illuminated on feast days.
3 Ave Maria. The Hail Mary prayer.
4 Sooth. True.
5 Xristus. The name of Christ was often abbreviated with an X, which stood for the cross on which he died. The form Xristus is rare.
6 Longinus. The Roman soldier who pierced the side of Jesus when he had died upon the cross. Many legends grew up around him, including the notion that he was blind and that the blood that poured out from Christ’s side cured his blindness.
7 Zachariah. Old Testament prophet who foretold of the coming of Christ.
The Complaint Unto Pity
Pity,* whom I have sought so long with a sore heart and gnawing pain that there was never in this world a creature so woeful who did not die! To speak the truth, my purpose was to complain unto Pity of the cruelty and tyranny of Love, who slays me for my faithfulness.
And when through the length of certain years I had continually sought a time to speak, I ran to Pity, all wet with weeping, to pray her to avenge me on Cruelty. But, before I could break out with a word, or tell any of my bitter pains, I found Pity dead, and buried in a heart.
When I saw the funeral bier I fell down, dead as a stone while the swoon lasted. I arose with color all changed, and piteously turned my eyes on her, and pushed my way nearer to the corpse and began to pray for the soul. I was a lost man; there was no more to say.
Thus I am slain, since Pity has died. Alas, that ever that day should come! What manner of man would dare hold up his head now, on whom shall any heart call in sorrow? Now Cruelty has prepared to slay each one of us, folk with vain hopes, without counsel in our pains; to whom shall we complain, now that she is dead?
Yet this fresh wonder increases in me, so that no creature but I knows that she is dead, out of all the people who have known her in her time. And yet she died not so suddenly. I have ever full diligently sought her since I first had wit or man’s mind; but she was dead, before I could ever come upon her.
About her bier there stood cheerily, without any woe, as it seemed to me, perfect Bounty, well and richly armed, and fresh Beauty, Jollity, and Pleasure, Assured Manner, Youth, Honor, Wisdom, High Estate, Dignity, and Fair Demeanor, confederated both by bond and by kinship.
I had a written complaint in my hand, to be given to Pity as a petition, but when I found all this company there, who would rather ruin all my cause than give me help, I held my complaint quiet; for surely without Pity no petition can succeed with those people.
Then I left all these virtues, except Pity, watching over the corpse, as you have heard me say; all confederate by the bond drawn by Cruelty, and all of one consent that I should be slain. And I put away my complaint, for I dared not show to my foes my petition, the import of which in few words runs thus:
The Petition
Humblest of heart, most worthy of reverence, benign flower, crown of all virtues, your servant, if I dare so call myself, shows you the mortal hurt into which he is fallen; and not only for his evil plight, but for your renown, as he shall declare.
It stands thus: your foe Cruelty, under guise of womanly Beauty, that men should not know her tyranny, is allied against your royal estate with Generosity, Nobility and Courtesy, and has now deprived you of your station, which is called “Beauty Belonging to Grace.”
For by nature and by your true inheritance you are ever allied unto Generosity; and truly you ought to use your power to help Truth in his adversity. You are also the crown of Beauty. And surely, if you are lacking in these two, the world is lost; and there is no more to say.
Also, what avails Demeanor and Nobility without you, gracious creature? Shall Cruelty be your mistress? Alas, what heart may long suffer it? Therefore, unless you soon take care to break that perilous alliance, you slay those who are obedient to you.
And further, if you allow this, your renown is destroyed in an instant; no person shall know well what Pity is. Alas that your renown should ever sink so low! You are then cast down from your heritage by Cruelty, which occupies your station, and we are in despair who seek after your favor.
Queen of the Furies, have mercy on me who have sought you so tenderly and long; let some beam of your light shine on me, who ever more and more love and fear you. For in truth the sorrow is mine; and, though I am not cunning in my lament, for God’s love have mercy on my pains!
My pain is this, that whatever I wish, I do not have, nor anything like it; and Desire at all times sets my heart on fire. Also, wherever else I may go, I have everywhere nearby, ready at hand, whatever sort of thing that can increase my pains. Nothing is lacking, save my death, and then my bier.
What need to show any part of my pain, since I suffer every woe that heart can think, and yet I dare not lament to you? For well I know, though I wake or sleep, that you care not whether I float or sink. But nevertheless, as shall be seen, I will maintain my faithfulness until my death.
This is to say, I will be yours forever; though you slay me through Cruelty, your foe, still my spirit shall never part from your service, for any pain or grief. Since you are dead – alas, that ever it should be! – I may well weep thus for your death and make lament, with heart sore and full of gnawing pain.
Here ends the Exclamation on the Death of Pity.
___
1 Pity. In modern usage the word “mercy” is closer to the meaning of Chaucer’s “pite” than the modern “pity.”
A Complaint to His Lady
This thought abides with me until morning, and forth from the morning until evening. I need borrow no grief, for I have both leisure and leave to mourn. There is no creature who will take my woe or forbid me to weep enough and wail my fill; the sore spark of pain destroys me.
Her I love best, and shall, as long as I may live, a hundred thousand times better than myself, better than all the riches and created beings of this world. Now has not Love bestowed me well, to love where I never shall have any part? Alas, so is Fortune’s wheel turned for me, so am I slain with Love’s fiery arrow! I can only love her best, my sweet foe. Love has taught me no more of his art than to serve always and to cease for no sorrow.
Alas! In sleeping-time I wake; when I should dance I tremble with fear. This heavy life I lead for your sake, though you pay no heed to it, my heart’s lady, the queen of my entire life! For truly I dare say it, as I feel it: it seems to me that your sweet heart of steel is now whetted against me too sharply.
My dear heart and best-beloved foe, why do you wish to cause me all this sorrow? What have I done or said to grieve you, except that I serve and love you and nobody else. And as long as I live will ever do so, and therefore, sweet, be not displeased. You are so good and fair as you are, it would be a very great wonder if you did not have suitors of all kinds, both good and bad; and the least worthy of all, I am he.
Nevertheless, my own sweet lady, though I may be unskillful and unfit ever to serve your highness, even as best I knew how, yet this I swear, there is nobody more glad than I to do your pleasure or to cure whatever I know to distress you. And had I as much power as will, then should you feel whether it were so or not; for in this world is no living being who would more gladly fulfill your heart’s desire.
For I both love and fear you so sorely, and ever must and have done so for a long time, that none is better loved, and never shall be. And yet I would only beg you to believe me well, and be not angry, and let me continue to serve you. Lo, this is all! For I am not so bold or mad as to desire that you should love me, for well I know – alas! – that may not be; I have so little worth, and you so much.
For you are one of the most excellent of the living, and I the most unlikely to prosper. Yet, for all this, you know very well that you shall not so drive me from your service that I shall not ever serve you faithfully, with all my five senses, whatever woe I feel. For I am so set upon you that, though you may never pity me, I must love you and ever be as true as any man living can, or may, be.
The more I love you, gracious and noble one, the less I find you love me. Alas! When will that cruel spirit soften? Where now is all your womanly pity, your noble gentleness, your graciousness? Will you spend nothing of it on me? And as wholly as I am yours, sweet one, and as great will I have to serve you, if thus you let me die, you have gained but little from it.
For to my knowledge I have given no cause. And this I will beseech you heartily, that if ever you find, so long as you live, a servant more true to you than I, then leave me and boldly slay me, and I will forgive you all my death. And if you find no truer man, why will you allow me to perish thus, and for no type of guilt except my good desire? As good would then be as untrue as to be true.
But to your will I submit my life and death, and with a very obedient heart I wholly pray, do with me as is your pleasure. Much rather had I please you and die than to think or say anything to offend you at any time. Therefore, pity my bitter pains, sweet, and of your grace grant me some drop; for else neither hope nor happiness may remain with me, nor linger in my troubled and careworn heart.
The Complaint of Mars
Rejoice, you birds, at the gray dawn; lo, Venus, arisen among yonder ruddy streaks! And you fresh flowers, honor this day, for you will open when the sun rises. But you lovers that are in fear, flee, lest wicked tongues discover you. Behold the sun yonder, the candle of Jealousy!
Stained with tears and with wounded heart, take your leave; and, with Saint John as your guarantee, take comfort somewhat in your bitter sorrows; the time will come again when your woes shall cease. A heavy morning is not too great a price for a joyous night. Thus, Saint Valentine,* I heard a bird sing upon your day,* before the sun rose.
And yet sang this bird: “Waken all, I counsel you. And you who have not humbly chosen your mates in good time, make your faithful choice now. And you who have chosen as I prescribe, renew your homage at least; confirm it, to last perpetually, and patiently accept what befalls you.
“For the honor of this high festival yet will I sing, in my bird’s fashion at least the contents of the complaint which woeful Mars* made at parting from fair Venus,* upon a morning when Phoebus* with his fiery red torches, came searching out every fearful lover.”
Long ago, Mars, the lord of the third heaven above, as well by the heavenly revolutions as by his merit, had won Venus his love, and she took him as her subject, and as a mistress taught him his lesson, commanding him he should never, as long as he served her, be so bold as to despise any lover.
She forbade him all jealousy and tyranny, cruelty and arrogance. She made him so humble and docile to her pleasure that, when she deigned to look upon him, he patiently accepted her will, whether it were to live or die. And thus she bridled him according to her custom, with no scourge but of her look.
Who reigns now in joy but Venus, with this worthy knight under her rule? Who sings now but Mars, that serves thus the fair Venus, giver of pleasure? He binds himself to obey her perpetually, and she binds herself to love him always, unless his trespass should sever the bond.
Thus were they knit, and reigned in the skies, gazing upon each other, until it fell upon a day that they set a time when Mars should glide as rapidly as he might into her nearest palace, to tarry there, walking slowly upon his course, until she should overtake him; and he prayed her to hurry.
Then he said, “Sweet lady of my heart, you well know my misfortune in that place; for truly until I meet with you my life remains entirely subject to chance and grace. But when I see the beauty of your face, no fear of death can hurt me, for all your desire is a joy to my heart.”
She had such great compassion upon her knight, dwelling in solitude until she should come, that very nearly her mind was overcome with woe; for it so was that there was nobody at that time to counsel him or make him welcome. Therefore she sped on her way almost as much in one day as he in two.
And no tongue can tell the great joy between the two of them when they met once more. Without more ado they went to bed, and thus I leave them in joy and bliss. This valiant Mars, fount of knighthood, folded the flower of beauty in his arms, and Venus kissed Mars, the god of war.
Now this Mars of whom I read travelled secretly into a chamber in the midst of the palace for a certain time, until fear came upon him because of Phoebus, who had come quickly and boldly within the palace gates, with torch in hand, of which the bright rays struck the chamber of Venus brilliantly.
The chamber where laid this blooming queen, Venus, was painted over with great white bulls.* Venus knew, by the light which shone so brightly, that Phoebus came so that he might burn them with his heat. This hapless Venus, drowned in wet tears, embraced Mars, and said, “Alas, I am dying! The torch has come that will reveal all this world.”
Up started Mars. He wished not for sleep when he heard his lady so lament. But because tears were not in his nature, instead of tears fiery sparks burst for woe out from his two eyes. And he seized his hauberk which lay by him; he would not flee, nor could he hide himself.
He threw on his helmet of huge weight, and girt himself with his sword; and in his hand he so shook his mighty spear, as he was accustomed in battle, that very nearly it snapped. He was very heavy to walk over the land. No longer could he remain with Venus, but he bade her to flee lest Phoebus spy her.
O woeful Mars, what can you say, you who are left behind in this perturbed palace, in peril to be slain, alas? And your penance is also double, for she who has governance of your heart is passed half beyond the beams of your eyes. Well may you weep and lament because you are not swift.
In fear of Phoebus’ light Venus now fled on her lonely course into the tower of Mercury. Alas, she had no assistance there, for she neither found nor saw any type of creature, and there had but little power. Therefore she fled into a cave within the gate, to hide and remain safe.
Dark was this cave and as smoky as hell, and she stood but two paces within the gate, and there I leave her in the dark for the space of one natural day. Now I will speak of Mars, that for mad and furious sorrow would gladly have seen his own heart’s blood; since he must lose her company, he cared not a farthing for his life.
So feeble he grew because of passion and woe, that he nearly died. He could scarcely endure. He climbed only one stair in two days; but nevertheless, and for all his heavy armor, he followed after her who was his life’s cure, for whose departing he had more wrath and woe than for all his burning in the sun’s fire.
Slowly after her he walked, lamenting until it was piteous to hear. “Oh, lady bright, Venus,” he said, “alas that my course ever had so wide a compass! When shall I meet you, dear heart, alack! This twelfth day of April* I endure this misfortune, through Phoebus’ malice.”
God help luckless solitary Venus! But as God willed, it happened that while Venus wept and made lament, Mercury,* riding on his course, could see his palace-tower across from Venus, and he saluted her, made her welcome, and received her as his very dear friend.
Mars lived still in his adversity, ever lamenting her departure, and now I remember me of his lament. And therefore, on this lusty morning, I will say and sing it as best I can; and then I will take my leave. God give every creature joy of his mate!
This is no false matter that I relate. My lady is the very source and spring of beauty, pleasure, generosity, and nobility; of rich array (how precious it is!), of all friendly amusements, of love and merriment, of benign humility, of the melody of all sweet instruments; and she is also so well endowed by fortune and virtue that her goodness is made manifest through the whole world.
What wonder is it then, though I have knit my service to such a one, who may devote me to joy or woe, since it lies in her power? Therefore I have promised my heart to her forever; nor, truly, though I die, shall I cease to be her most loyal servant and her knight. I flatter not, as all may know. For this day I shall die in her service. Unless I am in her grace, I shall never again set eyes upon her.
For though lovers may be as faithful as any metal newly forged, misfortune often comes to them. Sometimes their ladies will have no pity; sometimes, when they know jealousy, they would lightly devote themselves to death; sometimes envious people with foul tongues slander them. Alas, whom can they please? Only the false lover has comfort.
But what use is so long a sermon about the fortunes of love? I will return, and speak of my pain. What destroys my peace is this: my true lady, my salvation, is in terror, and knows not to whom to make lament. O dear heart! O sovereign lady! I have good cause to swoon and die away for your distress, though I feel no other hurt or fear.
Though he may cause a lover to love a thing, and make it seem steadfast and lasting, yet he subjects it to such mishap that there is no rest that comes with the giving. And that is a wonder, that so just a king would do such cruelty unto his creation. Thus, whether love should break or endure, in any way he who has to do with love has sorrow more often than the moon changes.
It seems that God has enmity toward lovers, and, like a fisherman, as people may see any day, he so baits his hook with such delightful bait that many a fish is crazed until he has taken the bait; and then for the first time he has all his desire, and at the same time all misfortune; and though the line may break, yet he has suffering, for he is wounded so sorely by the hook that he has his wages forevermore.
And when it went from his possession, then he had double the woe and passion because he had foregone so fair a treasure. Yet, after all, this brooch was not the cause of this destruction; but he who created it gave it the power that every creature who possessed it should have sorrow. And therefore the fault was in the craftsman as well as in the foolish coveter.
So it goes with all lovers and with me. For though my lady may have had such beauty that I was mad until I had won her favor, she did not cause my adversity, but he who created her, so help me God, who set such beauty in her face that it made me covet and to win my own death. I blame him that I die, and my own folly that ever I climbed so high.
And you my ladies, made by nature true and steadfast, you ought to have pity upon people in pain. Now you have cause to wear sable,* since your glorious empress is desolate; well ought you to lament. Now should your holy tears fall as rain. Alas, your honor and your empress, nearly dead with fear, fails to reach her goal.
Likewise you lovers, all together, lament for her who with sincere and meek demeanor was at all times ready to come to your assistance. Bewail her who always held you dear; bewail Beauty, Bounty, and Courtesy; bewail her who ends your toil; bewail that paragon of all honor, who never did anything but gentle deeds; show to her, therefore, some kindness.
___
1 Saint Valentine . . . day. As mentioned also below in the “Complaynt D’Amours,” this is the subject of Chaucer’s Parliament of Fowls.
2 Mars. The god of war.
3 Venus. The goddess of love.
4 Phoebus. The god of the sun.
5 Bulls. The symbol of the zodiacal sign of Taurus. The entire poem is cast in terms of celestial imagery.
6 Twelfth day of April. The beginning of the period when the sun, Phoebus, is in Taurus. There may be some significance beyond this, but it is not clear.
7 Mercury. The messenger god; god of commerce and speed. Chaucer uses the alternative name for him here, Cilinius.
8 Brooch of Thebes. A brooch made by Vulcan, Venus’ smith husband, for Harmonia, the daughter of Venus and Mars, in revenge for their adulterous relationship: it was to bring bad luck to all associated with it.
9 Division. I.e., ruled by the planet of Mars.
10 Sable. Black, i.e., in mourning.
The Complaint of Venus
In him is goodly kindness, wisdom, self-control, far more than any wit can devise; for good fortune has willed to advance him so far that he is the perfect treasure of knighthood. Honor itself honors him for his nobility, and Nature has also formed him so well that I assure him I am his forever; for every creature praises his nobility.
And notwithstanding his excellency, his noble heart is so humble toward me in word, deed, and expression, and he is so diligent in his service to me that I am entirely secure. Thus I ought indeed to bless my fair fortune, since it pleases him to serve and honor me; for every creature praises his nobility.
Jealousy be hanged by a rope! She would gladly know all things by spying! A creature may do nothing, no matter how reasonable, without her imagining it all to be evil. Thus we pay dearly for love and his gifts, which often he gives inordinately, as enough of sorrow and little delight – all the reverse of heart’s content.
A little time is his gift joyous, but very burdensome is the use of it; for crafty Jealousy, the deceitful one, brings oftentimes disquietude. Thus we are ever in dread and pain, in uncertainty we languish and suffer, and very often have many hard misfortune – all the reverse of heart’s content.
And surely, Love, when I consider all the estates of people, I feel that through your noble generosity you have made me choose the best that ever walked on earth. Now, heart, love well; see that you never leave it. Let the jealous learn by trial that for no pains will I ever say no; I shall never repent of loving him best.
Heart, it ought to satisfy you that Love has sent you so high a grace, to choose the worthiest of all, the closest to my own soul. Seek no further, on road or path, since I have found my heart’s satisfaction. Thus I end this my complaint or lay;* I shall never repent of loving him best.
___
1 Lay. A lyrical poem, often narrative.
2 Envoy. An envoy is a post-script which is directly addressed to the audience or patron.
3 Grandson. The works of Chaucer’s contemporary Oton de Grandson (or Granson; 1340-97) are the models for this poem. Granson, a knight in service to John of Gaunt, also wrote seven Valentine poems.
To Rosamonde
Madame, you are the shrine of all beauty, as far as the map of the world extends, for you shine as glorious as crystal, and your round cheeks are like ruby. Furthermore, you are so carefree and joyful that when I see you dance at a merry-making, it is an ointment to my wound, even if you do not dally with me.
For though I weep a tub full of tears, yet that woe cannot put a stop to my heart; your lovely voice, which flows out so softly, fills my thought with joy and bliss. So courteously I move, so bound by love, that I say to myself in my pains, “it suffices for me to love you, Rosamonde, even if you do not dally with me.”
Never was a pike so wallowed in spicy sauce as I am wallowed and immersed in love; and for this reason so often I imagine myself to be the true second Tristram.* My love can never grow cold or numb. I will always burn in amorous pleasure. Do as you wish, I will always be your lowly servant, even if you do not dally with me.
The Very Genteel Chaucer.
___
1 Tristram. Famous lover of Isolt, in the Arthurian tradition. Isolt, though married to King Mark of Cornwall, loves Tristram, who is Mark’s most able and dedicated knight.
My heart has so caught in its memory your complete beauty and steadfast self-control, all your virtues, and your high nobility, that all my pleasure is set in serving you. So do I delight in your womanly bearing, your fresh features, and your loveliness, that my heart has fully chosen you as mistress so long as I live, in true constancy, never to change for any manner of grief.
And since I shall pay you this homage all my life without grudging, serving you with all diligence, keep me somewhat in your memory. My woeful heart is in great hardship. See how humbly, with all simplicity, I conform my will to your ordinance, so that, as it pleases you, you may heal my pains.
Considering also how I hang in the balance in your service, lo, such is my fortune! I await your grace, when your nobleness may be pleased to alleviate my woe, and through your pity may promote me somewhat, fully abate my heavy spirit, and deem it to be within reason that womanly nobility should not seek to inflict extremities where it finds no disobedience.
The Envoy
Source of gentle breeding, lady of delights, sovereign of beauty, flower of womanhood, regard not my ignorance, but receive this through your kindness, keeping in mind that I have caught in my memory your complete beauty and your steadfast self-control.
Chaucer's Words To Adam, His Scribe
Adam my scribe, if it should ever happen that you write my Boece* or Troilus* in some new way, may you have scales and scabs under your long locks, unless you copy in true fashion in accord with my lines. So often I must revise your work and correct it and erase it and scrape it; and all is on account of your negligence and haste.
___
1 Boece. Chaucer’s translation of The Consolation of Philosophy by the late Roman philosopher Boethius (Anicius Manlius Severinus Boëthius; c. 480 – 524 AD).
2 Troilus. Chaucer’s Troilus and Criseyde, his epic tale of two star-crossed Trojan lovers in the age of the Trojan War.
The Former Age
A blissful life, peaceful and sweet, people led in the former age. They remained content with the fruits they ate, which the fields naturally gave them. They were not pampered with excess. Unknown were the quern* and the mill; they fed on acorns, hawthorn berries, and similar food, and drank water from the cold spring.
As yet the ground was not wounded by the plough, but wheat sprang up not sown by man’s hand; this they ground into meal, and ate not half what they do now. No man had yet seen the soil turned in furrows, nor found the fire in the flint; the vine lay unpruned and uncultivated, and no man as yet ground spices in a mortar to put in wine or sharp sauces.
No dyer knew madder, weld or woad,* the fleece remained in its original hue; no flesh knew the attack of knife or spear; man knew no coin, true or counterfeit; no ship yet cut the green and blue waves; no merchant yet fetched foreign wares. People knew no trumpets for the wars, no high towers and walls square or round.
Of what purpose is there to make war? There lay no profit, there was no booty. But cursed was the time, I dare well say, when people first did their sweaty business to grub up metal, lurking in the dark, and first sought gems in the rivers. Alas, then sprang up all of the accursed covetousness that first brought about our sorrow!
These tyrants are not glad to put them in the press of battle, as Diogenes* says, to win a wilderness or a few bushes where poverty dwells, where food is so scarce and thin that there is nothing but acorns or apples. But where money-bags and fat meats are, there they will go and spare for no sin to assail the city with all their armies.
As yet were no palace halls or chambers. In caves and woods sweet and soft slept these blessed people in perfect peace, with no walls, on grass or leaves. Neither down of feathers nor whitened sheets were not known to them, but in security they slept. Their hearts were as one, with no spot of envy, and each kept his faith to others.
The hauberk and the plate-mail were yet unforged. The lamb-like people, void of all sin, had no wild idea to contend against each other, but each cherished the other tenderly. No pride, no envy, no avarice, no lordship, no tyrannical taxation, but only humility, peace, and good faith, the empress of all virtues.
The lecherous Jupiter, the first father of voluptuous living, had not yet come into the world; nor had Nimrod, with lust to rule, built his lofty towers. Alas, alas! Well may people now weep and lament! For in our days there is nothing but covetousness, duplicity, treason, envy, poisoning, manslaughter, and many kinds of murder.
Here Ends The Former Age of Chaucer.
___
1 Quern. Handmill.
2 Madder, weld or woad. European plants yielding red, yellow, and blue dyes respectively.
3 Diogenes. Diogenes of Sinope or Diogenes the Cynic (412 BC – 323 BC), controversial ancient Greek Philosopher.
This wretched world’s mutability, from well-being to woe, from poverty to honor, is governed by wayward Fortune, without order or wise discernment. Nevertheless, though I die, the lack of her favor shall not make me sing, “J’ay tout perdu mon temps et mon labour;”* For at last, Fortune, I defy you!
Yet there is left in me the light of reason, by which I may know friend from foe in your mirror; your whirling up and down has taught me to know so much in little time. But, in truth, no matter for your rigor to him who has the mastery over himself. My self-sufficiency shall be my aid: for at last, Fortune, I defy you!
O Socrates, steadfast champion, she could never be your tormentor! You never dreaded her tyranny, nor found pleasure in her expression. You knew well the deceit of her colors, and that she prides herself most in lying. I too know her to be a false dissembler: for at last, Fortune, I defy you!
No man is wretched, unless he should deem himself so; and he who has himself has sufficiency. Why then do you say I am so harsh to you, who is free from my control? Say thus, “Grant mercy for the abundance which you have lent before this.” Why will you strive against me? What do you know of how I may yet advance you? And you have also your best friend yet living!
I have taught you to know a friend in deed from a friend in appearance. You need no gall of the hyena, which cures dim eyes of their pains; already you see clearly, who were in darkness. Still your anchor holds, and still you may come to that port where bounty carries the key to my riches: and you have also your best friend yet living!
How many have I refused sustenance while I have cherished you in your pleasant life! Will you then enact a statute against me, your queen, that I shall ever be at your command? You are born under my realm of variability, and you with others must whirl around the wheel. In my teaching is more good than there is evil in your affliction. And you have also your best friend yet living!
Lo, the execution of that majesty* which oversees all things in righteousness, that same thing you, you blind ignorant beasts, call “Fortune"! Heaven by nature is stable, this world is ever in restless travail. Your last day is the end of my interest in you. Everywhere this rule shall hold.
Explicit.
___
1 Balades de visage sanz peinture. Ballads of faces (countenances) without depiction.
2 J’ay tout perdu mon temps et mon labour. I have lost my time and my labor.
3 Majesty. Generally taken to mean God or Providence.
Flee from the crowd and dwell with truth. Let your goods suffice you, small though they may be, for a hoard of goods brings hatred and climbing insecurity, crowds bring envy, and prosperity brings blindness in all cases. Desire no more than is necessary for you to have. You who can advise other people, conduct yourself well; and truth shall make you free, doubt it not.
Be not in a tempest to make straight all that is crooked, trusting Fortune that turns her wheel like a ball. Little anxiety means great repose, and beware also of kicking an awl; strive not like the crock against the wall.* You who control the deeds of others, control yourself; and truth shall make you free, doubt it not.
Receive submissively what is sent you; wrestling to win the world invites an overthrow. Here is no home; here is only wilderness. Forth, pilgrim, forth! Forth, beast, out of your stall! Know your country, look up, thank God for all things; stay on the safe road and let your spirit lead you; and truth shall make you free, doubt it not.
Here ends The Ballad of Good Counsel of Geoffrey Chaucer.
___
1 Kicking an awl…Crock against the wall. I.e., you will hurt yourself or be broken. (Awl: tool used for piercing holes, especially in leather.)
2 Sir Philip. Sir Philip de la Vache, Chaucer uses only the word “vache” (cow) here, but the consensus is now that he is referring to the nobleman.
Whatever man claims to be noble must tread in the steps of Him Who was the first stock and father of nobility, and set all his wit to follow virtue and to flee from vices. For dignity belongs to virtue and not, I dare safely hold, to iniquity, even if one may wear a miter, crown, or diadem.
This first stock of nobility was full of righteousness, true of His word, calm, pitiful, generous, clean in spirit, and loved honorable diligence and not the vice of sloth; and unless, like Him, His heir will love virtue, though he may seem rich, he is not noble, even if one may wear a miter, crown, or diadem.
Vice may well be the heir to ancient wealth, but, as all may well perceive, nobody can bequeath to an heir virtuous nobleness (which is appropriated to no station, except to the Father, foremost in majesty, who makes that person who can best please him His heir) even if one may wear a miter, crown, or diadem.
At one time this world was so steadfast and stable that a man’s word was a sufficient bond; now it is so false and deceitful that, in effect, word and deed are in no way alike, for the whole world is so turned upside-down by willfulness and corruption that all is lost for the lack of steadfastness.
Why is this world so variable, except the desire that people have in dissension? Among us now a man is believed to be powerless unless by some conspiracy he can wrong or oppress his neighbor. What except willful wretchedness causes all to be lost for the lack of steadfastness?
Truth is put down, reason is judged to be a fable, virtue has now no dominion, pity is exiled, no man is merciful, and through covetousness discretion is blinded. The world has made a transmutation from right to wrong, from fidelity to instability, so that all is lost for the lack of steadfastness.
Here ends the Poem.
The Envoy of Chaucer to Scogan
Shattered are the high statutes of heaven, which were created to endure eternally; for I see that the seven shining gods* can wail and weep and endure suffering, even as a mortal creature on earth. Alas! Where can this come from, of which I die almost with fear at this confusion?
By the eternal word it was decreed long ago that not a drop of tears should escape down from the fifth circle;* but now Venus so weeps in that her sphere that she will drown us on earth. Alas! Scogan, this is for your offence; you are the cause of this pestilential deluge.
Have you not said, blaspheming this goddess, through pride or extreme rashness, such things as are forbidden in love’s law? That, because your lady looked not upon your pain, you gave her up therefore at Michaelmas?* Alas, Scogan! Never before, by man or woman, was Scogan blamed for his tongue!
Also in scorn you called Cupid to witness for those rebellious words you spoke, for which reason he will no longer be your lord. And, Scogan, though his bow be not broken, he will not be avenged with his arrows on you, or me, or any of our figure; by him we shall have neither hurt nor cure.
Yet now surely, friend, I fear ill-fortune for you, lest for your guilt the outcasts of Love go forth upon all those who are gray and round of shape, those who are not so likely to succeed in love! Then we shall have no reward for our labor. But I well know that you will answer and say, “Lo, old Grisel* is pleased to run* and be merry!”
Nay, Scogan, say not so, for I beg your pardon. God help me so! Without a doubt, I would never intend to wake from sleep my muse into verse, which rusts in my sheath quietly in peace! While I was young I put her forth in the public. But all shall pass away that people write in prose or rhyme; let every man take his turn in his day.
___
1 Gods. I.e., planets.
2 Fifth circle. The sphere of Venus.
3 Michaelmas. The feast of St. Michael the Archangel, celebrated on September 29.
4 Old Grisel. Perhaps an old horse.
5 Run. Though the word that is usually used here is “ryme” (rhyme), two of the earliest editors, Caxton and Thynne, read “renne” (run). Since the previous sentence refers to going about upon others (presumably on the backs of them) and Grisel was a French term used for an old horse, the image is made complete with the horse running.
6 End of this stream. At the head of the Thames is Windsor Castle, where Chaucer was probably living at this late point in his career.
7 Tully. Marcus Tullius Cicero (106 BC – 43 BC), Roman statesman and the author of De Amicitia (On Friendship).
The Envoy of Chaucer to Bukton
Here follows the Counsel of Chaucer concerning Marriage, which was sent to Bukton.
My master Bukton,* when it was demanded of Christ our Lord, what is truth or truthfulness, he answered not a word to that question; just as one might say, “No man is entirely true,” I believe. Therefore, though I promised to describe the sorrow and woe that is in wedlock, I dare not write no evil of it, lest I fall myself into such folly again.
I will not say how it is Satan’s chain, on which he always gnaws, but I dare to say that, were he out of his torment, he would never again willingly be bound. But that feeble-minded fool who had rather be chained again than crawl out of prison, may God let him never part from his woe, and may no man bewail his case, even though he may weep!
But still, lest you do worse, take a wife. It is better to wed than to burn in a worse manner. But all your days you shall have sorrow upon your flesh and be your wife’s slave, as wise ones say. And if the Holy Bible is not enough proof, perhaps experience shall teach you that it would be better to be taken prisoner in Frisia* than again to fall into that trap of marriage.
Explicit
___
1 Bukton. The identity of Bukton (or Buckton, or Boughton) is still unclear. It may be Sir Peter Bukton of Yorkshire (1350 – 1414), steward to the future Henry IV, or Sir Robert Bukton (dates uncertain), who was a squire to Queen Anne and later to Richard II.
2 Frisia. In the southeastern North sea, north of the Netherlands and Germany. Also called Friesland.
3 Wife of Bath. One of the pilgrims in The Canterbury Tales: she is an advocate for worldly love and marriage. Her tale is layered with irony, as is this poem to Bukton.
To you, my purse, and to no other creature I lament, for you are my lady dear! I am so sorry now that you are light;* for surely, unless you appear to me to be heavier, I may as well be laid upon my bier. Therefore unto your mercy thus I cry – be heavy again, or else surely I will die.
Promise this day, before night arrives, that I may hear the blessed sound of you, or see, like the bright sunshine, your color, whose yellowness none may match. You are my life, you are the rudder of my heart, the queen of comfort and of good company; please be heavy again, or else surely I will die.
Now, purse, who are to me my life’s one light and savior in this world down here, help me out of this city* through your might, since you refuse to be my treasurer. For I am clipped like priest or an austere monk. But yet I pray you of your courtesy, be heavy again, or else surely I will die.
___
1 Light. Though he does mean this in a physical way, the word “light” here also means cheerful or fickle; likewise “heavy” can mean serious.
2 City. The reference may be to his residence in Greenwich, where he may have been pursued by his creditors, from whom he might get relief if he could gain asylum among the monks at Westminster.
3 L’Envoy. An envoy is typically a post-script addressed directly to the audience or patron.
4 Brut’s Albion. Brutus, thirteenth-century conqueror of England, thus Brutain or Britain, from whose line came Henry IV, to whom the poem is addressed.
5 Supplication. This plea may have been successful, as it appears that on October 13, 1399, Henry IV granted Chaucer forty marks a year, which would have been rather generous.
Proverbs of Chaucer
Madame, in your love of novelty* you have banished many a servant* from grace. I take my leave of your lack of steadfastness, for well I know that as long as you live you cannot love for a full half-year in one place. Ever sharp is your appetite for new things; thus instead of blue you may wear nothing but green.
Just as no image can be fixed upon a mirror, but it passes as lightly as it comes, so too is your love, as your deeds bear witness. No fidelity can clasp your heart, but you fare like a weathercock which turns his face with every wind, and that is visible to all. Instead of blue you may wear nothing but green.
For your fickleness you should be put in a pillory, even more so than Delilah, Criseyde, or Candace;* for your only constancy is in changing. That vice nobody can root out of your heart. If you lose one lover, you can easily acquire two. All lightly clad for summer – you well know what I would say – instead of blue you may wear nothing but green.
Explicit.
___
1 This poem and the following three poems are not fully accepted as authentically Chaucer’s own work.
2 Novelty. Chaucer’s word is “Newfanglenesse,” which is also the title given to the poem in some manuscripts.
3 Servant. A lover (a servant of love).
4 Blue . . .green. Blue is the color of faithfulness; green, unfaithfulness.
5 Delilah, Criseyde, or Candace. All unfaithful lovers: Delilah to Sampson, Criseyde to Troilus, and Candace to Alexander.
I who am the most sorrowful man that ever yet lived in this world, who least knows a remedy for myself, thus begin my mortal lament against her who can bring me either life or death, but has no mercy or pity on her truest lover, and slays me for my fidelity.
I can do or say nothing to please you. For, alas and alack, surely it pleases you to laugh when I sigh, and thus you banish me from all my bliss! You have cast me on that pitiless isle from which never anyone can escape alive. This I have for loving you, sweet heart.
True it is and well I know, probably, that if it were possible to measure your beauty and goodness, I ought not to wonder even if you cause me woe; since I, the most unworthy man riding or walking on earth, dare always to place my thoughts so high, what wonder if you should show me no favor!
Alas, thus is my life finished! My death, I see, is my fate! Well may I sing, “In sorry time I spend my life!”*– damned be that song! For all my deadly plight, I say, it was mercy, pity, deep affection that made me in all my sorrow to love you dearly.
And thus in despair, I live in love – no, but in despair I die! But shall I thus forgive you my death, you who without cause makes me suffer this sorrow? Yes, surely, I! For she has nothing to do with my folly, though she may cause my death. It is not by her will that I serve her!
Then since I am cause of my own sorrow, and since I endure this without her permission, then very briefly in a few words I may say it is no blame to her womanhood though such a wretch as I perish for her. Yet two things at all times slay me; that is to say, her beauty and my eyes.
So she is nevertheless the very root of my dismay and of my death as well. For with one word she might heal me, if she would promise to do so. Why then does she find gladness in my misery? It is her custom to find pleasure in seeing her servants die for her sake!
But surely, what makes me wonder most is this: since she is, in my judgment, the fairest creature that ever lived, the most benign and the best also that nature has created or shall as long as the world may last, why has she left Pity behind her this way. It was, in truth, a great fault in Nature.
Yet, by God, this is no defect in my lady; I would sorely blame only God or Nature. For though she may show me no pity, I ought not despise my lady’s game, since she does likewise to other men. It is her pastime to laugh when men sigh; and I assent to all that gives her pleasure.
Yet, so far as I dare, I would with sorrowful heart beseech your gentle womanhood, that I might now venture to make known by words my sharp and bitter sorrow, so that for once you would read my complaint, about which I have been so fearful if through my ignorance I have said here any word to displease you.
As I hope for God’s salvation, it would be the most hateful to me of all things to say a thing which might anger you. And to that day when I shall be laid in my grave you shall never find a truer servant. And though I have complained against you, forgive it me, my own dear lady!
I have ever been, and ever shall be, however I journey on, either to life or to death, your humble, true man. You are to me my beginning and end, the sun which illumines the bright and shining star.* By God and my word, it is my intent always and anew to love you freshly. Live or die, I will never repent of it!
I write this complaint, this woeful song and lament, on Saint Valentine’s Day, when every bird shall choose his mate,* to her whose I am wholly and ever shall be, her who has never yet given me her mercy. And yet I will serve her evermore and love her best, though she may let me perish.
Explicit.
___
1 This poem, The Complaint of Love, like the one above and the two below, is not fully accepted as authentically Chaucer’s own work.
2 In sorry…life. This is the beginning of a little-known short contemporary poem that might be translated as follows: “My life is spent in sorry (sorrowful) time, and ever so I languish more and more, and even more still; until it is amended, I may not live; I am but lost, if I may not be granted her love; for surely I know it well.”
3 Star. Probably Venus, since the next line mentions love.
4 Saint Valentine’s Day . . . mate. As noted also in “The Complaint of Mars,” this is the subject of Chaucer’s Parliament of Fowls.
Unless your word will heal very speedily my heart’s wound while it is still fresh, your two eyes will slay me suddenly: the beauty of them I cannot sustain.
Upon my word I tell you faithfully, you are the queen over my life and death, for by my death the truth shall be seen: your two bright eyes will slay me suddenly; the beauty of them I cannot sustain, so keenly strikes it through my heart.
Thus you have purchased my death for guiltless me; I say the truth, I have no need to lie; your Beauty has chased Pity from your heart in such a way that it does not help to complain.
Alas, that Nature has placed in you so much Beauty that no man shall gain Mercy, though he may perish for the pain! Your Beauty has chased Pity from your heart in such a way that it does not help to complain, for Pride fetters your Mercy in his chains.
He may answer and say either this or that; I do not think about it, I speak just as I mean to speak. Since I who have escaped from Love am so fat, I intend no more to be lean in prison.
Love has struck my name from his slate, and he is stricken clean out of my books forevermore; there is no other course of action. Since I who have escaped from Love am so fat, I intend no more to be lean in prison; since I am free, I regard Love less than a bean.
Explicit.
___
1 This poem, like the two above and the one below, is not fully accepted as authentically Chaucer’s own work.
2. Rondel. A French lyric poem, usually 12 to 18 lines and limited to two rhymes. (Chaucer uses four rhymes.)
A Ballad of Complaint*
My heart neither knows how to nor is able to complain of half of the pain in my heart, nor what torment I have, even if I should forever be in your presence, lady of my heart, as truly as he who saved me also wished to make all Goodness and to engrave all Beauty in your person, and bid them both together ever to await, and always be where you were.
As surely he guide all my joys here and to you sad and true, as I am yours, and you, my life and cause of my good spirits, my death also, when you my pains renew, my world’s joy, whom I will serve and follow, my entire heaven, and all my satisfaction, whom for to serve is set all my delight.
I beseech you in my most humble way to accept the value of this little poor poem, and because of my faithfulness despise not my service, and hold not in disdain not my dutiful attention, and do not allow me to suffer too long in this plight; I beseech you, lady of my heart, to hear my complaint, since I serve you, and ever will year after year.
___
1 This poem, like the three above, is not fully accepted as authentically Chaucer’s own work.
