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.
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1 Pity. In modern usage the word “mercy” is closer to the meaning of Chaucer’s “pite” than the modern “pity.”
Translated and Edited by Gerard NeCastro
© Copyright, 2007, All Rights Reserved
Citation. Chaucer, Geoffrey. The Complaint Unto Pity. NeCastro, Gerard, ed. and trans. eChaucer: https://www.echaucer.com. [Site Visit Date.]
