The Canterbury Tales [194]
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 elles 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 niece, God forbid That ye for any sorrow, or any dread, Fordo* yourself: but telle me your grief, *destroy Paraventure I may, in your mischief,* *distress Counsel or help; and therefore telle me All your annoy, for it shall be secre. For on my portos* here I make an oath, *breviary That never in my life, *for lief nor loth,* *willing or unwilling* 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, for* to go to hell, *though I should Bewray* one word of thing that ye me tell, *betray For no cousinage, nor alliance, But verily for love and affiance."* *confidence, promise Thus be they sworn, and thereupon they kiss'd, And each of them told other what them list. "Cousin," quoth she, "if that I hadde space, As I have none, and namely* in this place, *specially Then would I tell a legend of my life, What I have suffer'd since I was a wife With mine husband, all* be he your cousin. *although "Nay," quoth this monk, "by God and Saint Martin, He is no more cousin unto me, Than is the leaf that hangeth on the tree; I call him so, by Saint Denis of France, To have the more cause of acquaintance Of you, which I have loved specially Aboven alle women sickerly,* *surely This swear I you *on my professioun;* *by my vows of religion Tell me your grief, lest that he come adown, And hasten you, and go away anon."
"My deare love," quoth she, "O my Dan John, Full lief* were me this counsel for to hide, *pleasant But out it must, I may no more abide. My husband is to me the worste man That ever was since that the world began; But since I am a wife, it sits* not me *becomes To telle no wight of our privity, Neither in bed, nor in none other place; God shield* I shoulde tell it for his grace; *forbid A wife shall not say of her husband But all honour, as I can understand; Save unto you thus much I telle 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 niggardy.* *stinginess And well ye wot, that women naturally Desire thinges six, as well as I. They woulde that their husbands shoulde be Hardy,* and wise, and rich, and thereto free, *brave And buxom* to his wife, and fresh in bed. *yielding, obedient But, by that ilke* Lord that for us bled, *same For his honour myself for to array, On Sunday next I muste needes pay A hundred francs, or elles am I lorn.* *ruined, undone Yet *were me lever* that I were unborn, *I would rather* Than me were done slander or villainy. And if mine husband eke might it espy, I were but lost; and therefore I you pray, Lend me this sum, or elles must I dey.* *die Dan John, I say, lend me these hundred francs; Pardie, I will not faile you, *my thanks,* *if I can help it* 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 service That I may do, right as you list devise. And but* I do, God take on me vengeance, *unless As foul as e'er had Ganilion <9> of France."
This gentle monk answer'd in this mannere; "Now truely, mine owen lady dear, I have," quoth he, "on you so greate ruth,* *pity That I you swear, and plighte you my truth, That when your husband is to Flanders fare,* *gone I will deliver you out of
This monk began upon this wife to stare, And said, "Alas! my niece, God forbid That ye for any sorrow, or any dread, Fordo* yourself: but telle me your grief, *destroy Paraventure I may, in your mischief,* *distress Counsel or help; and therefore telle me All your annoy, for it shall be secre. For on my portos* here I make an oath, *breviary That never in my life, *for lief nor loth,* *willing or unwilling* 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, for* to go to hell, *though I should Bewray* one word of thing that ye me tell, *betray For no cousinage, nor alliance, But verily for love and affiance."* *confidence, promise Thus be they sworn, and thereupon they kiss'd, And each of them told other what them list. "Cousin," quoth she, "if that I hadde space, As I have none, and namely* in this place, *specially Then would I tell a legend of my life, What I have suffer'd since I was a wife With mine husband, all* be he your cousin. *although "Nay," quoth this monk, "by God and Saint Martin, He is no more cousin unto me, Than is the leaf that hangeth on the tree; I call him so, by Saint Denis of France, To have the more cause of acquaintance Of you, which I have loved specially Aboven alle women sickerly,* *surely This swear I you *on my professioun;* *by my vows of religion Tell me your grief, lest that he come adown, And hasten you, and go away anon."
"My deare love," quoth she, "O my Dan John, Full lief* were me this counsel for to hide, *pleasant But out it must, I may no more abide. My husband is to me the worste man That ever was since that the world began; But since I am a wife, it sits* not me *becomes To telle no wight of our privity, Neither in bed, nor in none other place; God shield* I shoulde tell it for his grace; *forbid A wife shall not say of her husband But all honour, as I can understand; Save unto you thus much I telle 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 niggardy.* *stinginess And well ye wot, that women naturally Desire thinges six, as well as I. They woulde that their husbands shoulde be Hardy,* and wise, and rich, and thereto free, *brave And buxom* to his wife, and fresh in bed. *yielding, obedient But, by that ilke* Lord that for us bled, *same For his honour myself for to array, On Sunday next I muste needes pay A hundred francs, or elles am I lorn.* *ruined, undone Yet *were me lever* that I were unborn, *I would rather* Than me were done slander or villainy. And if mine husband eke might it espy, I were but lost; and therefore I you pray, Lend me this sum, or elles must I dey.* *die Dan John, I say, lend me these hundred francs; Pardie, I will not faile you, *my thanks,* *if I can help it* 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 service That I may do, right as you list devise. And but* I do, God take on me vengeance, *unless As foul as e'er had Ganilion <9> of France."
This gentle monk answer'd in this mannere; "Now truely, mine owen lady dear, I have," quoth he, "on you so greate ruth,* *pity That I you swear, and plighte you my truth, That when your husband is to Flanders fare,* *gone I will deliver you out of