The Canterbury Tales [224]
of th' Orient had all the chivalry, As far as that the day begins to daw, That through thy knighthood hast them take and slaw,* slain* Save fewe folk that with Pompeius fled; Through which thou put all th' Orient in awe; <24> Thanke Fortune that so well thee sped.
But now a little while I will bewail This Pompeius, this noble governor Of Rome, which that fled at this battaile I say, one of his men, a false traitor, His head off smote, to winne him favor Of Julius, and him the head he brought; Alas! Pompey, of th' Orient conqueror, That Fortune unto such a fine* thee brought! *end
To Rome again repaired Julius, With his triumphe laureate full high; But on a time Brutus and Cassius, That ever had of his estate envy, Full privily have made conspiracy Against this Julius in subtle wise And cast* the place in which he shoulde die, *arranged With bodekins,* as I shall you devise.** *daggers **tell
This Julius to the Capitole went Upon a day, as he was wont to gon; And in the Capitol anon him hent* *seized This false Brutus, and his other fone,* *foes And sticked him with bodekins anon With many a wound, and thus they let him lie. But never groan'd he at no stroke but one, Or else at two, *but if* the story lie. *unless
So manly was this Julius of heart, And so well loved *estately honesty *dignified propriety* That, though his deadly woundes sore smart,* *pained him His mantle o'er his hippes caste he, That ne man shoulde see his privity And as he lay a-dying in a trance, And wiste verily that dead was he, Of honesty yet had he remembrance.
Lucan, to thee this story I recommend, And to Sueton', and Valerie also, That of this story write *word and end* *the whole* <25> How that to these great conquerores two Fortune was first a friend, and since* a foe. *afterwards No manne trust upon her favour long, But *have her in await for evermo';* *ever be watchful against her* Witness on all these conquerores strong.
The riche CROESUS, <26> whilom king of Lyde, -- Of which Croesus Cyrus him sore drad,* -- *dreaded Yet was he caught amiddes all his pride, And to be burnt men to the fire him lad; But such a rain down *from the welkin shad,* *poured from the sky* That slew the fire, and made him to escape: But to beware no grace yet he had, Till fortune on the gallows made him gape.
When he escaped was, he could not stint* *refrain For to begin a newe war again; He weened well, for that Fortune him sent Such hap, that he escaped through the rain, That of his foes he mighte not be slain. And eke a sweven* on a night he mette,** *dream **dreamed Of which he was so proud, and eke so fain,* *glad That he in vengeance all his hearte set.
Upon a tree he was set, as he thought, Where Jupiter him wash'd, both back and side, And Phoebus eke a fair towel him brought To dry him with; and therefore wax'd his pride. And to his daughter that stood him beside, Which he knew in high science to abound, He bade her tell him what it signified; And she his dream began right thus expound.
"The tree," quoth she, "the gallows is to mean, And Jupiter betokens snow and rain, And Phoebus, with his towel clear and clean, These be the sunne's streames* sooth to sayn; *rays Thou shalt y-hangeth be, father, certain; Rain shall thee wash, and sunne shall thee dry." Thus warned him full plat and eke full plain His daughter, which that called was Phanie.
And hanged was Croesus the proude king; His royal throne might him not avail. Tragedy is none other manner thing, Nor can in singing crien nor bewail, But for that Fortune all day will assail With unware stroke the regnes* that be proud:<27> *kingdoms For when men truste her, then will she fail, And cover her bright face with a cloud.
O noble, O worthy
But now a little while I will bewail This Pompeius, this noble governor Of Rome, which that fled at this battaile I say, one of his men, a false traitor, His head off smote, to winne him favor Of Julius, and him the head he brought; Alas! Pompey, of th' Orient conqueror, That Fortune unto such a fine* thee brought! *end
To Rome again repaired Julius, With his triumphe laureate full high; But on a time Brutus and Cassius, That ever had of his estate envy, Full privily have made conspiracy Against this Julius in subtle wise And cast* the place in which he shoulde die, *arranged With bodekins,* as I shall you devise.** *daggers **tell
This Julius to the Capitole went Upon a day, as he was wont to gon; And in the Capitol anon him hent* *seized This false Brutus, and his other fone,* *foes And sticked him with bodekins anon With many a wound, and thus they let him lie. But never groan'd he at no stroke but one, Or else at two, *but if* the story lie. *unless
So manly was this Julius of heart, And so well loved *estately honesty *dignified propriety* That, though his deadly woundes sore smart,* *pained him His mantle o'er his hippes caste he, That ne man shoulde see his privity And as he lay a-dying in a trance, And wiste verily that dead was he, Of honesty yet had he remembrance.
Lucan, to thee this story I recommend, And to Sueton', and Valerie also, That of this story write *word and end* *the whole* <25> How that to these great conquerores two Fortune was first a friend, and since* a foe. *afterwards No manne trust upon her favour long, But *have her in await for evermo';* *ever be watchful against her* Witness on all these conquerores strong.
The riche CROESUS, <26> whilom king of Lyde, -- Of which Croesus Cyrus him sore drad,* -- *dreaded Yet was he caught amiddes all his pride, And to be burnt men to the fire him lad; But such a rain down *from the welkin shad,* *poured from the sky* That slew the fire, and made him to escape: But to beware no grace yet he had, Till fortune on the gallows made him gape.
When he escaped was, he could not stint* *refrain For to begin a newe war again; He weened well, for that Fortune him sent Such hap, that he escaped through the rain, That of his foes he mighte not be slain. And eke a sweven* on a night he mette,** *dream **dreamed Of which he was so proud, and eke so fain,* *glad That he in vengeance all his hearte set.
Upon a tree he was set, as he thought, Where Jupiter him wash'd, both back and side, And Phoebus eke a fair towel him brought To dry him with; and therefore wax'd his pride. And to his daughter that stood him beside, Which he knew in high science to abound, He bade her tell him what it signified; And she his dream began right thus expound.
"The tree," quoth she, "the gallows is to mean, And Jupiter betokens snow and rain, And Phoebus, with his towel clear and clean, These be the sunne's streames* sooth to sayn; *rays Thou shalt y-hangeth be, father, certain; Rain shall thee wash, and sunne shall thee dry." Thus warned him full plat and eke full plain His daughter, which that called was Phanie.
And hanged was Croesus the proude king; His royal throne might him not avail. Tragedy is none other manner thing, Nor can in singing crien nor bewail, But for that Fortune all day will assail With unware stroke the regnes* that be proud:<27> *kingdoms For when men truste her, then will she fail, And cover her bright face with a cloud.
O noble, O worthy