The Canterbury Tales [327]
the love of God, as telle me, In sooth, that I will of thee lear,* *learn If this noise that I hear Be, as I have heard thee tell, Of folk that down in earthe dwell, And cometh here in the same wise As I thee heard, ere this, devise? And that there living body n'is* *is not In all that house that yonder is, That maketh all this loude fare?"* *hubbub, ado "No," answered he, "by Saint Clare, And all *so wisly God rede me;* *so surely god But one thing I will warne thee, guide me* Of the which thou wilt have wonder. Lo! to the House of Fame yonder, Thou know'st how cometh ev'ry speech; It needeth not thee eft* to teach. *again But understand now right well this; When any speech y-comen is Up to the palace, anon right It waxeth* like the same wight** *becomes **person Which that the word in earthe spake, Be he cloth'd in red or black; And so weareth his likeness, And speaks the word, that thou wilt guess* *fancy That it the same body be, Whether man or woman, he or she. And is not this a wondrous thing?" "Yes," quoth I then, "by Heaven's king!" And with this word, "Farewell," quoth he, And here I will abide* thee, *wait for And God of Heaven send thee grace Some good to learen* in this place." *learn And I of him took leave anon, And gan forth to the palace go'n.
At the opening of the Third Book, Chaucer briefly invokes Apollo's guidance, and entreats him, because "the rhyme is light and lewd," to "make it somewhat agreeable, though some verse fail in a syllable." If the god answers the prayer, the poet promises to kiss the next laurel-tree <18> he sees; and he proceeds:
When I was from this eagle gone, I gan behold upon this place; And certain, ere I farther pace, I will you all the shape devise* *describe Of house and city; and all the wise How I gan to this place approach, That stood upon so high a roche,* *rock <19> Higher standeth none in Spain; But up I climb'd with muche pain, And though to climbe *grieved me,* *cost me painful effort* Yet I ententive* was to see, *attentive And for to pore* wondrous low, *gaze closely If I could any wise know What manner stone this rocke was, For it was like a thing of glass, But that it shone full more clear But of what congealed mattere It was, I wist not readily, But at the last espied I, And found that it was *ev'ry deal* *entirely* A rock of ice, and not of steel. Thought I, "By Saint Thomas of Kent, <20> This were a feeble fundament* *foundation *To builden* a place so high; *on which to build He ought him lite* to glorify *little That hereon built, God so me save!"
Then saw I all the half y-grave <21> With famous folke's names fele,* *many That hadde been in muche weal,* *good fortune And their fames wide y-blow. But well unnethes* might I know *scarcely Any letters for to read Their names by; for out of dread* *doubt They were almost off thawed so, That of the letters one or two Were molt* away of ev'ry name, *melted So unfamous was wox* their fame; *become But men say, "What may ever last?" Then gan I in my heart to cast* *conjecture That they were molt away for heat, And not away with stormes beat; For on the other side I sey* *saw Of this hill, that northward lay, How it was written full of names Of folke that had greate fames Of olde times, and yet they were As fresh as men had writ them there
At the opening of the Third Book, Chaucer briefly invokes Apollo's guidance, and entreats him, because "the rhyme is light and lewd," to "make it somewhat agreeable, though some verse fail in a syllable." If the god answers the prayer, the poet promises to kiss the next laurel-tree <18> he sees; and he proceeds:
When I was from this eagle gone, I gan behold upon this place; And certain, ere I farther pace, I will you all the shape devise* *describe Of house and city; and all the wise How I gan to this place approach, That stood upon so high a roche,* *rock <19> Higher standeth none in Spain; But up I climb'd with muche pain, And though to climbe *grieved me,* *cost me painful effort* Yet I ententive* was to see, *attentive And for to pore* wondrous low, *gaze closely If I could any wise know What manner stone this rocke was, For it was like a thing of glass, But that it shone full more clear But of what congealed mattere It was, I wist not readily, But at the last espied I, And found that it was *ev'ry deal* *entirely* A rock of ice, and not of steel. Thought I, "By Saint Thomas of Kent, <20> This were a feeble fundament* *foundation *To builden* a place so high; *on which to build He ought him lite* to glorify *little That hereon built, God so me save!"
Then saw I all the half y-grave <21> With famous folke's names fele,* *many That hadde been in muche weal,* *good fortune And their fames wide y-blow. But well unnethes* might I know *scarcely Any letters for to read Their names by; for out of dread* *doubt They were almost off thawed so, That of the letters one or two Were molt* away of ev'ry name, *melted So unfamous was wox* their fame; *become But men say, "What may ever last?" Then gan I in my heart to cast* *conjecture That they were molt away for heat, And not away with stormes beat; For on the other side I sey* *saw Of this hill, that northward lay, How it was written full of names Of folke that had greate fames Of olde times, and yet they were As fresh as men had writ them there