The Complete Poetical Works of Geoffrey Chaucer. Eds. John S. P.Tatlock, and Percy MacKay. New York: The MacMillan Company, 1912.

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THE FRANKLIN'S TALE

The Prologue of the Franklin's Tale.

'These old gentle Britons in their time made lays about divers happenings, rhymed in their early British tongue; which lays they sang to their instruments of music, or else read them, for their pleasure. And one of them I have in mind, which I will relate with good will as best I can. But, sirs, I am a rude man, and at the beginning I pray you to hold me excused for my homely speech. In sooth, I learned never rhetoric; a thing that I speak must be plain and bare. I slept never on the mount of Parnassus, nor learned Marcus Tullius Cicero. Colors of speech I know none, of a surety; only such colors as grow in the mead, or else such as men dye or paint. Colors of rhetoric be too curious for me, my spirit has no feeling in such matters. But if you list you shall hear my tale.'

Here beginneth the Franklin's Tale.

In Armorica, which is called Brittany, there was a knight who loved and served a lady in the best manner he could. And he wrought many a labor, many a great emprise, ere he gained her. For she was one of the fairest women under the sun, and eke come of so high kindred that this knight scarce durst for fear tell her his woe and his pain and distress. But at last she took such pity upon his pains, because of his worthiness and chiefest for his humble attentiveness, that privily she agreed to take him for husband and lord, in such lordship as men have over their wives. And that they might live in the more blessedness, he swore to her as a knight, of his own free will, that never at any time in all his life should he take upon him any sovereignty

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against her will, nor show jealousy toward her, but obey her and follow her will in all things, as any lover shall do toward his lady; save only the name of sovereignty, --that he would have for the honor of his station.

She thanked him, and said with full great humility, 'Sir, since of your noble mind you offer me so free a rein, God forbid that of my guilt there were ever war or contention betwixt us two. Sir, I will be your true humble wife till my heart break; take here my pledge.'

Thus they were both in quiet and peace. For one thing, sirs, I dare safely say,--friends must comply with one another, if they would hold company long. Love will not be constrained by mastership; when mastery comes, forthwith the god of love beats his wings, and farewell, he is gone! Love is as free as any spirit. Women by their nature desire liberty, and not to be under constraint as a thrall; and so do men, if I shall say sooth. Look who is most patient in love, he has the advantage over all. Patience is a high virtue, of a certainty; for, as these clerks say, it conquers things that rigor could never attain to. Men should not chide or complain at every word. Learn to endure, or else, on my life, ye shall learn it, whether ye will or no. For certainly there is none in this world but sometimes he does or speaks amiss. Wrath, sickness, the stars, wine, woe, changing humors, full often cause a man to act or speak amiss. A man may not be avenged of every wrong; according to the occasion, in every wight who knows how to rule his life, there must be moderation. And therefore, that he might live at ease, this wise worthy knight promised forbearance toward her, and she full seriously swore to him that there never should be lack in her. Here men may see a humble and wise agreement; thus she took her servant and her lord, --servant in love, and lord in marriage. Then he was in both lordship and bondage. Bondage? --nay, but on high in lordship, since he has both his lady and love; certes, his lady, and also his wife, who accepted that law of love. And in this happy state he went home with his wife to his country, not far from Penmark, where was his dwelling, and where he lived in happiness and comfort. Who, unless he had been wedded, could tell the joy, the comfort, and wellbeing betwixt husband and wife?

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This blessed condition lasted a year and more, till the knight of whom I speak, who was called Arveragus of Kayr-rud, laid his plans to go and dwell a year or two in England, which also was called Britain, to seek worship and honor in arms. For he set all his pleasure on such toils. And he dwelt there two years; the book says thus.

Now I will leave Arveragus, and will speak of Dorigen his wife, who loved her husband as her heart's blood. For in his absence she wept and sighed, as these noble wives do (when they will). She mourned, watched, wailed, fasted, lamented; desire for his presence so distracted her that she cared nothing for all this wide world. Her friends, who knew her heavy thoughts, comforted her in all they could. They preached to her; day and night they told her that she was slaying herself without cause, alas! And with all diligence they comforted her all they could, to make her leave her heaviness.

By process of time, ye all know, men may grave in a stone so long that some figure will be imprinted on it. So long they comforted her, that with the aid of hope and reason she received the imprint of their consolation. Wherefore her great sorrow began to assuage; she could not abide ever in such frenzy. And eke whilst she was in all this sorrow, Arveragus had sent home to her letters of his welfare, and that he would soon return; else this sorrow had slain her heart. Her friends saw her sorrow began to slacken, and on their knees prayed her for God's love to come and roam about with them, to drive away her dark fantasies. And finally she agreed, for well she saw that it was best.

Now her castle stood hard by the sea, and for diversion she often walked with her friends high upon the shore, whence she saw many a ship and barge sailing upon their course, wherever they would go. But then became that a part of her grief. For full often she said to herself, 'Alas! Is there no ship of so many that I see, will bring home my lord? Then were my heart all cured of its bitter, bitter pains.'

Another time she would sit there and ponder, and from the shore cast her eyes down. But when she saw the grisly black rocks, her heart would so quake for very fear that she could not hold herself on her feet. Then she would sit down on the

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green and piteously look into the sea, and with sorrowful, cold sighs say right thus: 'Eternal God, who through Thy providence guidest the world by sure government, Thou makest nothing in vain, men say. But, Lord, these grisly, fiendly, black rocks, which seem rather a foul disorder of work than any fair creation by such a perfect, wise, and unchanging God,--why hast Thou wrought this irrational work? For by this work is fostered neither man nor bird nor brute, south or north, east or west. It does no good, to my seeming, but harm. Seest Thou not, Lord, how it destroys mankind? Rocks have slain an hundred thousand bodies of men, although they be not in my memory; which mankind is so fair a part of Thy work that Thou madest it like to Thine own image. Then it should seem Thou hadst a great fondness toward men; but how then may it be that Thou createst to destroy them such means which do no good, but ever harm? I wot well that clerks will say as they please by arguments that all is for the best, though I cannot understand the manner. But may that God that made the wind blow guard my lord! This is my conclusion; I leave all disputation to clerks. But would to God that all these black rocks were sunk into hell, for his sake! These rocks slay mine heart for fear.'

Thus she would speak to herself, with many a piteous tear. Her friends saw that it was no diversion for her, but only a disquiet, to walk by the sea, and devised for her sports in other places. They led her by rivers and springs and eke in other delectable places; they danced and they played at chess and backgammon. So on a day in the morning-time, they went to divert them all the long day in a garden hard by, in which they had made their provision of food and other things. And this was on the sixth morning of May, and May with his soft rains had painted this garden full of leaves and flowers. And truly the craft of man's hand had so curiously arrayed this garden that never was a garden of such beauty, unless it were paradise itself. The odor of flowers and the fresh sight would have gladdened any heart that ever was born, unless too great sickness or too great sorrow distressed it; so full was it of delight and beauty. After dinner they began to dance and sing, save only Dorigen, who ever made complaint and moan, because she saw not him go on the dance who was her husband and also her love. But