The absolute ease of this passage is in striking contrast to Chaucer's early use of the stanza in the story of St Cecyle, and has perhaps never been equalled in the same form save by Byron. Το accompany these quotations from the Troilus, we may take the 'Knightes Tale' out of its place in the Canterbury series, in order to show how Chaucer treats chivalry under arms, as in the Troilus he treats of chivalry in love. The cousins Palamon and Arcite both love the fair Emily, sister to their enemy, Theseus, 'Duke' of Athens. Arcite overhears Palamon speaking of his love when in hiding from Theseus, and, as his cousin is weaponless, rides off to fetch him armour and weapons that they may fight out their quarrel. The quotation describes how they arm each other and then fight furiously till Theseus interrupts them. It is the more noteworthy because, while Chaucer is translating the Teseide of Boccaccio, all the vivid and dramatic touches are his own:

fight out

appointed

The bataille in the feeld betwix hem tweyne ;
And on his hors, allone as he was born,
He carieth al the harneys hym biforn :
And in the grove, at tyme and place y-set,
This Arcite and this Palamon ben met.
To chaungen gan the colour in hir face,
Right as the hunters, in the regne of Trace,
That stondeth at the gappe with a spere,
Whan hunted is the leoun or the bere,
And hereth hym come russhyng in the greves,
And breketh both bowės and the leves,
And thynketh, 'Heere cometh my mortal enemy,
With-outé faile he moot be deed or I;
For outher I moot sleen hym at the gappe,
Or he moot sleen me, if that me myshappe':
So ferden they in chaungyng of hir hewe,
As fer as everich of hem oother knewe,

Ther nas no 'Good day,' ne no saluyng,
But streight, withouten word or rehersyng,
Everich of hem heelpe for to armen oother,
As frendly as he were his owene brother;
And after that, with sharpė sperés stronge,
They foynen ech at other wonder longe.
Thou myghtest wené that this Palamoun,
In his fightyng were a wood leoun,

3

groves

must be dead either

4,5

fence

mad

And to the grove, that stood ful faste by,
In which ther was an hert, as men hym tolde,
Duc Theseus the streighté way hath holde;
And to the launde he rideth hym ful right,- open space

For thider was the hert wont have his flight,-
And over a brook, and so forth in his weye.
The Duc wol han a cours at hym, or tweye,
With houndės, swiche as that hym list commaundé.
And whan the Duc was come unto the launde
Under the sonne he looketh, and anon

He was war of Arcite and Palamon
That foughten breme, as it were bores two.
The brightė swerdes wenten to and fro
So hidously, that with the leeste strook
It semed as it wolde fille an ook;
But what they were no thyng he ne woot.
This duc his courser with his sporés smoot,
And at a stert he was bitwix hem two,
And pulled out a swerd, and cridė, Hoo!
Namoore, up peyne of lesynge of youre heed!
By myghty Mars, he shal anon be deed
That smyteth any strook, that I may seen.
But telleth me what mystiers men ye been,
That been so hardy for to fighten heere
Withouten juge, or oother officere,
As it were in a lystės roially?'

furiously

fell

upon

what kind of

Forgeten had the erthe his pore estate
Of wyntir, that him naked made and mate,
And with his swerd of colde so sore greved;
Now hath the atempre sonne al that releved
That naked was, and clad it new agayne.
The smale foulès, of the sesoun fayne,
That of the panter and the nette ben scaped,
Upon the foweler, that hem made a-whaped
In wynter, and distroyed hadde hire broode,
In his dispite hem thoghte it did hem goode
To synge of hym, and in hir songe dispise
The foulé cherle, that, for his coveytise,

forlorn

temperate

a bag-net scared

Had hem betrayed with his sophistrye.

This was hir songe, 'The foweler we deffye, And al his crafte.' And some songen clere Layes of love, that joye it was to here, In worshipynge and in preysing of hir make; And, for the newé blisful somers sake, Upon the braunches ful of blosmės softe, In hire delyt, they turned hem ful ofte, And songen, 'Blessed be Seynt Valentyne ! For on his day I chees you to be myne, Withouten repentyng myne herté swete!' And therewithal hire bekės gonnen meete, Yeldyng honour and humble obeysaunces To love, and diden hire othere observaunces That longeth onto love, and to nature; Construeth that as yow lyst, I do no cure. And tho that hadde don unkyndénesse,—— As doth the tydif, for newfangelnesse,— Besoghte mercy of hir trespassynge, And humblely songen hir répentynge, And sworen on the blosmės to be trewe, So that hire makes wolde upon hem rewe, And at the lasté maden hir acorde.

mate

(Legende of Good Women, II. 125-159.)

All the Prologue to the Legende, whence this is taken, is in Chaucer's happiest vein, both in its earlier and in this later form; and as in the last quotation it was hard to have to stop before Theseus' speech in which he first condemns and then chaffs the lovers, so here it would be pleasant to quote all the talk with Cupid and Alcestis which follows on our extract. From the legends themselves we can only take these few lines as an example of how vigorously Chaucer could describe a sea-fight of the ancient kind :

Antonius was war, and wol nat fayle To meten with thise Romaynes, if he may, Took eke his rede, and both upon a day, His wyf and he, and al his ost, forthe wente To shippe anon, no lenger they ne stente,

We come now to the Canterbury Tales, and as from the portrait-gallery of the Prologue we can only take two examples, two have been chosen which show in effective contrast the good and bad sides of religion in Chaucer's day. Here is the good Parson :

A good man was ther of religioun,

And was a POURE PERSOUN OF A TOUN;
But riche he was of hooly thoght and werk;
He was also a lerned man, a clerk,
That Cristės Gospel trewely wolde preche :
His parisshens devoutly wolde he teche.
Benygne he was, and wonder diligent,
And in adversitee ful pacient;

And swich he was y-preved ofte sithes.

times

But he ne lafté nat, for reyn ne thonder,

In siknesse nor in meschief to visíte

The ferreste in his parisshe, much and lite, rich and poor
Upon his feet, and in his hand a staf.

This noble ensample to his sheepe he yaf
That firste he wroghte and afterward he taughte.
Out of the gospel he tho wordės caughte,
And this figure he added eek therto,
That if gold rusté what shal iren doo?

For if a preest be foul, on whom we truste,
No wonder is a lewed man to ruste;
And shame it is, if a prest takė keepe,
A shiten shepherde and a clené sheepe.
Wel oghte a preest ensample for to yive

By his clennesse how that his sheepe sholde lyve. He setté nat his benefice to hyre

aware

counsel

host stayed

I

2

furiously

And in the see hit happed hem to mete.
Up goth the trumpe, and for to shoute and shete, shoot
And paynen hem to sette on with the sonne;
With grisly soune out goth the gretė gonne,
And heterly they hurtelen al at ones,
And fro the top doun cometh the gretė stones.
In gooth the grapénel so ful of crokes,
Amonge the ropes, and the sheryng hokes ;
In with the polax preseth he and he;
Byhynde the maste begyneth he to fle,
And out agayn, and dryveth hem over borde;
He stynteth hem upon his sperés orde;
He rent the sayle with hokės lyke a sithe ;
He bryngeth the cuppe, and biddeth hem be blithe;

this one and that

He poureth pesen upon the hacches slidre;

With pottes ful of lyme, they goon togidre;

And thus the longé day in fight they spende,

Til at the last, as every thing hath ende,

3

rendeth

4

Antony is shent, and put hym to the flyghte; discomfited And al his folke to-go, that best go myghte.

(Legende of Good Women, II. 629–653.)

That is, Antony and Octavian. 2 That is, so that the sun might be in the enemy's face. 3 Stops them on his spear's-end. 4 Dried peas, to prevent the enemy getting a firm footing.

And leet his sheepe encombred in the myre,
And ran to Londoun, unto Seïnt Poules,
To seken hym a chaunterie for soules;
Or with a bretherhed to been withholde,
But dwelte at hoom and kepté wel his folde,
So that the wolf ne made it nat myscarie,—
He was a shepherde, and noght a mercenarie :
And though he holy were and vertuous,

He was to synful man nat despitous,

gave

those

heed

left

I

But smothe it heng as doth a strike of flex; hank of flax
By ounces henge his lokkės that he hadde, In small pieces
And therwith he his shuldres overspradde.

But thynne it lay by colpons oon and oon ;
But hood, for jolitee, ne wered he noon,
For it was trussed up in his walét,
Hym thoughte he rood al of the newė jet;
Dischevelee, save his cappe, he rood al bare.
Swiche glarynge eyen hadde he as an hare,
A vernycle hadde he sowed upon his cappe;
His walet lay biforn hym in his lappe
Bret-ful of pardon, come from Rome al hoot.
A voys he hadde as smal as hath a goot.
But of his craft, fro Berwyk unto Ware
Ne was ther swich another pardoner,
For in his male he hadde a pilwe-beer,
Which that, he seyde, was oure lady veyl;
He seyde he hadde a gobet of the seyl
That Seïnt Peter hadde, whan that he wente
Upon the see, til Jhesu Crist hym hente.
He hadde a croys of latoun, ful of stones,
And in a glas he hadde piggės bones.
But with thise relikės, whan that he fond
A poure person dwellynge upon lond,
Upon a day he gat hym moore moneye
Than that the person gat in monthès tweye;
And thus with feyned flaterye and japes
He made the person and the peple his apes.
But, trewély to tellen atté laste,

2

fashion

3

4

Brimful

bag-pillow-case

lady's

piece

He was in chirche a noble ecclesiaste;
Wel koude he rede a lessoun or a storie,
But alderbest he song an Offertorie;
For wel he wistė, whan that song was songe,
He mosté preche, and wel affile his tonge
To wynné silver, as he ful wel koude;
Therefore he song the murierly and loude.

cross of brass

found

best of all

polish

more merrily (Canterbury Tales, Prologue, 11. 669-714.)

1 That is, with the Summoner. 2 In shreds, lock by lock. 3 Dishevelled, with his hair loose. Copy of the supposed imprint of Christ's face on the handkerchief of St Veronica, which the Pardoner might have seen at Rome.

From the Tales themselves we have already quoted an example of Chaucer's chivalrous style; our second extract exhibits him where he is perhaps at his strongest of all-as the teller of tales of low life, tales of which he can only have received from others the mere outline, while his expansions of them are full of humour and individuality. As to the stories of this class, Chaucer himself advised some of his readers to 'choose another page,' and the folk-story of the 'Fox and Hen' assigned to the Nonnes Prest is the only one of them which can be recommended virginibus puerisque; but this incident from the 'Reeves Tale,' of how a knavish miller frustrated the device of the two Cambridge clerks to prevent him from stealing their corn, stands by itself, and is altogether delightful. The clerks, it should be said, are northerners, and speak in the northern dialect. Symond is the miller :

expect

3, 4, 5, 6 therefore

Our manciple I hope he will be deed
Swa werkes ay the wangės in his heed ;
And forthy is I come and eek Alayn.
To grynde oure corn and carie it ham agayn.
I pray yow spede us heythen that ye may.'
'It shal be doon,' quod Symkyn, by my fay!
What wol ye doon, whil that it is in hande?'
'By God, right by the hopur wil I stande,'
Quod John, 'and se how that the corn gas in.
Yet saugh I never, by my fader kyn,
How that the hopur waggés til and fra.'

Aleyn answérdė, 'John, and wiltow swa?
Thanne wil I be bynethė, by my croun !
And se how that the melė fallès doun
Into the trough,—that sal be my disport;
For, John, y-faith, I may been of youre sort,
I is as ille a millere as are ye.'

home

hence

hopper

goes

to and fro

foolishness

7

This millere smyled of hir nycétee,
And thoghte, Al this nys doon but for a wyle;
They wene that no man may hem bigile;
But by my thrift yet shal I blere hir eye,
For al the sleighte in hir philosophye.
The more queynté crekės that they make, cunning devices
The more wol I stelé whan I take.

In stide of flour yet wol I yeve hem bren;
The gretteste clerkės been noght wisest men,
As whilom to the wolf thus spak the mare;
Of al hir art ne counte I noght a tare.'

Out at the dore he gooth ful pryvėly,
Whan that he saugh his tymė softély.
He looketh up and doun til he hath founde
The clerkės hors, ther as it stood y-bounde.
Bihynde the mille, under a levėsel,
And to the hors he goth hym faire and wel;
He strepeth of the brydel right anon,
And whan the hors was laus, he gynneth gon
Toward the fen, ther wilde marés renne,-

Forth with Wehee!' thurgh thikke and thurgh thenne.
This millere goth agayn, no word he seyde,
But doth his note and with the clerkés pleyde, business
Til that hir corn was faire and wel y-grounde;
And whan the mele is sakked and y-bounde,
This John goth out, and fynt his hors away,
And gan to crie, Harrow!' and, 'Weyl-away!
Oure hors is lorn; Alayn, for Goddes banes
Stepe on thy feet; com out, man, al atanes !
Allas, our wardeyn has his palfrey lorn!'
This Aleyn al forgat bothe mele and corn;
Al was out of his mynde his housbondrie.
'What, whilk way is he geen?' he gan to crie.
The wyf cam lepynge inward with a ren;
She seyde, Allas, youre hors goth to the fen
With wilde mares, as faste as he may go;
Unthank come on his hand that boond hym so,
And he that bettrẻ sholde han knyt the reyne!'
'Allas,' quod John, Aleyn, for Cristės peyne,
Lay doun thy swerd, and I wil myn alswa.

And whan the millere saugh that they were gon,
He half a busshel of hir flour hath take,
And bad his wyf go knede it in a cake.
He seyde, 'I trowe the clerkés were aferd;
Yet kan a millere make a clerkės berd,
For al his art; now lat hem goon hir weye!
Lo wher they goon; ye, lat the children pleye;
They gete hym nat so lightly, by my croun!'

1 Behoves. 2 No servant. Cheek-teeth.

befool

('Reeves Tale,' Canterbury Tales, A. 4026-4099.) $ So. (Northern plural) work. Head. Is only done for a trick. See 'Reynard the Fox. 9 Loose. 10 Begins to go. 11 I am full swift, God knows, as is a roe. 12 Why didn't you put the palfrey in the stable?

Lastly, as a contrast to these broad humours, here from the 'Prioresses Tale' is a return to Chaucer's earlier manner of tenderness and devotion, no less graceful and pleasing than of yore, and written with far greater mastery. The legend is one of many which good men-Heaven forgive them all over Europe sincerely believed, of a little Christian boy wantonly murdered by the Jews:

A litel scole of cristen folk ther stood Doun at the ferther ende, in which ther were

Children an heepe, y-comen of Cristen blood,

That lerned in that scolé yeer by yere Swich manere doctrine as men used there,

This is to seyn, to syngen, and to rede,

As smale children doon in hire childhede.

Thus hath this wydwe hir litel sone y-taught
Oure blisful lady, Cristės mooder deere,
To worshipe ay, and he forgate it naught,
For sely child wol alday soone leere,-
But ay whan I remembre on this mateere,
Seint Nicholas stant ever in my presence,
For he so yong to Crist dide reverence.
This litel child his litel book lernýnge,
As he sat in the scole at his prymer,
He Alma redemptoris herde synge,
As children lerned hire antiphoner;

And, as he dorste, he drough hym ner and ner,

1, 2, 3

standeth

And herkned ay the wordės and the note,
Til he the firstė vers koude al by rote.

Noght wiste he what this Latyn was to seye,
For he so yong and tendre was of age;
But on a day his felawe gan he preye
Texpounden hym this song in his language,
Or telle him why this song was in usage;
This preyde he hym to construe and declare
Ful often time upon his knowės bare.

His felawe, which that elder was than he,
Answerde hym thus: "This song I have herd seye
Was maked of oure blisful lady free,
Hire to salue, and eek hire for to preye

To been oure help and socour whan we deye;

I kan na moore expounde in this mateere,

knees

noble salute

I lerne song, I kan but smal grammeere.' know but little

'And is this song maked in reverence
Of Cristės mooder?' seyde this innocent.
'Now certés, I wol do my diligence
To konne it al, er Cristėmasse is went,
Though that I for my prymer shal be shent,
And shal be beten thries in an houre,
I wol it konne oure lady for to honoure!'

His felawe taughte hym homward prively
Fro day to day, til he koude it by rote,
And thanne he song it wel and boldėly
Fro word to word, accordynge with the note.
Twies a day it passed thurgh his throte,
To scoléward and homward whan he wente;
On Cristės mooder set was his entente.

scolded thrice

Twice

('Prioresses Tale,' Canterbury Tales, B. 1685-1740.)
2 Always. 3 Learn. 4 While at his mother's breast.

1 Innocent.
5 Drew him nearer and nearer.

Of Chaucer's prose two short specimens will be given below (pp. 81 sq.). Here it is sufficient to say that, though he could write with ease and simplicity when off his guard, in his attempts at more ornate prose he never attained to the artistic mastery which everywhere marks his verse.

John Gower.

John Gower was born before Chaucer, possibly as early as 1327, and as a worker on older lines from which Chaucer soon broke loose has some claim to have been given precedence. But his only English poem can hardly have been written until after Chaucer's Troilus and Hous of Fame, and as it was probably his friend's success which caused him to abandon the French and Latin in which he had previously written, for English, he may be ranked with those whom Chaucer influenced, though not in the same sense as Lydgate and Hoccleve. He came of the Kentish Gowers, and must have been a kinsman of the Sir Robert Gower buried in Brabourne Church near Ashford, as Sir Robert's manor of Kentwell in Suffolk passed into his possession. John Gower owned other property in Norfolk, Suffolk, Essex, and Kent itself. By a grant from Richard II., from 1390 to 1397 the rectory of Great Braxted in Essex, close to Gower's Essex property, was held by a clerk of

the same name, and the fact that the rector is spoken of as a clerk, not as a priest, has caused him to be identified with the poet, who, however, at the time he wrote his Mirour de l'Omme, was not even a clerk (see 1. 21772). Without any aid from ecclesiastical preferment, the poet must have been a man of considerable wealth and importance. In the first edition of his Confessio Amantis he tells how Richard II. met him on the Thames, invited him to come into his barge, and bade him write a book for him to read. He must, therefore, have been well known to the king and have had a footing at Court. Gower, however, ultimately sided with Henry of Lancaster, and in 1393 transferred to him the dedication of his poem, being rewarded soon after by the present of a collar. In 1397, when he must have been nearly seventy, Gower married one Agnes Groundolf, and lived with her henceforth within the Priory of St Mary Overy's (now St Saviour's), Southwark, to the rebuilding of which he was a generous contributor. In 1400 he became blind, but lived for another eight years, dying in 1408, and being buried in St Saviour's, where his tomb, which bears his effigy, still remains. In this his head is resting on his three chief works, the French Speculum Meditantis (or, as it is also called, Speculum Hominis, or Mirour de l'Omme), the Latin Vox Clamantis, and the English Confessio Amantis, with which only we are much concerned. The Speculum Meditantis, after having been lost sight of for many years, was rediscovered in 1895, and forms the first volume of a complete edition of Gower's works, edited by Mr G. C. Macaulay, published by the Clarendon Press in 1899-1900. From this excellent edition, the Speculum or Mirour is now known to be a poem of nearly thirty thousand lines of passable verse, in which a classification of the Vices and Virtues leads up to a survey of modern society, and this in its turn to a life of the Blessed Virgin, by whose mediation society was to be bettered. There are interesting passages in the poem, notably those which initiate us into the tricks of the fourteenthcentury tradesmen, but its poetical value is not high. Gower did far better work in French in the Cinkante Balades, printed by Mr Macaulay in the same volume as the Mirour, for some of these are really of great merit.

Wat Tyler's rising of 1381 was the occasion of the Latin poem, Vox Clamantis, and the choice of language, though probably mainly due to the belief that Latin was the proper medium for an historical poem, may have been partly dictated by the same motive which caused Godwin in 1793 to publish his Political Justice at a prohibitive price-the desire to escape any accusation of inflaming popular passions. For Gower, though a landowner and a Conservative, was outspoken in his denunciation of wrong. Later on he chose the same language for his Chronicon Tripartitum, a poem on Richard II.'s misgovernment. This was