A COMMENT Upon the Two Tales OF OUR ANCIENT, RENOWNED, and EVERLIVING POET Sr JEFFRAY CHAUCER, Knight.  
Who, For his Rich Fancy, Pregnant Invention, and Present Composure, deserved the Countenance of a PRINCE, and his Laureate Honour.  
The MILLER'S TALE, AND The WIFE of BATH.  
Addressed and Published by Special Authority  
LONDON, Printed by W. Godbid, and are to be Sold by Peter Dring at the Sun in the Poultry near the Rose-Tavern. 1665.   

Ex dono RICARDI ATTWOOD A. M. COLL. SOC. 1734.   

Collegium Siv●●lula Marice de Valentia communiter nuncupata Pembroke Hall,  
TO THE HIGHLY HONOURED, AND NOBLY ACCOMPLISHED, Sr JOHN WINTOUR, SECRETARY OF STATE TO HER SACRED MAJESTY, THE QUEEN MOTHER; A LOYAL SUBJECT TO HIS SOVEREIGN, A FAITHFUL SERVANT TO HIS COUNTRY, A RESOLUTE SUFFERER FOR BOTH; R. B.  
HIS MOST DEVOTIONAL SERVITEURE PRESENTS THESE ILLUSTRATIONS, PRIMARILY INTENDED, & PURPOSELY PUBLISHED, FOR ENTERTAINMENT OF RETIRED HOURS.   

This Comment was an Assay, whereto the Author was importuned by Persons of Quality, to complete with Brief, Pithy, and Proper Illustrations, Suitable to such Subjects.   

A Commentary upon Chaucer's Prologue to his Miller's Tale.  
WHen that the knight, etc.  
Our Famous and everliving Chaucer, having in his Knight's Tale expressed the sweet Comical passages of constant Love, covertly shadowed under the persons of Palamon and Arcite Corrivals in their Love to Emely: Our merry Host, infinitely delighted with the Pleasure of that Story, desires to have these Tales continued, as the Task was at first by him contrived.  
Unbokled is the male, etc.  
A familiar and proper kind of Speech, implying how their Wits being now set a work, and the Male of their Conceits unbokled, none should be so unsociably retired, as to engross his Conceits to himself, and not have them discovered.  
Now telleth Sir Monk, etc.  
He gives the Monk pre-eminence; but the drunken Miller admits of no such precedence: his Drink frees him from all Monastic reverence.  
But in pilate's voice he began to cry,  
And swore, etc.  
Here he describes to life the humour of a Drunkard; Fearful Oaths are ever the overflows of full Pots.  
Our host saw that he was drunken of  
And said, abide Robin leave brother, (ale  
A pleasant contest betwixt our Host and the Miller; whom he first mildly labours to persuade, but when no reason will prevail, he concludes,  
— Tell on a devil way  
Thou art a fool, thy wit is overcome.  
Wherein the Host discovers his anger, and in a passionate manner gives way to his humour.  
Now herketh qd. the Miller, all and  
But first I make a protestation (some,  
That I am drunk, etc.  
The Miller makes strong Liquor his Apology, purposely to procure more attention, and incur less offence: For true was his observation in Assays of this nature:  
In telling tales, unless the truth we smother,  
In pleasing one, we may displease another.  
Right cautious are we then to be of the nature and humour of the hearer, and to peruse him, before we disclose ourselves unto him.  
— If I misspeak or say (pray  
Wite it the Ale of Southwark, I you  
Like a true Ale-stake, he tells you where the best Ale is; and this was made good long ago, as may appear by that overworn Proverb,  

The nappy strong Ale of Southwrike  
Keeps many a Gossip fra the Kirke.   
He proceeds to the Argument of his Tale, in these words,  
For I wool tell a legend and a Life  
Both of a Carpenter and his wife etc.  
This is the Subject which must give life to his Tale: But entering into more free discourse of the Lightness of the Carpenter's Wife, and the Carpenter's disgrace, he is interrupted by the Reve in these words,  
The Reve answered and said stint thy clap, etc.  
This Reve being of the same Profession, cannot endure to hear a Carpenter defamed upon any condition. He taxeth him for laying such infamy on men's Wives.  
Whose spotless Honour is their highest treasure,  
And whose good name once lost, is lost for ever.  
This drunken Miller spoke full soon again  
And said, leave brother Dswold,  
Who hath no wife is no Cuckold.  
He proves that the Husband's Crest is in his Wife's Curtsy; and to allay his fury, he confesseth freely that there are many good Wives, amongst which, the Reve's Wife may be one, for aught he knows of.  
To demen of myself that I am one,  
I wool believe that I am none.  
This agrees well with that Tenet, which applied seasonably, may afford a sovereign Receipt to Jealousy: It is better to be one, and think him none, than to be none, and think him one. The old Bard could sing as much:  

More blithe that Cuckold looks, who thinks him none,  
Than he who ne'xe was one, yet thinks him one.   
An husband should not be inquisitife  
Of God's privete, ne of his wife.  
An excellent Rule of direction, including a twofold Precept. First, Not to pry too curiously into the secret Cabinet of God's Divine Will. Secondly, Not to be too jealously inquisitive after the Actions of his Wife. For the former, as it is an Argument of too daring presumption; so the later, of weakness and indiscretion.  
What should I more say, but this Miller  
He nolde his word for no man forbere, etc.  
Here our ingenious Chaucer displays the Frontless boldness of a Rustic. On he will go with his Tale in spite of all opposition. In the end, our Poet, out of a native and free-bred Modesty, as one doubtful, lest some passages might offend the chaste ear of a modest hearer, he directs him to other historical Tales, plenteously stored with singular Precepts of Morality; which, together with his own Apology, he expresseth in these Lines, and so weaves up his Prologue.  
— UUhoso list it not to here  
Turn over the lief, and chose another Tale.   

A Comment upon the Miller's Tale.  
WHilom there was dwelling in Oxenford  
A rich gnofe, etc.  
It giveth no less life than probable light to any Story, to make mention of the Place, Person, Profession, with other Circumstances concurring. This induced our Poet here, as elsewhere throughout all his Tales, to express such a place where his Scene is form, such persons to whose condition his Discourse is fitted, with all such passages, by which the conceit of the Reader might become artfully entangled, his expectance pleasantly deceived, and the Plot at which he aimed, and by which he was directed, cunningly closed. You are to observe then, that the Scene here, is laid in Oxford; in which Shire, our Poet was born and educated, and by Rich. 2. with the Manor of Newholme, in the same County endowed.  
A rich gnofe.  
A rich grub, or miserable Caitiff, as I render it; which interpretation, to be proper and significant, I gather by the sense of that ancient Metre,  
The Catiff Gnof said to his Crew,  
My Meney is many, my incomes but few.  
This, as I conceive, explains the Author's meaning; which seems no less seconded by that ancient English Bard.  
That Gnof, that Grub, of Peasants blood,  
Had store of Goud, yet did no good.  
Howsoever, we are to suppose him to be a Lodger or Tabler of Scholars and other Artists, for their Chamber and weekly Commons; as he showeth after.  
With him there was dwelling a poor Scholar.  
This Poor, hath been an Epithet (it seems) for Scholars in all Ages; but especially for Astrologers, of which profession this Scholar was, who spend so much time upon Experiments and Conclusions, and make such a pother about jacob's Staff, as they never leave, till they get a Scrip to't, and so make up a beggarly conclusion.  
If that men asken him in certain hours  
When the men should have drought or shovers.  
He professed certain (but most uncertain) conjectural notions of Wether, and so probably he might, having (as may be supposed) an Almanac in his bones, by the long familiarity he had with his Hostess Alyson, the Carpenter's Wife. Howsoever; it may well appear, that albeit he could judiciously prognosticate of seasons, and by turning of the Weathercock, gather where the wind was: It was but ill wind to him; for it blew him no good.  
A chamber he had in that hostelry,  
Alone, withouten any company,  
Full tetously dight, etc.  
Here he describes his Chamber and Furniture; with the privacy he enjoyed, to make his Studies more successfully fortunate, according to that of the Poet,  

T' improve their knowledge, those who have desire,  
Must learn to leave themselves, and to retire.   
Whence we may ground, that retirement is the best means for improvement of knowledge.  
And he himself as sweet as is the rote  
Of liquors, or of any Cete wall.  
Here he glanceth wittily at the delicacy or effeminate privacy of this Scholar: From whence he descendeth to the too accurate disposing or shelving of his Books, his Augur stones, with other mysterious Appendices of his seldom practised Art. Likewise, to his Press or Wardrobe, where his clothes were curiously folded, his Table with Stammel, or some other Carpet, neatly covered, with his Psaltery, or Instrument of Music hanging at his Bed-head, to give himself and the Family delightful Melody. This he fits with a Song, to make his Music more complete, himself more admired, and his Suit by his Hostess better accepted. Thus spun our young ginger out his time; thus spent he his coin, the yearly Pension which his Friends allowed him.  
This Carpenter had wedded new a wife.  
An unequal Marriage; frosty Age and Youth cannot suit together. This disparity in years, begets a distraction in their affections: Suspicious he is of her youth, and no less conscious of his own debility; both which (like speedy harbingers) make ready way for Jealousy.  
He knew not Cato: for his wit was rude,  
That bad men wed his similitude.  
This was not only the advice of Cato, but both of Pittacus, and that Cynic Diogenes, who on a time, being solicited by a young man, for his best counsel or advice touching his Marriage, wished him to go forth into the streets, where the very Children would direct him in his choice: Like will to like.  
Fair was this young wife, and therewithal  
Is any Wisele her body gentle and small.  
Here he descants on the beauty of this young Bride.  
So small her Waste, as Nature made small waist.  
So sung our modern Poet, which agrees well with his Description: He compares her body to a Weesle, of all other creatures, smallest, sleakest, and straightest. After this, he goes to describe her Apparel; which suits so well with the artless curiosity of that time, as every Line finds out one native Ornament to grace and beautify her Attire. Her saint studded, or Girdle, barred with Silk; her Barm-cloath, or Partlet, as white as morrow milk; her embroidered Smock, her Colere of coal black Silk; the Capets or Tassels of her white Uolupere, Gorget or Stomacher, suited to the same colour; her fillet of Silk, and set full high.  
And sikerly, she had a likerous eie.  
The eye is called Love's Dart. A wand'ring Eye discovers the affection of the heart. It seldom roams abroad, but it either takes, or is taken. What an Index is to a Book, is the Eye to the mind.  
Full small ipulled were her brows two,  
And they were bend, and black as any slow.  
The Brow is the Beacon of Fancy. A bend Brow implies a sovereignty or command of Affection. A black brow, constancy of resolution.  
She was much more blissful for to see,  
Then is the new Perigenet tree, etc.  
Here he sets forth the Amiableness of her person in sundry proper and familiar resemblances; wherein first, he Metonemically compares the cheerfulness of her countenance to the Peregenet-tree, for the fruit of that Tree. Secondly, The softness of her Skin, and tenderness of flesh, being that Euryale praised in her Ulysses, to Weatherwool; the Lustre of her complexion to Danae's Tower; the clearness of her voice to a Swallow; her nimbleness to a Kid; the sweetness of her breath to Braket or Methe, or Apples laid in hay; her wantonness to a Colt; her goodly proportion and presence, to a Mast; her straightness, to a Bolt. From these, he descends to such Ornaments as she usually wore; which (no doubt) received more grace from her, than she from them. With a Broch as broad as the Boss of a Buckler, was she adorned; with shoes or Sandals laced: In a word, she was a Primrose, a peerless Paragon, a Pigs nigh, a Bedfellow for any Lord, a Spouse for a good Yeoman. All this is so fully, freely, and familiarly expressed by him, as it shall need no farther illustration.  
Now sir, and eft sir, so bifel the case  
That one day this hand Nicholas  
Fell with this young wife to rage & play  
While that her husband was at Oseney.  
Opportunity is the Bay or Port of Fancy; many storms and billows did this amorous Scholar incessantly suffer; sundry rubs and oppositions did he encounter; before Opportunity wafted him to this long-expected harbour. At Oseney; an ancient Abbey, distant scarce half a mile west from Oxford; seated in a Vale no less fruitful, than delightful, whose very Bells were formerly famous, in our old English Catches. To this Oseney was our Carpenter gone, leaving his Inmate Astronomer at home, to turn over his Books, and try whether the Sign were in Aries or no. Much water goes by the Mill, which the Miller little knows on; and some Chips must be cut by the Scholar, which our Carpenter little wots on. To be short, as Fancy cannot endure to be long; Our youthful Boorder boards his amorous Hostess, and that so familiarly, as it requires a Curtain, for the love of Modesty. Passionate are his Enter-breaths; affectionate his Protests; intimate his Love; desperate his Life; if he may not enjoy what he seems only to love, and without which, he desires not any longer to live. But relentless she seems, howsoever she means.  
She said, I wool not kiss thee by my faith,  
Why let be, quoth she, let be Nicholas,  
Or I wool cry out, harrow and alaas, etc.  
True is that Maxim;  
Follow Love, and she will fly you;  
Fly your Love, and she'll come nigh you.  
How far will some young Wenches seem from taking, when they are most taken? What a weak kind of wrestling they will use? What an easy resistance they will make? What a pattering with their Lips, as if they would cry out?  
But our experienced youths do little fear them,  
For if they cry, they'll cry that none may hear them.  
But quite another course takes this our Nicholas; what he cannot win by a violent Assault, he hopes to obtain by an easy Parley: Nor is he frustrate of his hopes, having prevailed as he expected.  
This Nicholas 'gan mercy for to cry,  
And spoke so fair, and proffered her so fast  
That she her love granted him at last.  
This argued our Hostess Alysons good Nature, who would not be won by violence, but by a more easy and affectionate temper. She confirms herself his, and swears by S. Thom. of Kent (an usual Oath in those days) that she will be at his command: Provided, that Opportunity prevent all occasion of Jealousy, to which infectious Jaundice her husband was infinitely subject.  
Nay thereof care ye nat, quod Nicholas.  
Alyson's consent quickens Nicholas conceit: it rests now, that he contrive some plot, that he may with more conveniency branch the Carpenter's Pate. She accords to his device, and gives way to whatsoever he shall work. This, as it was their first amorous encounter, they express their mutual love in Lip-labour, hopeful promises of a succeeding favour: So the Poet observes:  

Who knows not, Lips are gates to those that woe?  
Which freely open, grant farther entrance too.   
This Curtsy he requites with a pleasant new Tune on his Psaltery. Thus cheers she his Lip with her Kiss, he, her Ear with his Melody.  
Than fell it thus, that to the parish Cherch  
(Christ's own works for to werch)  
This good wife went on an holy day;  
Her forehead shone, etc.  
Here he turns aside from the former subject he had in hand, and enters into another discourse; wherein, he first tells you of our Hostess repair to the Church; but in so trim and neat a dress, as by all probability she resorts rather to see and be seen, than hear and be taught; for fashion, than devotion: Afterwards, he descends to speak of the beauteous feature, and curious attire of the Parish-Clerk, Absalon.  
Now was there of the chirch a parish clerk,  
The which that was cleped Absalon,  
Troll was his here, etc.  
In this description he glanceth at the pride of the Clergy; showing how vanity began to strut within the Walls of a Monastery. For if a poor Parish-Clerk must be so curiously dressed, as to have his hair curled, and so womanishly dishevelled, his eyes so effeminately peeled, his shoes artificially carved, and in all points so completely accoutred; what may we think of those, whose Revenues were greater, places higher, and whose persons, in the eye of the world, more popular? Such Poets, these corrupter times require, to tax our Clergy boldly, where such who should be exemplary Practisers and Professors of humility, become too much Admirers of Apish Formality, and too serious followers of these shadows of Vanity.  
But such witty Evasions have some of these, as I never see any of them, but they put me in mind of the pregnant and present Answer of that Sprusado to a Judge in this Kingdom, a rigid Censor of men's habits; who seeing a neat Finical Divine come before him in a Cloak lined through with Plush, thus encountered him: Sir, You never read that Paul ever went in a Plush Cloak. But I read, My Lord, said he, that Paul left his Cloak at Troas, and whether that Cloak was lined through with Plush, or no, it is more (my word) than either you or I know.  
For to point at some of these both in Diet and Habit; in stead of Locusts and Wild Honey, they must (good men) content themselves with Lobsters, Crammed Capons, and Coney; and for Raiments of Camel's hair, Damask Cassocks down to their heels; and for Leathern Girdles about their Loins, Formal Fashes, or Apostolical, Canonical Roses, to enamour their Loves; with Downie Cushions for their knees, in their rare, short and sweet Orisons to their Lord: But too tedious are such tasks for fat bellies. We will go on with our Tale.  
A merry child he was, so God me save,  
Well could he let blood, clip, and shave,  
In twenty manner could he trip & dance.  
An excellent description of a Parish Clark; it seems he was a jovial boy; and left his too loose or irregular conversation might bring him to a deprivation, and so exclude him from the benefit of his Profession, he initiates himself sufficiently in other Trades: He can play the Barber-surgeon, in cases of necessity; and keep a dancing School to show feats of his activity; he can play the Musician too, and make Taverns and Tap-houses resound with his melody.  
This Absalon, that was jolly and gay,  
Goeth with a Censer on a Sunday,  
Censing the wives of the parish fast  
And many a lovely look on him he cast,  
And namely on this Carpenter's wife, etc.  
A fit person for such a personal employment: He carries a Censer for Cupid's Altar. Many Objects he eyes; sundry amiable presentments he views; yet comparing them with this matchless Alyson, he holds them all inferior beauties below comparison.  
And Absalon his Geterne had itake  
For Paramours he thought for to wake,  
And forth he gooth jolly and amorous  
Till he came to the Carpenter's house.  
Long and tedious had this task been to Absalon, had he bestowed it upon his devotion. Love's watchful eyes may be properly compared to those three Hesperian Sisters; their Portels are never closed, but ever vigilant to prevent an intrusive Rival. Now are we to suppose him mounting the Carpenter's Wall, where, directly under the beauteous Alyson's window, who lay closely locked in the unwieldy arms of her jealous husband: He chants out some amorous Roundelay, to which he tunes his melodious Gittern. Long had he not warbled in this manner, till the Carpenter awakes out of his Leaden slumber.  
This Carpenter awoke, and heard him sing,  
And spoke unto his wife, and said anon  
What Alyson, here's thou not Absalon, etc.  
Hourly fears, daily frights, and incessant cares beget broken sleeps, short rests, and disquiet dreams. The Carpenter's head lay on so hard a pillow, being, as he thought, stuffed with horn-shavings, as his sleeps could not be long. He awakes his Alyson, who, perhaps, was awake before he called her.  
And she answered her husband therewithal,  
Yes God wot John, I here it every deal.  
Notably did he express the effects of Fancy, who sung thus;  

Th' Effects of powerful love, do best appear,  
When passion feeds the Eye, and fills the Ear.   
How our Alyson's affection was seated, or her senses sated, might hence be probably gathered: Like a second Dulcina, she seeming slept, but did not sleep; heard, yet would not hear. A favourable Gloss would interpret thus: She was loath to disquiet her diseased husband, or put a disgrace on this amorous Clerk; this (as may be well imagined) begot in her a resolved silence. Nor will Absalon, though he receive small comfort in his suit, omit the least opportunity for Alyson's sake. He wooeth her incessantly, walks all the night long constantly, combs his Locks curiously, price and prayer intercede for him powerfully, he vows to become her servant (in those days a rare kind of Compliment) he quavers in his musical Airs melodiously, he sends her payment, Methe, Wafers, and choicest Spices, to win her love with presents of delicacy; he shows her proofs of his Activity, and in Theatral actions personates Herod in his Majesty.  
But what availeth him, as in this case  
She loved so, this hende Nicholas  
That Absalon may blow the Bucks horn etc.  
All his labour is but in vain; fruitless are all these tasks; to no purpose his late watchings. These are but as if he strived to make the Blackamoor white: This our Poet confirms with an usual Proverb in those days.  
Full sooth is this Proverb, it is no lie,  
Men say right thus, always the night fly  
Maketh the far leaf.  
As if he should say, Daily company passeth holiday love. Absalon hath too strong a Corrival of Nicholas, to prevail in his purchase. Long familiarity strengthened with domestic acquaintance, hath so firmly cemented their affections, as all this trim Clark's Rhetoric cannot dissolve it. Now is it high time for them to address themselves for their project.  
And so bifell it on a Saterdaie  
This Carpenter was gone to Osnaie.  
It may seem that he was Carpenter to the Abbey, by his usual resort thither: as sundry other Artificers were constantly retained, and by a yearly Pension tied, to repair any such ruins or decays, as casually befell in the Abbey.  
This Nicholas no longer would tarry,  
But doth full soft unto his chamber carry  
Both meat and drink etc.  
Nicholas becomes his own Purveyor, and has now betaken himself to his Chamber, to devise some plot to deceive the Carpenter, and possess him of his dearest Paramour. Private he must be; and retired, and as one with an ecstasy surprised, lie gaping as if he were Planet-struck. Directions to this purpose are given to his Alyson, that the Plot may draw on to a fairer conclusion. All Saturday Nicholas mues himself up in his Chamber, where he bestows the day in his repast or repose; and so continues on in this his pleasant restraint till Sunday night: Which long restraint of Nicholas Liberty, drives our simple Carpenter into a marvellous perplexity.  
This silly Carpenter hath great merbeile  
Of Nicholas, or what thing might him eile,  
And said: I am a dread by S. Thomas  
It stondeth not aright with Nicholas.  
He is now grown as jealous of Nicholas life, as he was before of his Alyson's Love. First, By falling into consideration of Man's frailty, he fears that he died suddenly: And this he holds more probable, by recalling to mind a Spectacle of Mortality which he had lately seen.  
I saw to day a corpse born to cherche  
That now on monday last I saw him werche.  
This confirms him in his fear: Longer he will not debate the matter; forthwith he must be resolved what is become of Nicholas, of whose safety he becomes so suspicious. One than must be directed, and sent to his Chamber, to see what is acted.  
Go up (qd he unto his knave) anon  
Cleape at his door, & knock fast with a stone.  
On goes this rude Usher, to observe his Master's command: He cries shrilly, knocks stoutly, presseth him to answer boldly; but Nicholas, as one taken with a Fit of Astrology, resolves him with silence. At last, lest he should leave his Master still in suspense, and so procure his displeasure, he seeks about till he finds an hole or passage, where a Cat used to creep in; where he pries like a Cat for a Mouse.  
Till at the last he had of him a sight,  
This Nicholas sat gaping ever upright,  
As he had keyked on the new moan.  
Here plays Nicholas the part of a profound Astronomer; and h'as one trick above Ela, wherein none of all his fellow-consorts or Astronomical Professants can ever come near him: For he by help of his prospective glass, can distinctly and apparently discover all the starry Regiment quite through the Roof of his Chamber. Howsoever, doubtless he gapes for some preferment, or else to make an Asterisme of his mouth, where some Constellation or other may certainly fix. This could not choose but beget a wonderful amazement in this pitiful Spy.  
Adown he goeth, & told his master soon  
In what array he saw this ilk man.  
This increased the number of his distracted fears, as may appear by the sequel: for presently upon return of this sad relation,  
This Carpenter to blissen him began  
And said: now help us saint Frideswide.  
A Saint in those days usually invoked, when any one was either blasted, bewitched, or by a spirit haunted. Divers are his conceits of Nicholas; sometimes he thinks that his much study hath made him mad; other sometimes, that he labours of some other Malady, & that now he is struck into a dangerous Ecstasy, which requires some present remedy. Amidst these various doubts and distempered fears, far more wisely than could be well expected from the conceit of such an Head-piece, he imputes the cause of this distemper to his too curious search or enquiry after God's Secrets.  
I thought aye well how it should be,  
Men shoulden not know of God's privete etc.  
This he confirms with a late Accident.  
Right so fer'de another clerk with astronomy,  
He walked into the fields for to pry  
Upon the star, to wete what should befall,  
Till he was in a marlpit yfall.  
Columella observes, that man of all other Creatures, hath one Muscle to erect his Eye upward, whereas others are depressed, and haled downward; yet this was not given him to eye that which is concealed from him. We are so to admire the Creature, as in it we adore the Creator: We are so to bestow the Eye of our outward man, as we darken not our inward light: For by fixing our Eyes too intentively on Objects of Secrecy, we may justly fear, lest we should be consumed by the Beams of his Glory. It is a good Lesson which that Sage so seriously recommended to his Scholars; Be not wise overmuch; lest ye become ignorant in that which you should know most. But little needed our Carpenter fear the depth of study in his Astronomer. A better course therefore he resolves of; and that is to cudgel him out of his humour, and so cure this threatening distemper.  
Get me a staff.  
Madness must be cured by Correction, and spare Diet. Spare, did the Carpenter think, were Nicholas' Commons; albeit, he had better provision in his Knapsack, than he knew of. He means therefore to correct his humour on the one side with Bombasting, as the Patient on the other side had practised on himself by Fasting.  
He shall out of his studying, as I guess,  
And to the chamber door he 'gan him dress.  
Though Nicholas might justly commence an action of forcible Entry against his unruly Host, where he was Farmer, during the Lease of his Chamber; seeing his door raised from the Hasps, his deep studies disturbed, his Astronomical slumber disquieted, and all things topsy-turvy turned, yet would not he budge a foot, but like one made up in Wainscot,  
This Nicholas sat as still as any stone,  
And ever gaped upward into the heir etc.  
This troubles John Carpenter more than all the rest; who verily thinks that he is either fallen into despair, and therefore, like a discreet Monitor, puts him in remembrance of some devout meditation, by awaking him from that Lethargy or amazed distraction. Or else, that he is forespoken, or blasted by some ill Spirit, which makes him use his Charm to cure this mischance.  
I crouch the from elves, & from wicked wights;  
Therewith the night spell he said anon rights,  
On four halves of the house about,  
And on the dreshfold of the door without.  
Here he repeats the Night-charm used in those days, when they shut their doors at night, and opened them in the morning: Confirmed by that old Sylvane Charm,  

Fawns and Fairies keep away,  
While we in these Coverts stay;  
Goblins, Elves, of Oberon's Train,  
Never in these Plains remain,  
Till I and my Nymph awake,  
And do hence our Journey take,  
May the Nightmare never ride us,  
Nor a fright by night betid us:  
So shall heavens praise sound as clear,  
As the shrill voiced Chantecleer.   
Scarcely could Nicholas keep his countenance, when he heard the Carpenter run so glib with his Spells: But having indentted with his Face, not to blush, with his Eye, to look up, and his Tongue, to be mute; with a constant boldness, a fixed amazedness, and a resolved silence, he performs his Plot, that at night he may enjoy his Place.  
And at the last this hende Nicholas  
'Gan for to sike sore, and said alas,  
Shall all this world be lost?  
Now is Nicholas awaked out of his Trance, and to the Carpenter's great grief, discovers what he has seen in his Astronomical Dream. Which, at first, his Host seems to slight, wishing him to think on God.  
This Nicholas answered, fetch me drink,  
And after wool I speak in privete  
Of certain things, that toucheth the and me.  
Though Nicholas' Vision was moist, his mouth was dry; down goes the Carpenter to quench the Astronomer's thirst; and now returning with a large Quart of mighty Ale, that might compare with Stingo, for it would cut a Feather, they tossed the Cannikin lovingly one to another: Which done, and having set the Carpenter by him; Nicholas begins; yet before he has well entered into his sad Story, the door being first shut, he solemnly swears his Host to keep counsel in a secrecy of such high consequence; for should he discover what he imparted, his light discovery would be throughly revenged.  
Nay Christ it forbid for his holy blood,  
Qd tho this silly man, I am no blab etc.  
Now he begins to give better ear to this heavy relation; and vows to be secret, upon any condition.  
Now John (qd Nicholas) I wool not lie  
I have yfounden in mine astrology etc.  
A deep red Youth, and such an one as will not stick to belie his knowledge, rather than want Admirers. Amongst those than may he be well numbered, who pretend a familiar knowledge to all the Houses of Heaven, and yet can scarce pay house-rent for their own. See how his Banks overflow! He discovers the time of this dangerous Deluge to a minute. The Rain which fell at Noah's Flood, was but an April shower to this Inundation: Within one hour must the whole World be drowned, only those few saved, which by his rare and mysterious Art are preserved. The weakly-credulous Carpenter believes him; having never seen the Bow in the Clouds, or never heard for what Token of Covenant it was given.  
Thus shall mankind drench, and less her life,  
This carpenter answered and said, alas my wife!  
And shall she drench? Alas mine Alysoun etc.  
There is nothing perplexeth him so much as the loss of his dear Alyson. Pity it were, thinks he, that so pretty a Morsel of flesh should go the way of all Fish. So as never till now begins he to provide for his own safety, Wife, and Family.  
— Is there no remedy in this case?  
As if he should say, Alas, my learned Guest Nicholas, must we be all meat for Haddocks? No remedy? no means of safety? Alas, for myself I care not so much; for I have the one foot i'th' grave already; I am not a man long for this world: But that my Alyson, who is in the very flower and prime of her time, the very Daisy and Honey-suckle of her time, that she should become Provender for a Sea-horse, or lodge in the Guts of a Whale, it would make any one's heart yern within him, that has any man's blood in him. Besides, for her Age, she may have many pretty Chips when I am gone. O then, good Guest Nicholas, provide for her safety, if not for mine. Who knows not, but if you two can agree, she may be meat for you, when I am Wormsmeat. Thus might the poor Carpenter seem to have expostulated with his learned Astronomer; as one desirous to receive some small comfort from this profound Artist, which might minister a remedy in cases of such urgent necessity: and afford to his Alyson (whom he preferred before all his Family) some promising hopes of safety.  
Is there no remedy?  
Yes, yes, full good (go hende Nicholas)  
Now begins he to lay his Lime-twigs more cunningly: He gives the deluded Carpenter directions how to prevent this imminent danger: He repeats unto him the story of Noah's deliverance. Nothing is to be undertaken rashly, without serious advice and deliberation; yet in regard both of the apparency and imminency of that danger, he adviseth him to take some speedy course, that the peril may be seasonably prevented, and their safeties procured.  
This asketh haste, and of an hasty thing  
Men may not preach, ne make tarrying;  
Anon go get us fast into this inn  
A kneding trow, or else a kemelin,  
For each of us.  
Here must the Carpenter be sent his Errand: He must provide Materials for his security. Though every Tub be to stand upon his own bottom, every one must not strike on his own Tub. Thus is this Carpenter appointed to become Purveyor against this great Deluge. And Love makes all tasks light; for, not the fear of death, but the Love of his dear Alyson, which he preferred before his own life, quickens his wind-galled feet, to prevent all occasion of fear. But this dark and mysterious Artist Nicholas, adviseth him withal, that in no case he discover this secrecy, either to his man Robin, or his maid Gille; for they are barred by name from all hope of safety: Neither is it sitting that he should be too inquisitive touching Gods privacies, touching the preservation of some, and subversion of others. Let it suffice him, that these means are provided for the deliverance of himself and his Alyson.  
Go now thy way.  
The Troughs now are to be provided, and sufficiently victualled, with Hatchets to cut them down from the roof where they are to be tied, when the Flood hath once entered. A passage too must be made for these marvellous Barges through the main Wall into the Garden.  
Than shalt thou swim as merry I undertake  
As doth the white duck after her drake.  
A proper and familiar comparison. Two especial inducements there were which moved this careful Carpenter to address him to his laborious Task: The first was, Security. The Second, Sovereignty.  
Light is that Labour which may safety bring,  
In doubtful acts, fear's an ingenious thing.  
That the Carpenter likewise aspired to Sovereignty, might be probably gathered by that comfortable hope of an universal Monarchy, which Nicholas suggested to him.  
And than we shall be Lords all our life  
Of all the world, as was No and his wife.  
This sets the Carpenter upon his Pantofles; while the Learned Clerk Nicholas adviseth him by all means, that when every one is to enter into their Roof-trough or Kimelyn, none speak one to another, but with a constant and reserved silence remain as still as the Night. John must not speak to his Alyson, nor Alyson to her John. Besides, these Kneading Tubs must be divided by equal distance one from another. Thus is the Plot contrived, and no less successfully continued. The Carpenter's Credulity promiseth a fair issue to this Torrent of Astronomy.  
This ordinance is said, go god the speed,  
Tomorrow at night, when men been all a sleep,  
Into our kneding tubbs wool we creep.  
Love will creep where it cannot go. Dark and strait is that Cranny, through which Love cannot find out a way. By this, you may collect, how the Carpenter hath his Commission sealed, his Passport granted, and all things facilitated for so terrible an Occurrent.  
This silly carpenter goth forth his way  
Full oft he said alas, and wellaway,  
And to his wife he told his privete,  
And she was ware, and knew it bet than he.  
Notwithstanding his great haste, he will take so much time, as to impart this Secrecy to his dearest Alyson; who, as she was known to the Plot, conjures him by all those Professions of Love which he had ever vowed her, to follow the Advice of their Learned Guest: She cunningly aggravates all those seeming occasions of Fear, which wrought strongly enough already on the Carpenter's Imagination, so as it little needed any re-impression.  
This silly carpenter beginneth to quake,  
Him thinketh verily that he may see  
Does flodde come waltering as the see etc.  
Such strange effects works a possessed fear. He considers not the improbability of this Relation, but seemingly apprehends the present approach of this Fanatical Deluge, with all those menacing dangers which accompany it: Yet must not this fear foreslow, but accelerate his dispatch. The three Tubs are provided, Victuals purveyed, and these necessary Storehouses in the Roof reared. Besides, that all things might be with more secrecy carried, Robin and Gill are removed, and to London upon a sleeveless Errand directed.  
And on the mondy, when it drow to night,  
He shut his door, without candle light,  
And dresed all thing, as it should be  
And shortly clomben up all three.  
He had purposely fixed sundry Rings or wooden Pins, by which, as by stairs or stalks they might climb into their Tubs: Where, with a constant and continued silence, they lay closely immured; while the Carpenter lay trembling and shaking, hourly expecting this fearful Inundation: But Nicholas and Alyson ever thirsting and longing for the Carpenter's good rest, that with the active joys of Love they might seal their Affection. The Carpenter applies himself to his Devotion, as if he and all the world were near their dissolution; But these two amorous souls pray for nothing more, than his rest, and their recreation.  
The deed sleep, for weary business  
Fel on this carpenter, right as I guess  
About curfewe time.  
The many employments to which this Carpenter stood engaged, had with a various Medley of Cares and Fears so overwearied him, that as one now resolved to sleep out that small scantling of time which is left him, about Cockcrow he bids a silent good-night to Learned Nicholas, and Lovely Alyson.  
Love's eyes are open, and can take no sleep,  
While aged Eyes their Leaden Slumber keep.  
Which security gives them opportunity; He snorts not so fast in his Tub, but they hast as fast to leave their Tubs, and go to bed.  
And down of the ladder than stalketh Nicolay.  
And Alyson full soft after she sped,  
Without words more, they went to bedde.  
As this Feat was by both equally plotted, so are they now in the conclusion mutually pleased. The Carpenter's Age enjoys more rest than their youth. Let night's sable Curtain enskreen these dark actions. Lust's Palace hath but very few minutes of contenting solace. They may sat Sense for a time, but never satisfy Reason with an inhibited touch. We are now to retire a little from this Discourse, and descend to our love-enthralled Absalon, who desires nothing more, and hopes to deserve nothing less, than to enjoy fair Alyson's Love: To whom he addresseth his course.  
This parish clerk, this amorous Absalon  
That is for love always for woe begon  
Upon the monday was at Osenay  
With company, him to disport and play.  
If God have his Church, the Devil will have his Chapel; yea and his Chaplain too. Absalon repairs to the Abbey of Osenay, where he employs the day, not in Devotion, but in a serious inquisition after John the Carpenter, and his beloved Alyson. Private conference he hath with a cloisterer, in whose relation he conceives infinite pleasure. For by his means he receives Intelligence of the Carpenter's absence from home: Which opportunity chalks out a seasonable time for Absolon's Jubilee.  
Some manner comfort shall I have parfaye  
My mouth hath itched all this long day  
That is a sign of kissing at the leest  
All night me met eke, that I was at a seest  
Therefore I wool go sleep an hour or twey  
And all the night than wool I walk and play.  
He conjectures by the itching of his mouth, that he shall be graced at least with a Kiss; which prediction he found most true, as you shall read in the Tale hereafter. It is most certain, what the Comedian sometimes wittily observed: We dream by night what we most think of by day. This youthful Quirister meditated of nothing so much all the day long, as of Kissing Comfits, and luscious Feast. And these were the Subjects of his Dreams. In the amorous discoursing and discussing whereof, he sets this up for his Rest: He will go sleep an hour or two, that he may more ably turn Nightwalker, or more properly, Eave-dropper. For Alyson's Chamber-window must be his Rendesvouz; where he resolves to sing his Apocryphal Catches.  
When that the first cock hath crow anon  
Up riste this jolly lover Absalon.  
He sleeps not his business. And to make himself better accepted, at poynt-devise must his Body be attired; his Breath, to cure all rankeness, must be with Cloves, Granates, and Licorice sweetened; his hair daintily trimmed and tressed, under his Tongue a true-love Flower couched, to make his Designs more auspicious, himself to his Love more gracious. Up to the Carpenter's house he hieth, where he stayeth, and sueth.  
What do ye honycombe, sweet alysoun?  
My fair bird, my sweet cinnamon.  
How this dapper youth melts with Love! His amorous Oration is all Honey and Cinnamon: He calls her his Honeycomb, and she makes him her Coxcomb. Then he descends to speak of that uncessant anguish of mind that he suffers. Like a Lamb after his Dam goes he bleating; like a Turtle for his Mate waits he mourning: as a Maid without meat sits he fasting; yet for all this, like a Calf she discards him.  
Go fro the window, jack fool, she said,  
As help me god, and sweet saint jame  
I love another, or else I were to blame  
Well bet than the (by jesus) Absalon  
Go forth thy way, or I wool cast a stone.  
This sweet Cinnamon Clark is properly rewarded; she vows to stone him, quite contrary to his expectance. She prefers the Stars before the Quire. Her Nicholas she enwreaths and enjoys; mean time let the poor Quirister chant his humming Catch to the Seven Stars: Let him cool his Toes in Moonshine, while she is rid of him she loathes, and enjoys him she loves. Yet, lest Absalon should be numbered among those weak wooers, who relinquish their Suit upon the first repulse, he rears his Battery, though with a more easy sollicitancy, than he did at first.  
Alas qd Absalon, and wellaway  
That true love was ever so evil bysette  
Than kiss me, sin it may be no bet etc.  
He remembers, it seems, the presage of his itching lips; the height of his amorous Ambition is now confined to a Kiss. All his Night-labour is now brought to Lip-labour. Which Suit our beauteous Alyson, in mere compassion, rather than any affection to his person, thus answers,  
Wilt thou than go thy way therewith qd she?  
Yecertes leman, qd this Absalon.  
Small favours would not be neglected, because they may be Introductions to higher Curtsies when occasion is offered. Mean time Absalon prepares his Cinnamon mouth for a taste of an unsavoury Curtsy. He takes his corporal Oath of his constant fidelity, and makes Alyson's Posteriora's the Book he swears by. Whence observe, with what intolerable petulancy she jeers the poor cloisterer! All this while, you may imagine, Nicholas slept not; but heard this untoward Dialogue, after his long wished, wooed, and now enjoyed amorous encouner. To whom she imparts her Plot, which he approves, and she effects.  
The window she undoth, and that in haste  
Have do (qd she) and speed the fast  
Let not our neighbours thee espy.  
This Absalon 'gan wipe his mouth full dry  
A civil preparation for an uncivil salutation. Now at last he perceives how something ever hath some savour: but small sweetness tastes he in her too low curtsy, under favour.  
Aback he start, and thought it was amiss.  
His Experience had informed him sufficiently in the knowledge of a Woman's Lip: This had not that smoothness which he expected. Yet (quoth he) I may be deceived. Dame Alyson may have an hair-lip, for aught that I know: While he thus expostulated the case,  
Te he qd she, and clapped the window to  
Te he, a word of disgrace, scorn, or contempt: She laughs at him after she had galled him: Before she shut the window to, had she shut her backdoor too, Absalon had received the greater Curtsy, and she expressed the more Civility. But being thus, not only rejected, but disgraced;  
Absalon goeth forth a sorry pace  
A berde, a berde, said hende Nicholas.  
Nicholas has a fine world on't; his Host is incaged, his Hostess in his arms enclosed, his Corrival discarded, and new conceits arising, other contents hourly devised.  
This silly Absalon heard it every deal  
And on his lip he 'gan for anger bite  
And to himself he said, I shall the quite  
The Worm will turn again. Poor Absalon thus abused, of his sleep deprived, casts about in his mind how he may be revenged. He cannot endure to sit down with this wrong: his Fancy is now changed into a Frenzy; his Love to Revenge. Many had he served, yet was he never so answered; many had he loved, yet never so rewarded; many had he kissed, yet never any Lip that so relished. His Passion in the end works itself into a virtuous compassion.  
For he was healed of his maladye  
Full oft Paramours he 'gan defy  
And weep as doth a child that is ybete.  
What rare Effects will the apprehension of a conceived disgrace produce? First, It dictates of revenge; than it begets an inbred hate to the Object before loved, and by whom the disgrace was occasioned: After all this, it resolves into tears, till opportunity be offered, that the intended revenge may be inflicted.  
A soft pace he went over the street  
Unto a smith men call dan Gerveys etc.  
Absalon having received such rough entertainment in Venus' Court, flies for revenge to Vulcan's Forge: Where he beats his Brain intolerably, about the manner of his Revenge. Stronger is his desire, than his conceit; yet becomes that so quickened by passion, as now he assays to execute, what his doubtful Imagination hath so many several ways projected. His Pate is his Anvil, the Forge his Study; so as, I may properly apply those ancient Verses, upon this occasion, to our Truant Chantery-man.  

That Scholar well deserves a Widdie,  
Who makes his Study of a Smiddie.   
Well; Suppose him now cooling his Toes at the Blacksmith's door, as he had done before to his dainty Paramour. Thus flies he for refuge to this Lemnian, to be revenged on his Leman: True it is;  

When Vulcan and the Muses meet,  
Safely may Mars warm Venus' Feet.   
But secure is Gervase of any such Overture.  
This Absalon knocketh all easily  
And said undo Gervase etc.  
He knocks easily, lest he should be discovered, and consequently his plotted Revenge defeated; or else, that he should not for a Nightwalker be publicly noted.  
What who art thou?  
Smug the Smith, it seems, was at work; or else of a light sleep.  
It am I Absalon.  
This he utters softly through a Cranny, lest it should come to discovery.  
What Absalon,  
— Sum gay girl god it wot  
Hath brought you thus.  
It seems this Chanterer was a notable Tarrier; and generally observed for an inordinate walker. But little cares Absalon for this aspersion: He had more Tow on his Distaff. His head was otherwise employed; his Brain otherwise exercised. Revenge was his dearest Minion, which he preferred before the Embrace of a Wanton.  
— Friend so dear  
The hot coulter, in the chyinney here  
As leave it me,  
The Smith of ancient acquaintance, would be loath to deny him so ordinary a Curtsy: were it of Gold, or Nobles in a Bag, he would lend it him: Albeit, he wonders what employment he may have for it at so unseasonable a time; but he receives it, upon promise to return it, with relation next morning how he did employ it.  
And caught the coulter by the cold steel  
Full soft out at the door 'gan he steel.  
Now he renews his siege with Fire and Faggot: Up to the Carpenter's wall he mounteth, and at Alyson's window he knocketh. She, who lay waking, as one fearful of her own security, or doubtful of her Husband's Jealousy, or overjoyed with Nicholas' sweet Company, answers him presently, but timerously, as if he were some Thief; while he, to free her from that suspicion, and make better way to his intended revenge, shapes her this Reply.  
I am thine Absalon, thine own darling  
Of gold (qd he) I have the brought a ring.  
A modern Poet sometimes Sung:  

There's nought a young man can devise,  
Will tempt a Woman more than prize.   
Upon which grounds builds he his project; He tenders her a Ring which his own Mother (Eris Mother of Revenge) bequeathed him, and that curiously Engraven, and this will he give, so far he seems surprised with love for one poor kiss. Nicholas is risen, and he will have it, and as uncivilly requite him for it. For, thought he, shall mine Hostess exceed me in conceit? she put a palpable disgrace upon him, and I will do the like.  
And open the window did he hastily etc.  
Here our Astronomer lies his Level, and dischargeth his shot with a powder; while our Chanterer is prepared with his red hot Cultre.  
And he was ready with his iron hot  
And Nicholas in the arse he smote.  
He has got a Ring with a witness. Lust must ever have a rue rub. He who even now, so lasciviously wantonned, and so freely tasted delights prohibited; he who surfeited in pleasures, and had hung up his abused Host for a Scare-cow, see how he is scarified!  
Of goeth the skin an hondbrede about  
The hot cultor brende so his toute.  
Here's a Plaster for his pleasure. He that tastes the Sweet, must have the Sour we'te. He rageth, raveth, and roareth like another Oetean Hercules. He can rest in no place, so sharp is his Inflammation; he can repose in no place, so deep is his Incision; So small is the Solace he now conceives in his Alyson.  
Help, water, water, for god's heart.  
This carpenter out of his number star.  
What this deep Soothsayer predictioned before in jest, he now calls for in earnest. Little dreamed he, when he foretold of that general inundation, that he should stand in need of some of it to cool his inflammation. But no sooner had he sent forth this pitiful clamour, than the poor Carpenter, who lay snorting all this while in his suspended Trough, and had taken more rest though less pleasure, than his Guest, began to rouse himself out of his slumber; and fearing the imminency of danger, with his axe he smites the Cord in two, by which his kimelin or Tub was tied; that so he might by a passage purposely made through his Garden, slice the depths, and so launch into the Main Ocean.  
And down goeth all.  
Down goes the Carpenter, down goes Tarboord, Larboard, Ship, Tackling, and all his Provision.  
— Till he came to the Cell  
Upon the flore, and there a swoon he lay  
Up start than Alison and Hend Nicholay.  
He never left tumbling till he came to the Cellar floor; and now senseless, what with the Fall, and what with fear; he lies in a Swoon. This Fall from his Roost, frights them from their Rest. This unexpected accident rouseth and raiseth fair Alyson and her unfortunate Nicholas; who (as may be supposed) might walk in his Shirt, for any rest he could take, since his late Lecture read him on his Posterioras; yea, and one who stood in more need of a Plaster, than any such Panic Distemper. But need makes the old wife troth. Some Plot must they devise or other, or they stand disgraced for ever. With joint consent therefore, they raise a clamour in the streets, call their Neighbours together, to view this doleful Spectacle of a distracted Carpenter: for all must be imputed to his distemper.  
The neighbours, both small and great  
In run—  
It is the condition of Common people to press into the view of such Novels, be they never so disastrous. Yea, we shall observe how the most contemptible wretch, who before was never eyed; if he chance to be wounded in the Street, with what numbers of vulgar Spectators he becomes forthwith enclosed: So attentive be their Ears, so intentive their Eyes to become Nuntios of others miseries. Here than you may suppose this Common Rout standing in a Ring or Circle, gazing and admiring the unfortunately-deluded Carpenter like a blind point in the midst of a Centre, weakly languishing: while this rustic and uncivilized fry, ready to hear what Nicholas and his Alyson were as ready to report; gave all attention to the sad, but feigned relation of this woeful accident. No matter, though the poor Carpenter interrupt them, his Tale must not so much as be heard by them. Their Story was the first, and it must be best heard.  
They told every man, that he was wood  
He was aghast so of Noyes flood.  
Alas good man! what a Solemn discourse they make of his Frenzy, to palliate the rankness of their inordinate Fancy: With more than frontless impudence they avouch, that it was the Carpenter's distempered conceit, that brought himself to this misfortune. For standing in great fear of a second Noah's Flood, which out of his own brainsick Fantasy, he had long time conceited, to prevent all ensuing danger, he had caused to be provided one Kimelyn for himself, and other two for them to hang for Company, with all necessary provision against the violence of such an approaching Inundation. This were they enforced, for peace sake, to condescend to, being neither willing to incur his Displeasure, nor cross the Fury of his incorrigible humour. This merry Relation changeth the common people's Admiration into Laughter; they jeer the lame Carpenter, and by their light Credulity vindicate two Wantoness from dishonour. Though he vow and swear, they have vowed not to hear. That Beast of many heads will not credit this Beast of one head. They applaud the Jest, and asperse on him the disgrace.  
Thus was Alyson cheered, Nicholas cheated, Absalon revenged, John the Carpenter gulled, and the Spectators infinitely pleased. Nor is it to be doubted, but if this Accident had not happened, Nicholas or Alyson would have found one trick or other, to have deluded the Carpenter, enjoyed their Pleasure, and evaded Danger. And none in my judgement more probable than this; to wit, that when this supposed Deluge had not come according to the time limited, Nicholas out of a dissembled Zeal, would have pretended, how by the incessancy of his Prayers, Heaven's wrath was appeased, their Cataracts stopped, and this universal Overflow till an other season stayed. Howsoever, by the sweet Harmony which all this Family afterwards enjoyed, as may be charitably supposed, our Comment upon this Tale shall be in these Verses finally closed.  

The Cloud's dispersed, the Flood or Deluge past,  
And Absalon of wanton become chaste,  
John to his Alyson is reconciled,  
And She, perhaps, by Nicholas with Child,  
John doth his jealous humour quite disdain,  
What Alice did, she will not do again.  
Heaven Smiles, Earth joys, when all things fall amending,  
And Tragic Acts have such a Comic ending.    

A Commentary upon Chaucer's Prologue to the Wife of Bath's Tale.  
EXperience, though none authority etc.  
This English Homer, our incomparable Chaucer, here brings in an ancient Wife of Bath, with an Old Wife's Tale, yet not so old as true, seeing her own Experience had confirmed, whatsoever her tongue expressed: wherein she draws the first occasion of her discourse, from the griefs which accompany a Married life; being either weary of their present choice, and consequently affecting change; or being deprived of their choice, brings upon them new discontents, by an untowardly change. Then she discourseth of the number of Husbands which she had since her Twelve years of Age. Wherein, she presseth an Argument against such, as held opinion against By gamy.  
That sithen Christ went never but onis  
To wedding, in the Cane of Galilee etc.  
As if she should say, albeit Christ, who honoured Marriage with the very first Miracle that ever he wrought upon Earth, never went to any Wedding but once, and that in Cane of Galilee, will you hence conclude, that we are never to marry more than once, and so exclude Bigamy? So might you infer (upon like consequence) because Christ never scourged Buyers and Sellers out of the Temple but once, nor was tempted in the Desert (for aught we read) but once, nor wept over Jerusalem more than once, that neither sacrilegious Symonists are more than once to be scourged, nor temptation more than once to be suffered, nor tears of compassion more than once to be tendered. Nay, to refel this erroneous Opinion, which, even some of the ancient Fathers of the primitive Church have with too much pertinacy held, this good old wife of Bath hath an Argument in store for her own purpose, which she borrows from the very Touchstone of Truth, the holy Scripture.  
— jesus god and man  
Spoke in represe of the Samaritan '  
Thou hast had five husbands—  
Whence she proves, that in those days there was no such restraint, but that it was usual and lawful for any one to marry after the Decease of their Husband: Albeit, we find it commended by Apostolical Authority, and recommended to Posterity, That those only were to be honoured for Widows, who were Widows indeed. True it is, that in this place here alleged by our Wife of Bath, this Samaritan was reproved, not for that she had married five Husbands, but for that after their Deaths, she had taken herself to one who was not her Husband; with whom, till then, she had lived without remorse of Conscience in all Incontinence. Albeit, that any one should be restrained to a prescript number either of Wives or Husbands, it was yet never heard. Not to insist therefore upon the difficulty of the Text, nor to play Schole-Divine, which would ill beseem one of her Sex, she makes use of a Text far more easy and proper for her purpose.  
But well I wot express without lie  
God bad us for to were and multiply  
That gentle Text can I well understond etc.  
She could find in her heart to multiply in Husbands as well as Children. One of the Ends of Marriage she observes, and this she embraceth with so free admittance, as her Age must not deprive her of hope to multiply: Husbands therefore she holds necessary Associates in all Ages, as well for Recreation as Procreation; being for their Love to leave whatsoever they most tenderly love. Parental Love is excluded, where Wedlock is admitted. Neither Bigamy, nor Octogamy (if Wives become their Husband's Survivers) are to be questioned. The last is no sooner committed to earth, than a new one is to be sought for on earth. Love and Youth, no nor Age, if it have a Colt's tooth, can converse with Ghosts and Goblins. This she confirms by Instance.  
Lo he the wise king Solomon  
I trow had wives more than on  
As would God it leeful were to me  
To be refreshed half so oft as he.  
She holds it an honour to increase in this Number; and by variety to allay satiety. Whence, she reflects upon her own former estate, and highly joys in her interchange of choice.  
Blessed be God, I have had five  
Of which I have piked out the best  
Both of their nether purse, and eke their Chest  
She provides herself of a Husband to fit every sense, that she might more sensibly enjoy what she did by all likelihood most affect. That she might attain the end, she neglects not the means: No Procreation without Action. She holds it fit therefore to share in his Ability of Person, as well as Fortune. And because Practice begets Perfection, she loves ever to be in ure: She finds far more Advantage in dispatch, than delay; Her old Husband must no sooner be dispatched, than a new one must be catched: Thus is she ever mated and matched.  
Of five husband's scoling am I  
Welcome the sixth when ever he shall die.  
The thought is taken: All flesh is mortal; but of all flesh, she would have none more mortal than her husbands. She would ever have her aged Husband look like Death's-head; mean time, her sage Admonitions are never wanting, to bid him remember his end. Life is but a Trouble; but of all others, she is most troubled with his Life. Thus dictates she of her Husband's Pilgrimage; which, by how much the shorter, it is for her all the better. A new Change is her Royal Exchange: Nor is the Market so scarce, but she hopes to fit her turn with a new Choice. Mean time, you may hence perceive, that she would have her Husband's Life of any Stuff rather than Perpetuano or Sempiternum. Like a charitable Wife, she could wish with all her heart that his Soul were at rest, while she were left to the Cares of the World and the Flesh; for both which, she would so seasonably provide, that as Fortune, and her late Husband's Providence had sufficiently furnished her for the one, so she would take especial care that she were not famished in the other. This she confirms, not only with her own Opinion, but by Apostolical Doctrine.  
For than the apostle saith, that I am free  
To wed a godeshalfe, where it liketh me etc.  
This likewise she strengthens, to give freer scope to her own Affections, with a fresh current of new Instances.  
What recketh me though folk say villainy  
Of shrewd Lameth, and of his bigamy? etc.  
Here she makes a Rehearsal of sundry persons (and some of them ancient holy Patriarches, as Abraham and Jacob) who had divers wives: and in the end, proceeds farther, discoursing of the state of Virginity; which was recommended by way of Counsel, and no express Precept, by the Apostle; concluding:  
He said, thereof precept had he none  
Men may counsel a woman to be one  
But counselling is no commandment  
He put it in our own judgement.  
To all which, she addeth this enforcing Reason:  
For had God commanded maidenhead  
Then had he dampened wedding out of dread.  
Virginity to have the precedency is admitted, but not that Wedlock should be rejected. To live a Virgin is an extraordinary gift: This, she acknowledgeth, her weakness could never attain to. The use of this Doctrine therefore, she thus applies unto herself:  
And for to ben a wife, he gave me leve  
Of indulgence, so it be not to reprove  
To wed me, if that my make die  
Without exception of bigamy.  
This Doctrine she approves, for it relisheth sweetly to her Palat. Yea but hence there ariseth another Objection; It is not good to touch a woman. To which she answers; not inordinately or licentiously:  
For peril is, both fire and tow to assemble.  
It is good for young Folk to avoid occasion; for it is that which breeds a Contagion. The Fire of Fancy needs no Oil to inflame it, nor any other Fuel to feed it, than Opportunity, which never comes uninvited. True it is (saith she) that many there are who can live Maidens all their days; and these prefer Chastity before any man's Society: And much good may it do them. For my own part, I find no such strength in myself; my Frailty requires a Fellow-helper.  
For well ye know, a lord in his household  
Hath nat every vessel all of gold  
Some ben of tre.  
All be not of one temper in their disposition, though of one Mould in respect of their composition. All are not to be Lilies of Chastity; for so in short time should the world become a Desert. Vessels there are in one House of different Metals and Tempers; yet those which are of the contemptiblest substance, are for use and service.  
Uirginite is great perfection  
And continence else.  
Some of our ancient Fathers have compared Virginity to Gold, Continence to Silver: Both of excellent esteem, albeit the former incomparably to be preferred before the later. But all have not the gift of Chastity, I mean, of Virgin-purity. Many things are in holy Writ unto our Observance offered and recommended, which are not expressly observed. Other things there are by express Precept to some more especially commended and commanded, whereof others may seem to be freed and exempted, at least, not so straight enjoined.  
— Christ, that of perfection is well  
Bad not every wight he should go sell  
All that he had—  
He was a young man to whom Christ gave this Command; one neither charged with Family nor Progeny. And in him, directing his speech to all such, as were resolved to leave the world, and retire from all earthly cares, that they might attain Perfection, by inuring themselves in these Tabernacles of Clay, to an Angelical Conversation. These were with Mary to be speculatively affected; mean time those Martha's, who were troubled about many things, were not for their provident Care in domestic affairs, altogether condemned. Both in their degrees being respectively approved.  
I wool bestow the flower of all mine age  
In the acts and fruit of marriage.  
She will lose no time. Let others be Saints for her; she knows what she was made for: These Members (saith she) of Generation, were not made only for emission and evacuation, but likewise for Conception and Procreation; Nor only for distinction sake, to know Male from Female, but that Male should be known by Female.  
Why should men else in her books set  
That man should yield to his wife her debt  
Now wherewith should he pay his payment?  
If he ne used his silly instrument.  
Husband's are to give their wives due benevolence; but how should they receive their Benevolence, if they wanted the instrumental means? There was nothing made in vain, much less that main and principal Point, without which, to this wanton widow, all the world were not worth a Point. True it is, and she confesseth it, that there have been many Saints, who have led all their Lives in perfect Chastity; and she is so far from envying their Virginity, as she highly honours their Memory; yet must they give her leave to take another course, for fear she should do worse: Their Actions must not be her Example.  
Let him with breed of pure wheat be fed  
And let us wives eat varly bred.  
Virgins are to be fed with Purest Manchet, because their Degree is highest; Wives with Barley Bread, because their condition is lower; yet so she may enjoy here what she most like, she cares not much though her reward be less when the later Harvest comes.  
— With barley bred, Mark tell can  
Our lord jesus refreshed many a man.  
All must not eat pure Manchet; nor all attain a Virgin-state: This is her Resolution.  
In such a state as God hath cleped us  
I wool persever, I nam not precious  
In wifehode wool I use mine instrument  
As freely as my maker hath it sent.  
She constantly holds to her old Tenet: She was not made for a Maid. What she hath received, must be as freely used. She expects both her Morn and Even Benevolence: She hopes to bestead herself of such a man, as will out of his Honesty or civil Curtsy, pay his Debt. Neither will she for her part be altogether unthankful, as he wipes off the old Score, he may begin a new.  
An husband wool I have I wool not let  
Which shall be both my debtor and my thrall  
And have his tribulation with all  
Upon his flesh, while that I am his wife  
I have the power during all my life  
Upon his proper body, and nat he,  
Right thus the apostle told to me  
And bad our husbonds for to love us well  
All this sentence me liketh every dell.  
She means to fit herself of an Husband both for Ability and Conformity to please her mind. He must give her due benevolence and become enthralled to her service. She expects homage and fealty from him, which she means to requite with some tribulation upon his Flesh. She will confirm her Affection with fresh remembrances of Correction: Whosoever wears the Doublet, she means to wear the Breeches. This braving humour of hers was to Life described by our modern Poet:  

Great's her Ambition, though her Size be small;  
Give but a Wench her will, and she has all.   
Sovereignty she will have, and such a domineering power over his captive body, as the Mare must prove the better Horse. This she makes good not only by her own private Opinion, nor any Fabulous Tradition, but (to her own Gloss) Apostolical Doctrine: Thus picks she out the Kernel, take the Shell who list. So as methinks she very nearly resembles her humour, who, like a sprightly Bride, hearing those words of Matrimony, to Serve, Obey, Love and Honour, so hardly digested them, as she willed the Minister to go no farther, till she had considered better of the matter: Whence the Poet, in the person of this metalled Girl;  

Two last I like; to do the firster two  
I shall not have the Patience I vow.   
Whilst this jolly Wife of Bath thus descants on her own Command, intending, as you have heard, to make her next Husband her Slave:  
Up start the Pardoner, and that anon  
Now dame qd he, by God and by saint John  
Ye been a noble preacher in this case  
I was about to wed a wife, alas  
What, should I buy it on my flesh so dear:  
Yet had I lever wed no wife to year.  
This commanding Dame startles her Hearers; and will cause this poor Pardoner answer his Minister, as sometimes a young man answered upon like occasion: Who, being to stand as Godfather for a Child, and to answer for it at the Fount, was asked, Dost thou forsake the Devil and all his Works, etc. (as is in the words of Baptism) answered in behalf of the Child, I forsake them all. The very same day, this young man was to be married, and being by the Minister demanded, Dost thou take this Woman to thy married Wife? etc. Imagining belike, that he was then answering in the person of the Child, to forsake the Devil and all his works, presently replied, I forsake them all. While the Pardoner, poor man, stands thus perplexed, fearing he need take up no other Cross, than his Wife, if his Fortune be to cope with such a Whipster as this Virago.  
Abide qd she, my tale is not begon  
Nay, thou shalt drink of another tun etc.  
The Pardoner had thought the worst was passed; but she had another Brewing for him, worse than the first; and this must have a stronger taste of the bitter Hop of Tribulation. Her own Experience, as she confesseth, had sufficiently furnished her for matter of Discourse upon the troubles and afflictions which accompany Marriage; nevertheless, for so much as most part of men are more induced by Examples than Reasons, she means to enlarge herself in that kind.  
For I shall tell ensamples more than ten  
Who so wol not beware by other men  
By him shall other men corrected be  
These same words writeth Ptolemy  
An excellent Sentence of Ptolemy in his Astrological observations; He that will not be warned by others, shall be a warning unto others. Though others harms cannot make him beware, the harm which he incurs shall beget in others a more circumspect care: his folly shall make others wise, his weakness others more wary.  
Dame I wol pray you, if your will were  
Said this Pardoner, as ye began  
Tell forth your tale, spare for no man  
And teach us young men of your practic.  
This Pardoner being a young man, and desirous to be instructed in that Honourable State, to which in short time, he purposeth to address himself, craves her Direction, whereto she inclines.  
Gladly (qd she) if it may you like  
But that I pray to all this company  
If that I speak after my fantasy  
As taketh not a grief—  
She easily gives way to his request, provided, that none of all her company take distaste at aught she shall say; being now to speak freely, and after her own Fantasy, purposely to pass time away: After which Introduction, she proceeds to this her pleasant Relation.  
Now strs, than shall I tell forth my tale  
As ever more I drink wine or ale  
I shall say sooth. Tho husbonds that I had  
Three of him were good, and two were bad.  
She repeats afresh the number of her Husbands, with their Dispositions, yea, and Constitutions too, as appears after:  
The three good men were rich and old  
Unuethes might they the statute held  
In which they were bounden unto me  
Ye wot well what I mean of this pard.  
As if she should say, they were rich in Possessions, but of cold Constitutions. Nature was decayed in them; they could not perform the Deuce of Marriage. Their sleeps were too long, and their Benevolence too short; This was her meaning, she needs no clearer Exposition.  
As God me help, I laugh when I think  
How pitously a night I made him to swink  
But by my faith, I told of it no store  
They had me yeve her land and her treasore etc.  
They wanted not their Curtain-Lectures; being far better taught than fed. Time was indeed, when she humoured their old Chaps, and used all diligence to win their Love; not a good Morsel, but they had their part; but this was before they parted Stakes. The world is altered from what it was: They have now enfeoffed her in the whole. All their Lands and Hereditaments, Estates Real and Personal, were passed to her and hers for ever; insomuch, as should they have arrived to the Happiness to have survived her, they could hardly recover their Thirds. Now she holds it lost labour to strive to please, where no Profit can arise.  
What, should I take keep him for to please:  
But if it were for my profit and mine ease  
I set him so a work by my faith  
That many a night they songen well away.  
They never laughed till their hearts ached before they were married. She sets them their Task, and every night they were to render an Account. Before this their unhappy Marriage, they might sing Care away; Now must they change the Burden of their Song to Well away; for well it cannot be with them before their dying-day.  
The bacon was not fet for him I trow  
That some men have in Essex at Donmowe.  
The old Proverb was this:  
He that is not with Penitence taken  
For that he married not before, or married now,  
May challenge a Flitch of Essex Bacon,  
And carve his Morsel in the Cow of Donmow.  
But these poor Snakes ofhers were far from challenging any property in either. For their Marriage had brought out no good effect in them, but only Repentance. Rough were her Salutes, Bare her Commons, cold her Comforts. So far were they from Command, as their Lives were a continued slavery.  
I governed him so well after my law  
That each of them full blissful was and fawe  
To bring me gay things from the fair  
They were full fain when I spoke him fair.  
Fair words make Fools fain. It is true what the Poet sometimes sung:  

With Price or Prayer the hardest heart is won,  
Which Age must do, when nought else can be done.   
These aged and decrepit Husbands of hers, must supply their want of due benevolence with bounty and beneficence. One comfortable smile, or amorous look, are the readiest Keys to unlock these old men's Chests. To the Fair they go, or rather creep; but of necessity they must go whom the Devil drives. Where their only business is to curry Favour with a commanding Dame, by purchase of a Fairing. Other means they want to purchase their Peace; they purpose therefore to buy it at any Price. Content is worth a Crown; and it must cost them a Crown, but they will procure one minute of Content: And that's the longest Lease they can possibly expect.  
Ye wise wives that can understand  
Thus should ye speak, and bear him on hand  
For half so boldly there can no man  
Swear and lie, as a woman can.  
An excellent Commendation for her own Sex! And confirmed by a Tragic Poetess of our own, in these words:  

Women are least of Goods, the worst of Evils,  
Their best are worse than men, their worst than Devils.   
Truth is, they may make bold with themselves; albeit, no modest nor gentile Spirit, (unless they sweat in Swetnam's Surquedry) can find in their heart to throw such Aspersions on them. But omitting this, you shall here perceive that this wife of Bath, out of her grounded Experience, like a judicious Schole-Mistress to all young married wives, begins her Lecture; where she informs them how to demean themselves in their several places. Free and friendly is her Advice, accept it who list; thus she proceeds.  
A wise wife shall if that she can her good  
Bear him in hand the cow is wood  
And take witness of her own maid  
Of her assent:  
A twofold Exposition may be drawn from these Lines. First, If the goodwife desire to put Money in her Purse, she will pretend, for want of Grain, or some other vendible Commodity, that her Cow is run mad, and that she hath sold her to the Butcher for little or nothing, purposely to prevent danger; mean time she converts the benefit of this pretended Bargain to herself, and so cheats her Husband. Or else thus; She hath appointed a meeting with a private Friend, to whom she can well spare a Morsel, when her Husband sees not; And the place of this meeting is the Bier, or where her Kine lie; where to prevent her Husband's Repair, and free their amorous Embraces from all suspicious Fear, she feigns her Cow to be wood, which she makes good by her Maid's Assent, who is ready to justify her Dame's Speech: She wills him therefore to be wary that he come not there, lest he receive some hurt. Which Fetch is not much unlike that of hers, who desirous to do a Courtesy to a Friend, but out of all hope to get opportunity for effecting what she did so much desire; at last she remembered, how there was nothing in the world more terrible to her Husband, than a Bear; by which means she fitted herself of what she most loved, by affrighting him with what he most feared. This trick therefore she plays him, with consent of her Sweetheart, whom she preferred before him. She contracts with her Friend to cover his Servant in a Bear's Skin, and tie him near to that private place where they had appointed, and which the poor Wittol himself no less suspected. Up he mounts, but as quickly descends; for the terrible sight of this counterfeit Bear drove from his memory the conceit of all other Fear, which the Epigrammatist no less pleasantly weaves up, in this manner.  

A wily Wench there was (as I have read)  
Who used to Capricorn her Husband's head;  
Which he suspecting, lay in private wait,  
To catch the Knave, and keep his Wife more straight  
But all in vain; they day by day did mate it,  
Yet could his four Eyes never take them at it.  
This subtle Wench perceiving how they should  
At last prevented be, do all they could:  
For now Italian-like, her Husband grew  
Horn-mad, I wis, and kept her in a Mew;  
Invented a Trick, which to accomplish better,  
Unto her Friend she closely sent a Letter,  
And thus it was; Friend, you shall know by me  
My Husband keeps me far more narrowly  
Than he was wont; so as to tell you true,  
You cannot come to me, nor I to you.  
Yet spite of his Eyes, and as many more,  
we'll use those Pleasures which we used before:  
Only be wise, and second what I wish;  
Which to express (my Friend) know this it is;  
My Husband, as he hates the Horn to wear,  
Of all the Badges forth, so fears he th' Bear,  
More than all other Beasts which do frequent  
The Heathy Forest's spacious Continent.  
If thou wilt right me then, and pepper him,  
Cover thy Servant in a false Bear's Skin:  
And come to morrow as thou used before,  
Tying thy Servant to my Chamber door.  
After this acquaint Direction he attired  
His man in Bear-skin, as she had desired:  
Entering the Chamber, he received is  
With many a Smile, Back-fal, and sweetened Kiss.  
For they're secure of all that was before,  
Having a Bear, that kept the Busfe from Dore.  
The Wittol Fool no sooner Inkling had,  
Then up the Stairs he ran as he were mad:  
But seeing none but th' Bear to entertain him,  
Of Horns he never after did complain him.   
I have here set down this Conceit to the full, because it hath such near resemblance to this part of Chaucer's Tale: Wherein we proceed.  
— But herkneth how I said.  
Sir old Reynarde, is this thine array  
Why is mine neighbour's wife so gay?  
The first instruction she gave young Wives, was how to Gull their Husbands, and how they were to cram their Purses with nimble cheats, or enjoy an amorous choice. Now like a domineering Housewife, she tells them, how they must twit their Husbands, if their Neighbour's Wives go trimmer or neater than they. As if she should say, What Sir Raynard, ye fox-skined Chuff, must I come behind such a Gossip for fashion? Must I Snayl-like, keep still under roof, while thou goes a Ranging to thy Neighbour's house, and neighs after thy Neighbour's Wife? You Sir, may whisper a wanton Tale in the ear of such a Maid, and you must not be reproved? Nay Sir Lecher, you must be in all your amorous actions approved? Mean time, if I have a Gossip or a Friend, without conceit of ill, I must be chid, while you, Sir, come reeling home, upbraiding me, that I play wanton in such an house, or dishonour you in such a place. Every Alebench must be the Stage where you act my disgrace: where sometimes, you revile me, for my poverty; or else disparage me for my Parentage; or if my descent be above yours, you tax me of pride, and tell me, high blood ever sparkles for good clothes. Sometimes my mirth mads you, otherwhiles my melancholy distracts you. If I be fair, my fort is half won, my chastity cannot hold out long; every opportunity tempts me, every light Assailant taints me. Some, you say, choose us for Portion, others for Proportion; some for Beauty and outward Feature, others for Breeding and Behaviour; some for Affability, others for Agility; some for pure and dainty hands, others for small enazured Arms; All which, you say, are Lures to Lust, and keep the High-Road to the Devil's Court. Again, if I be foul, why then I turn common Haxter; I will never want for Trading: As fair Forts are won by long Siege; so we that are foul, will rather lay siege unto others, than not be won. Spaniels are not more fawning, than we are fancying. He were a mean Personage we could not affect, and this were our comfort, She is a black Crab that can find no Mate: Though our choice be not so worthy, we shall find one Gandergoose or other to fit our Fancy.  
Thus sayest thou lorel, when thou goest to bed  
That no wise man needeth for to wed.  
A strange kind of Evensong; when the day is spent in ranging, and the Evening in railing. Dost thou think, Lorel, that to go to heaven by a Wife, is to go by Bow and not by String? Well Sir, I hope to see you go by the String, and then your way will be readier. You say, a dropping, smoky house and a chiding wife will cause a man fly out of his house. What will a dropping Nose do, you Ice-Ickle you? You say, Wives have the Trick to dissemble and shroud their Vices, yea, and colour them too with fair Pretences, as if they were special Virtues; But Wood that shines most, is most commonly lest sound: We can find time to fit you with a Pennyworth, and make your Ears look through your Nightcap, after the new Fashion: And what of all this? We leave (I hope) sufficient for your queasy Stomaches, when all this is done. Again, like a Proverbial old Dotterel, you say, that not only for Oxen, Asses, Horses, and Hounds, but even Basins, Lavers, Spoons, Stools, Pots, & other Vessels, men use to try them, before they buy them; whereas, Wives must not be tried, till they cannot deny it; being to be wedded before they be Bedded. Heyday! is your Spirit so Coltish? It seems, if your Judgement might pass, or stand for a Decree, you would try before you married, and so take occasion to repent before you needed. Neither will these untowardly humours content you, but they must yet run on worse Extremes. Your Doltship will not stick to say, how nothing displeaseth me more, than not to hear my Beauty praised, my less than ordinary parts admired; Nay, I am discontent forsooth, when you look not Babies in mine Eyes, and fame my Beauty in every place; Again, if you make not a solemn Feast on my Birthday, with preparation of Luscious Fare for your Guests, of Sumptuous Attire for myself, a free and friendly Welcome to all, especially to my Nurse, whom you must that day highly honour, and the Crisp-haired Wag that attends me in my Chamber, with all my Father's Folk and his Allies, you are out of my Books for ever.  
Thus sayest thou old barrel full of lies.  
And yet of our prentice jenkin  
For his crisp here, shining as gold fine  
And for he squireth me both up and down  
Hast thou caught a false suspectioun  
I wool him nat.—  
Thus Sir, you use the Liberty of your lavish Tongue; yea, my poor apprentice Jenkin cannot be free from your Jealousy and Suspicion. If I at any time use him for the Squire of my Body, or to Usher me in the streets: Your yellow humour interprets this to be too much familiarity, and that Jenkin must become Father of your Progeny. No Sir, you shall know that I am not brought to that low sail, but if you should die to morrow, I could make choice of a statelier Minion than Jenkin. But to let this pass, how is it, you old musty Dotard, that with a sorrow you hide the keys of your Chests from me; have I not a property in your goods aswel as you? Do you mean to make an Idiot of me?  
Thou shalt nat both though thou were wood  
Be master of my body and of my good  
How is it Sir, that you sometimes promised with your body to honour me, and with all your worldly goods to endow me, and that now with the first you dishonour me, and for the later (like a Devil in the Vault) you lock them from me? I think Sir, if it were in your power, you would lock me up in your Chest too, but that's above your cunning. Had you but so much wit in your Sage Sconce, you would rather in this sort demean yourself towards me, Good wife, go where you list; disport yourself where you please, mine ear is open to no Tales; my knowledge hath given me that approvement of you, as I cannot suspect you. For I must tell you, we women cannot endure that any one should question us where we live, or whom we love; where we gad, or when we Gossip. Of all men blest be that saying of the wise ginger Ptolemy, who drew this conclusion from the Depth of his Philosophy.  
Of all men his wisdom is the best  
That recketh not who hath the world in hon.  
His condition is the happiest, who for Affairs of this world is indifferentest. This Sentence here this Goodwife useth, purposely to withdraw her Husband from intermeddling in his own Estate, and absolutely to invest herself in it. As if she should say, You Sir, that have the one Foot in the Grave already, how is it that you encumber your mind so much with things transitory? you have enough for your time; shake hands with the world, seeing the world hath now shaken hands with you. Leave the care of these Businesses to me. Neither, do I only speak this in behalf of your temporal Estate, but in delights of your Bed. What if another take a Shive of your cut Loaf; must this trouble you? Doubt not, Good man, but you shall have enough left to serve your turn. He is too too envious, that cannot endure another should light his Candle at his Lantern. This neither lessens your Light, nor the other weakens your delight.  
Thou sayest also, that if we make us gay  
With clothes, or with precious array  
That it is peril of our chastity &c,  
Besides, all this, you say Sir, if we go gay, we must needs be gamesome. We cannot be neat, but we do it to get a new Mate: And this you strengthen with an Apostolical Exhortation, Array yourselves in comely Apparel, with Shamefastness and Modesty; not with broided hair, or Gold, or Pearls, or costly Apparel; but as becometh women that profess the fear of God. It seems, you are an excellent Text-man for your own purpose. But I must not grow out of Love with myself, for your Censure. I mean not to be taught by your Text; nor to make your Rubric my Rule.  
I nill not worch as much as a Gnat  
Thou sayest also, I was like a Cat.  
Comly Comparisons! You say a sleek-skinned Cat will ever go a Caterwawing; she cannot abide keeping at home. No more will I (for so you apply it) I must needs be showing my gay clothes, there is no remedy; for Pride cannot endure to attend a Family.  
Sir old fool, what helpeth thee to spien  
For though thou play Argus with his hundred iyens etc.  
Never play the Fool thus, to think that your Jealousy can prevent Opportunity.  
No Jealousy can ever that prevent,  
Where as two parties once be full content.  
For had you as many eyes as Aristor's Son, the hundred-eyed Argus, I should find one Trick or other to gull you, and distinguish your Coat by an invisible Crest.  
Thou sayest eke, that been things three  
The which troubleth all this yearth.  
Wine is furious, an Eave-dropper dangerous; but a Woman, you say, of all others most malicious. Yea, you have other Proverbial Resemblances, which, at first sight, are like your wise Parables; wherein you compare a Woman's Love to Hell, ever raging; to barren Land, no good bearing, without water, thirsty and feering; to Wildfire, ever burning, and desiring to consume whatsoever is combustible, or apt for kindling: You say likewise, as Trees are decayed by Worms, so are Husbands by their Wives. But truth is, if we trouble you at Board, such feeble Lorels as you, trouble us as little in Bed.  
Lordings, right thus as ye have understond  
Bare I stiffly mine old husband on hon.  
Oft-times would I twit them with these and such like Speeches, which (as I pretended) were usually bolted forth by them, when they were drunk; and two Witnesses had I in readiness to justify their Abuse, my jolly Jenkin, and my Niece. Oh how I could set my Countenance to frown and lowr, and sell store of Powts for nothing! I was never in my right home, but when I was out of Tune; I could whine, and plain, when I felt but little Pain. Mean time, he that came first to Mill, had his Corn first ground. I made no Bones of choosing a dainty Morsel for my own Tooth: Yet all this while, I lay all the blame on them: They were in the fault, though I reaped the Fruit.  
Of wenches would I bear him on hon  
When that for sick, unnethes might they stoned.  
I charged them with Wenching, when God knows, they stood in greater need of a Caudle. Yet it delighted these old Chrones to be so thought of: They desired rather to be taxed of Luxury, than Disability. And to to sharpen their Appetite, I told them, that so jealous a conceit I had of them, as my walking forth a nights was for no other end, than to take them napping with their dainty Doxies. Under which colour and pretence, I took my Range, and freely consorted with those I loved best. I had a Friend in a Corner to cool my Choler, and cure my Distemper. Rear Suppers were my Solace: I suited my youthful Fancy to jovial Company: And Company causeth somewhat.  
Deceit, weeping, spinning, God hath give  
To women, kindly while that they live.  
To have Deceit in our Ways, Tears in our Eyes, and the Spindle in our hands, is an Instinct given us by Nature: By which subtle means, I ever had the better of them, and gave them the Foil at their own Weapon. Continually was I murmuring and repining, I was a Chafing Dish at their Board, and Wormwood in their Bed. I caused them bite o'th' Bridle, while I was ever chawing some good Bit.  
I would no longer in the bed abide  
(If I felt his arm over my side)  
Till he had made his ransom unto me  
Than would I suffer him to do his nicete.  
I must tell you, I was a coy Dame, and stood on my Pantofles. I could not brook that his dry and seer Arms should embrace my Waste. Had his Body indeed been as strong as his Breath, I could have liked him better; but the weakness of the one gave an Earthy strength to the other. Turn to him I would not under a couple of Capons; He must purchase my Love, or farewel Frost.  
And therefore every man this tale I tell  
Wive whoso may, all been for to sell  
With empty honds—  
I am nothing nice in the Discovery of my own Device; make use of it who will. Here is the Fair, buy who list: they may furnish themselves for nothing. Sometimes I would not stick to put on a smooth Brow, and feign a kind of Fonding, with a strong desire of seeming to accept what was privately tendered by him.  
And make me than a feigned appetite  
And yet in Bacon had I never delight.  
Yet all this was but a seeming Appetite; Such course Meat was not for my dainty Stomach. All this, and more did I for mine own ends, Which I had no sooner obtained, than I put on mine old Countenance. Little Quiet could he have either in his Repast, or Repose, at Bed, or at Board. Yea, so strong was my Spleen, so violent my Hate, as had the Pope's Holiness been present, I am persuaded I should have shown small Reverence to his Pontifical Presence. Out might my Passion have issued, and shown her Impatience. Neither do I remember that he ever gave me one word, but I gave him two for't. Yea, should I now make my last Will and Testament, and discover to the world all our Bicker, and unsavoury Parleys; I would take my Book-Oath that I am nought behind with him, but have sitted him to the full. And this was the direct way to purchase my Peace, otherwise had we been at Debate for ever.  
For though he looked as wooed as a lion  
Yet should he fail of his conclusion etc.  
Thus could I vie in colours to delude his Nature, and fit my Disposition to oppose his Humour. If he played the Lamb, I could play the Lion; if he the Lion, I the Lamb.  
Than would I say, good lief take keep  
How mekely looketh wilkin our sheep  
Come near my spouse,—  
What a Racket my pretty Pigsney keeps? Let me kiss thy t'other Cheek, my lovely Honey-suckle. Can you that have preached so long of Job's Patience, retain so long in your heart any Malice? Ye men, as you are stronger by nature, so should you be discreeter, and of staider temper. What man, are you jealous of me that you do not only enjoy me? What, would you have my best Commodity to yourself? Why, take it to you, and much good may it do you. I know you for a notable Soaker; you cannot endure a Sharer: Well, go to; you shall have it to you, and your sole use for ever. For know, my best Spouse, if I would set my Jewel at sale; I could go in more gay and fresh Array than I do now: but the honest Continence of my Desire makes me walk in homely Attire. Good sooth, you are much to be blamed; I have no Toy, but for your Tooth. My own Breast knows best whether I love any other; For if I did, your quick Eye would soon discover it.  
Such manner words had we on houd  
Now will I speak of my fourth husband.  
Thus far has our Wife of Bath discoursed of the Natures, Humours, and Features of her three first Husbands: Wherein she hath expressed to life how harshly Youth and Age are suited; with especial Directions how the Distastes of a loathed Bed may be allayed; how Youthful Delights may be wisely carried; and the waiwardness of Age better tempered.  
My fourth husband was a revelour  
This is to say, he had a paramour.  
She is now fitted in her kind; what she feigned to be in her three Husbands before, she finds really loved by her fourth: Neither will she abate him a hair, and she gives the Reason.  
— I was young and full of ragerie  
Stubborn and strong, and jolly as a Pie.  
She was but in the Flower of her Youth, albeit, she had dispatched three Husbands; full of Metal and Agility; of a stubborn and strong Will, for it had never been denied her; of a pliant and nimble Body; and this had such found who had tried her: One as right as my Leg, and seemingly, of that wanton Wenches humour, who could not endure to have this word, Notwithstanding, mentioned in her Jointure, but liked well of this Clause, Provided always; which if he were not, another should. That her Education or Breeding was good, may appear by those singular Qualities which she privately both professed and practised. She could dance neatly, and sing to the Harp sweetly, if she had but liberally tasted of the sweet Grape: Which, it appears, she dearly loved, by her free Reproof towards one, by whom his Wife was not only from drinking Wine restrained, but being taken at it, was of Life deprived.  
Metellus, the foul churl the swine  
That with a staff berast his wife her life  
For the drunk wine: though I had be his wife etc.  
This is meant of that temperate Roman, Metellus, who, albeit he fell into this violent Extreme, upon the finding of his wife distempered with Wine (which Vice, by the Testimony both of Plutarch and Macrobius, was held among the Romans to be more punishable in Women, than Adultery) was highly renowned for a Noble and Victorious. Soldier, having highly improved his Fame to his Country's succeeding Honour. But had this Goodwife of Bath been Metellus his Wife, she vows she would have plied the Pitcher in spite of all his Valour: and had a little touch of Venus' Game too, after her Blood were inflamed with the Spirit of Liquor.  
For also seker, as cold engendereth hail  
Alicorus mouth must have a lecherous tail.  
This her own Experience had taught her, which she patcheth up with a shred of her Philosophy, to strengthen it the better. Wine, indeed, affords Fuel for Lust. The understanding part being darkened and drowned, the Sensitive part becomes domineering, by subjecting Reason to blind Affection. She finds poor Defence for her Honour, who deprives herself of that which should be her best Armour.  
But lord Christ, when it remembreth me  
Upon my youth, and my jolite  
It tickleth me about the hart root  
Unto this day it doth my hart boot etc.  
It delights her to remember the Pranks of her Youth; and no doubt, it would highly content her to have a Taste of Aesons Herb, and so become young again: For her Desires continue strong, though her Strength be weak; her Thoughts green, though her Hairs be grey.  
But age alas, that all wool envenime  
Nath me bereft my beauty, and my pith  
Let go farewel, the devil go therewith.  
A charitable old Trader! Age like a Venom, hath crept upon her, the Beauty and Strength of her Youth have left her; Both which, seeing she cannot recover, she freely bequeathes the Devil that which she cannot keep with her. Yet holds she on in her old Trade of Folly.  
The flower is gone, there nis no more to tell  
The bran (as I best can) now moat I sell.  
Few or none but they will leave Sin, when Sin hath left them; but this merry Gossip will scarcely leave it, when she is now left by it. Though the Flower of her Youth be lost, the Bran of her age is left, and that must now be bolted, or she will never rest contented.  
But yet to be right merry wool I fond  
Now forth to tell of my fourth husband.  
All this which hath been said last, must serve for a Preamble to her fourth Husband; of whom her Discourse must be but short, according (as may be supposed) to the length of his Life, and height of her Love.  
I say I had in hart great despite  
That he of any other had delight.  
He was of a wanton Life himself, and therefore looks for his Wife in the Oven, where himself had been. Ill Doers are ever ill Deemers. None are more suspicious than such as are most vicious. A Licentious man's Eye is in every Corner; to whom the very lest Occasion will minister apparent ground of Suspicion.  
But he was quit, by God and saint joce  
I made him of the same wood a troce etc.  
Truth was, he could not for his heart be more jealous of me, than I was of him. Neither indeed, had he any just cause to suspect me of Wantonness. Here she excuseth herself that she never consorted with any good Fellows for her own bodily pleasure, in all this Husband's time. Only she invited them to good Cheer; being now turned professed Gossipper: And all this, perchance, (so perverse was her Disposition) rather to nettle and sting her Husband, than any singular Delight she took, either in respect of her Comrades, or Delicacy of Tooth: as may be probably gathered by those Verses immediately following.  
— I made folk such cheer  
That in his own grece I made him fry  
For anger, and for very jealousy.  
Out of a Jealousy, or rather a constant persuasion, that she was as liberal of her Flesh, as of her Fare, he fried himself in his own Grease: he wasted himself with anger: seeing both a weakening of his Fortune, and impeaching of his Honour (as he verily suspected) cope so closely one with another.  
By God, in yearth I was his purgatory  
For which I hope his soul be in glory.  
It seems she was good for something, if it were but to become her Husband's Purgatory; more properly the Touchstone of his Patience. By this means she thinks he had his Purgatory on Earth, and consequently, without any Rub or Stay in his way, he may go directly to Heaven. Afflictions being Exercises, he needed not suffer his Body to rust for want of them, having both at Bed and at Board such plenty of them.  
For God it wot, he sat full oft and song  
When that his shoe full bitterly him wrong.  
Like a downright honest man, he set the best Face he could on't. Yet when he feigned most Mirth, he had greatest cause to mourn. Every man knew not where his shoe wrinched him. He might laugh till his heart ached again, yet never a whit nearer relief: She had vowed to be his Executioner, purposely to become his Executor.  
He died when I came fro Jerusalem  
And lieth in grave under the Road beem.  
This good wife, belike, had taken her Pilgrimage to Jerusalem, either voluntarily or by Injunction. No doubt, had she played Pilgrim all her time, her Husband had a lighter heart. But now coming home, she finds her Husband drawing near his last home. Whom she sees no sooner departed, than she takes course to prevent his Revival, to have him no less suddenly, than solemnly buried. Under the Roodloft (a place of especial Reverence in former times) she causeth his Grave to be made; albeit in no sumptuous manner as ancient Heroes have been interred, as she after expressed.  
All nis his tomb so curious  
As was the sepulture of him Darius  
Which that Apelles wrought so subtly  
It is but waste to bury him preciously.  
To bestow on him so Gorgeous or Sumptuous a Sepulchre, as was that which was erected in the honour of Darius, form by the curious Art of famous Apelles; or as that of Artimisia in the Memory of her Mansolus, were but (as she thinks) lost labour: So much cost would make a poor Executor, and too much impoverish the Survivor.  
Let him farewell, god give his soul good rest.  
He is now in his grave and in his chest.  
He is now laid in Earth, and his Soul, I hope, at rest: He had my leave to be gone before he went. To grieve for that which cannot be remedied is bootless. I will spare then to shed any Tears, seeing they are no less Foolish than fruitless. And so Good night to my fourth Husband.  
Now of my fifth husband wool I tell  
God let never his soul come in hell.  
She had no sooner left her fourth Husband in his Grave, than she makes ready to go to Church for a Fifth. And of such an one she speeds herself, that it seems his Soul deserved well of her, whatsoever his Body did. Yet is it to be wondered at, how she should be so charitable in her blessings towards him, who was so shrewd in his blows, towards her. But of this she gives a reason: Truth is, he was shrewd to me, and gave me store of rib roast, imagining belike that I was of the nature of the Walnut Tree, that must be cudgeled before it be fruitful; yet for all this, I cannot but remember him with a great deal of love. Though he gave me correction, he had an other winning way to gain my affection. He was of an able and active body, and could till me on with such pretty Toys and Tales when he desired to have that which I no less desired myself, and he could win me with a smile, and with a smooth brow allay my storm.  
I trow I loved him the better, for that he  
Was of his love so dangerous to me.  
A strong Woman's reason.  
Follow women, they will fly you,  
Fly but Women, they'll draw nigh you.  
If you would a Woman move,  
Seem to love not, when you love.  
The way then to win them, is seemingly to wean our affection from them. Proffered ware, be it never so precious, is disvalue; That only is held worth our purchase, which is with niceness gained: whatsoever is forbid us, is with eager appetite pursued by us. To utter our Ware with danger, will improve our commodity most to our advantage and honour.  
And to great cheap is hold at to little price  
This knoweth every woman that is wise  
Far fetched and dear bought is good for Ladies. A vile price makes the commodity no less vile. Highly then was this Husband affected, because he was dainty and nice in his affection. He caused her now and then to bite o'th' bridle, and to fast, that her Stomach might become stronger for the next Feast. She had now and then a bit and a buffet with't. All her days were not Holidays; this made her pleasure (because rare) more welcome, when it came.  
My fifth husband, God his soul bless  
Which I took for love and no richesse  
He sometime was a Clerk in Orenforde  
And had left school, & went at home to board  
With my gossip, dwelling in our town  
God have her soul, her name was Alisoun  
Here she expresseth his state, condition, and profession; his state or condition, it may seem, was but mean, but his person promising; pure love and no other worldly respect made her choose him. He was a Scholar, and unpreferred, and consequently not like to be rich. But now had he left School, with his hopes of some poor Fellowship, which were but small, in regard of his weak Parts, or that he had no Letters commendatory, from some great or powerful Favourite, to procure it; And now in stead of a Fellowship, he intends to board himself privately with Dame Alyson, this Good-wifes' Gossip. Now whether this were the selfsame Alyson, the Carpenter's Wife, mentioned in our Miller's Tale, I will not here dispute; Only, with submission always to deeper Judgements, I conceive, that by all probability it should be the very same Alyson, but that this Clerk of Oxford here mentioned, was Nicholas the Astronomer, who fancied Dame Alison, I cannot assent; for this bears another name. Be she what she will be, it appears she was a kindhearted Gossip, and of inward Acquaintance with our Wife of Bath: Being ever constantly of her Bosom-counsel, together with another Wife, whom she names not, and her Niece, in all which, she reposed great Confidence. No Secret could there be, which might either concern her Husband or herself, but it was imparted to one of these three. No counsel so private, no passage so secret, which was not to these communicate.  
And so I did it often God it wot  
That made his face full oft red and hot.  
This Wife of Bath was too full of Chinks to be a good Secretary. Her Husband could tell her nothing over night, but next day she would be Carrier of it abroad: wherein our Poet privately glanceth at such as too freely use to commit their nearest thoughts to the secrecy of a Woman: whereof though some be Seals, others be Sieves.  
And so befil, that ones in a Lent  
So oft time I to my Gossip went &c  
Now she comes to relate the season and occasion of her first Familiar Acquaintance with this Clerk of Oxford, her jolly Jenkin: This begun in Lent, but she means to make it no time of Abstinence. She and her kind Gossip must take Air, and in such Months as afford most delight. Yet cannot those fresh and fragrant Fields sufficiently refresh them, unless they have Jenkin the Scholar for an Usher to conduct them. And a good Opportunity had this Good wife, for her Husband was at London: With liberty therefore might she take her range to Vigils, Visitations, Preachings, Pilgrimages and Processions; to Stageplays, Puppitplaies and Marriages; where she might see and be seen; yea felt, heard and understood. Her gay Scarlet Petticoat, and Broadcloath Gown need now fear no Moths; they are too daily worn to be eaten with Worms. Her clothes make every day their Holiday. Till her Husband come home, she means not to make her own house her home. The Field must be her Walk, and Jenkin her Mate.  
Now wool I tell forth what happened me  
I say, that in the fields walked we.  
Now begun she to grow more familiar with this dainty Clerk. She is now not only for walking, but talking with him; yea, and dalliance too; till in the end, she holds him for her only private Friend, and such an one, as she could find in her heart to commend to his Trust the greatest Secret she has in the world.  
I spoke to him, and said how that he  
If I were widow, should wed me.  
This is plain dealing, and deserves the Scholar's favourable construction: As if she should say, Ye Scholars are dangerous Youths; when ye woe least, ye win most; when ye speak least, ye prevail most. Did ye perceive nothing, Sir Jenkin, when of all others, I chused you to keep me company; walked and talked with you privately; and made you acquainted with my bosom-Secrecy? Truly, I must tell you, should mine Husband die, as all Flesh is mortal, I am verily persuaded that I should wish with all mine heart to enjoy an Armful of you. In good sooth we women are the veriest Fools in the world: If we love, we cannot lain: whereas you men are mighty Dissemblers, and will bring us weak things into Fool's Paradise: when you seem to love us, you will soon leave us. Well, durst I trust you, I could tell you somewhat would make your Ear tingle: But I will not; and yet I think I must; it will needs out. I am half persuaded you have given me some Love-powder, or I should never fawn nor fond on you after this manner. Know Sir, I made choice of you for your Person, no Preferment nor Possession; for I hear, you have but a poor Scholar's Fortune. Now think not that I stood unprovided before I came to be acquainted with you. No Sir; I must tell you, I need not want for Pleasure, if I took delight in such Chaffer. I ever held her a foolish Mouse that had but one hole to creep out at. I am neither so old nor mishapen, but I should find one or other to accept of the motion.  
I bore him on hand he had enchanted me  
My dame taught me forsooth that subtilty.  
A dainty Device! This was Dame Alyson's subtlety. And that she might all the better persuade him, that she thinks on him by day, she tells him how she dreams of him by night. Where she relates to him the Circumstances of her terrible Dream: How she verily thought in her sleep that he came and assaulted her, purposing to have slain her: and how she started, as she lay upright in her Bed, to resist his Fury; which were the least of her thought upon so fair an Opportunity. Yet interprets she all this in the best sense. For that abundance of Blood wherewith she thought herself embathed, did signify Gold, which he might be sure to enjoy, if ever her Husband should die, and herself to boot.  
For blood betokeneth gold, as I was taught  
And all was falls, I dreamt of him right naught.  
All these supposed Dreams were but to delude him, and make him more confident of the Love she bore him. A right careful Observer of whatsoever her subtle Tutor Dame Alyson had informed her. One who had sufficient Experience to instruct an apt Scholar in Rules of Dalliance.  
And now sir let me see, what shall I said  
A ha, by God I have my tale again.  
An excellent Rhetorical 
* 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  Figure here used by our Poet.  
It seems the remembrance of the proper Personage of her neat Clerk, had like to have made her quite forget her Tale. Yet, at last, she recals to mind the Story whereon she is to treat, which Subject, sometimes, she was as apt to forget.  
When that my fourth husband was on bear  
I wept algate, and made sorry cheer.  
Or for want rather of natural Tears, she furnished herself of other effectual means: She wrapped an Onion in the one Nook of her Handkerchief, or pumped for Tears; or drew her Face into a Purse, purposely to feign a kind of sorrowing, when her Heart was full of Joy, in hope to enjoy her Jenkin.  
But for that I was purveied of a make  
I wept but small, and that I undertake.  
No doubt, but she had proved a better Mourner, had she been a worse Purveyor: Like to that Widow, whereof I have heard this Story. That, having buried three Husbands, and all those with a very small portion or quantity of Tears, she came at last to the Grave with her Fourth, for whom she wept bitterly; which her Neighbours much wondering at, demanded of her the Cause why she should be so immoderate in her Sorrow for that last Husband, who had been of so harsh and rough a Disposition, and so patient at the Deaths of all the other three, who were of loving and affable Natures, and had deserved so well at her hands? To whom she made this Answer; That she wept not so much for that she was of her sweet Husband deprived, as that she was now destitute and unprovided; whereas at the Deaths of her other Husbands, she was ever of another prepared before the other was buried.  
To church was my husband born on morrow  
With neighbours, that for him made sorrow  
And Tenkin our clerk—  
It is to be wondered why she let him lie so long unburied; but it seems there was some Solemnity to be used, or else that his Friends and Neighbours did expect it. You may imagine now, when she sees her Sweetheart Jenkin amongst other Mourners, that she has made a League with her Eyes, not to shed one Tear; with her Heart, not to send forth one Sighs, unless it be in jest, and so fool the Spectators. Neat were his Legs, pretty were his Feet: These were her Objects in this Spectacle of Sorrow. This serious Survey or Perusal of Jenkin's Person had so taken up her Eye, as it could fix itself on no other Object, while he was in Presence. Yea, her Blood began to sparkle now afresh in her, so as in her own conceit she was twenty years younger than she was in the Morning. Though forty Winters had already blown upon her; and consequently some Tokens of Age had stamped their Impreslures in her: She had always a Colt's Tooth. Yea, she had divers other signs of an Invincible Patient, as she herself after confesseth.  
Gap tothed I was, and that became me well  
I had the print of dame Venus' sele  
As help me God, I was a lusty one  
And fair, rich, and young, and well bigone.  
She was gap-toothed, or wide-spaced, not like Pyrrhus, whose Teeth were all one Bone, undivided. Though this might seem some Deformity, it became her well, even as Venus' Mole made her more lovely: Right Bullion she was, apt for any Impression. Of a lively and lusty Nature; a fresh and lovely Feature; rich in Fortune; young in her own Opinion; and every way (as she thought) deserving Affection. In Sense, she was Venereal; in Heart, Martial; Venus gave her the Gift to be lascivious; Mars to be courageous; Taurus was her Ascendent, Mars therein Predominant: But had Mars been her Husband, her too common Dalliance might well have changed Taurus into Aries, and enjoined him to hold of her for Term of Life in Capite.  
Alas, alas, that ever love was sin.  
She bestows the deserving Name of Love upon hateful Lust; but these are to be remarkably distinguished, because their Natures are wholly different, as the Poet sometimes well expressed them, in his Description of Love.  

Love, what's thy Name? A Frenzy: Whence thy Birth?  
From Heaven: How comes it then thou liv'st on Earth?  
I live not there. Yet each usurps thy Name:  
'Tis true indeed, but hence redounds their shame.  
I live not there, my Nature's pure and just,  
But Lust lives there, and Love's a Foe to Lust.   
This merry Wife of Bath could find in her heart, that this Wantonness of hers, which she terms Love, were no sin; and pity it is, thinks she, that 'tis not so, seeing it affords such sweet self-delight to the Sense.  
I followed aye mine inclination  
By virtue of my constellation  
That made me I couth not withdraw  
My chamber of Venus from a good fellow.  
Herein our Poet covertly taxeth such who attribute so much unto natural Providence, as though it were inevitable, and thereby use it as a Refuge or Sanctuary, for all their evil Actions. Unto which may be objected the Answer of Chrysippus, writing in this manner: Although (saith he) that Nature hath provided all things from the Beginning, and that by her Providence all things are moved and stirred up by a certain necessary Reason and Motion; yet notwithstanding our Dispositions and Minds are no further subject or in danger thereof, than their Propriety and Quality is concordant and agreeable unto the same. For, if by Nature our Wits be first made wholesome and good, apt to receive good Notions, fair Impressions; by being after endued with Reason and Understanding, either they do utterly put off and avoid all evil Influences and accidents, or else by their discreet temper, receive and bear them more easily without hurt or damage. If chose, our dispositions be rude and gross, not endued with any kind of Letters or good Learning, to assist and help them withal, with every light Conflict or Assault of our Natural Inclination, we run headlong into all kind of Errors and Vice. For we ought first to know and understand, that neither the Stars, nor any Natural Influences do provoke or force us to any thing, but only make us apt and prone: And being so disposed, do, as it were, allure and draw us forward to our Natural Inclination. This might be illustrated by example of the Cylinder-Stone; which by nature being apt to roll and tumble, and being cast or thrown down into hollow or steep places, doth run without ceasing, not so much because it is cast or thrown, as for his own Nature or Aptness thereunto, and not having any thing in itself to withstand the same.  
Yet have I ●●●tes mark upon my face  
And also in another privy place.  
It seems our Venus had been at her Lemnian Forge; she had got some Marks of her Trade, which she meant to carry with her to her Grave. She confesseth, she never loved with Discretion; for in the whole course of her Trade she never made any distinction. Her Appetite was equally eager to all proper promising persons, were they of what Rank or Fashion soever. The black was admitted as well as the white, the poor as the rich: Her Fort gave way to all Assailants.  
What should I say? but at the months end  
This jolly clerk jenken, that was so heard  
Hath wedded me with great solemnity  
And to him gave I all the land and fee—  
She had past her mourning Month, and now comes in her honey Month, where Jenkin is become owner both of herself and her state. What was given her by Age, she as freely bestows upon Youth. Grants of her Lands, Keys of her Chests, all her goods movable and immovable, personal and real, are at his service, without any eviction, molestation, or encumbrance soever. But no sooner restrains he her of her Range, than she reputes her of her Gift. Gladly would she have him re-convey it to her, but though he be a mere Scholar, he is no such Gooselin. Now the Reason why she reputes her of what was conferred by her, was this; He begun not only to restrain her, but chastise her.  
By God he smote me ones with his fist  
For that I rend out of his book a lief  
That of that stroke, my eres wer deaf.  
As if she should thus say, Who would have thought that this smooth-chinned Princock, but new-come from School, should thus begin to scourge me, who have had the Schooling and Scourging of four ancient Benchers? Admit I rend a Leaf out of his Book, when the Story did discontent me, must he presently fall to his Rubber of Cuffs, and so be revenged on me? Well, though this acquaint Clerk fell aboard so roughly with me; I think I gave him his Pennyworths; Judge you that hear me. Never was Lioness more fierce, nor Jay more jangling. Though he laboured to restrain me, in despite of him I took my Liberty. From house to house went I Gossipping. Neither his Oaths nor Anger could wean me from mine humour.  
For which full oft time would he preach  
And me of old Roman jests teach.  
He plied me with Lectures out of old Roman Stories for his own purpose: Amongst which, he told me, how one Sulpitius Gallus utterly forsook his Wife, for showing herself but once openly at the Door, and taking a view of Passengers as they went by. Also, how another Roman (Novellus Torquatus; or I mistake it) wholly relinquished his Wife, for making resort to a Summer Game without his Knowledge. And how Plutarch (whose Authority might more properly be alleged in this Argument) affirmeth that it is a Custom in Egypt, that Women should wear no Shoes, because they should abide at home. Then would he confirm these ancient Stories with Holy Writ, and show how Ecclesiast. gives express Charge to all Husbands, that they should in no wise suffer their Wives to wander or stray abroad; knitting up his goodly Precepts and Examples with this shrewd Proverb;  
Whoso buildeth his house all of salowes  
And pricketh his blind horse over the falowes  
And suffreth his wife for to seche hallows  
He is worthy to be honged on the gallows.  
Sallows are but mean Timberwood to build on; Fallows are uneven grounds for a blind Horse to ride on: And Hallows or Pilgrimages dangerous Ways for young Wives to go on. The first shows Improvidence, the second Rashness, the last Weakness 
* Conventicles are Tickle places for Holy Sisters; Those are Booths for such Ware, as I could wish all young Bridegrooms to beware of: St.—— is rather a Sanctuary for our Aunts than Saints. A place reported by Borgius for a frequent Receipt of Pilgrims: Pomaerius in his Summaenian Annals. .  
But all for nought, I set nat an hawe  
Of his proverbes, ne of his old saw  
Ne I would not of him corrected be  
I hate him that my vices telleth me.  
But all these goodly Precepts and Proverbs which he delivered in this sort unto me, were but as if he had sown Dust in the Air. I valued them not worth the Bloom of a Haw-thorn. For truth was, those who either corrected me, or reproved those Vices which they saw in me, were never after Cater-cosins with me; for such Vices as we love, we defend; nor can we easily forgo them without Distaste.  
Now wool I say you soothe by S. Thomas  
Why that I rend out of his book a lief  
For which he smote me, that I was deaf.  
The Book out of which I tore this Leaf, was entitled Valerius Max. a Roman Author, one who wrote much to our Reproof and Dishonour. With him had he joined Theophrastus, at whose Conceits, he unmeasurably laughed, while I at his Laughter was grievously nettled. With these had he bound up St. Jerom's Book against the Heretic Jovinian, together with Tortulanus, Chrysippus, Tortula, and Helowis, sometimes Abbess not far from Paris. And with these (to enlarge this his Miscellane Volume) had he bound together the Parables of Solomon, Ovid his Art of Loving, with sundry other Tracts or Treatises, discoursing of several Subjects. Now, would you know how he employed these Books? It was his accustomed manner every night when he had Leisure, to recreate himself in these Works: More Legends and Lives had he of wicked Wives, than ye could repeat of good Wives throughout the Bible. All these had he purposely compiled, and were by him nightly recounted to make me discontented.  
For trusteth well, it is an impossible  
That any clerk would speak good of wives  
But if it been of holy saints lives—  
It is not now as it was in Chaucer's days; Present times have Clarks, who can approve and love this Sex. Such, I say, as having proper Liniments to woe with, natural Habiliments to win with, Canonical Faculties of their own to wed with, become no Reprovers, but Improvers of so Honourable a State. Wherein I hold them wise; Sure I am, they trace the steps of the wise: For all the Seven wise men of Greece were married: Albeit; there never wanted in any Age scornful Inveighers against women, yea, and Persecuters of them too in public Theatres; Such were Euripides, Hesiodus, with many others, who out of some bitter Experience had of their own unhappy Choice, made that Sex, now and then, the Subject of their Invection. It was a Stoick's Saying, No wise man was fit for a Woman, yet may a Woman be fit for a wise man; yea, and fit him too a Pennyworth for all his Wisdom. But if a Woman would have Hearts-ease, and world at will, let her marry one of our Sedentary-Desk Clarks, or Pedantical Fools, who know not what the world means; for so may she have the world at will. Now in the very last Verse mentioned by our Poet, this good wife of Bath shadows out such jealous Clarks; who, when they suspect their Wives affected to Company, or any way addicted to Liberty, they will pull out some ancient Story or other, discoursing of the Lives of Saintly or Holy Women, to reclaim them from their Gadding, and restrain them in their Freedom of living.  
Ne of none other woman never the more  
Who peinteth the Lion, tell me who?  
By God, if women had written stories  
As clerks han, within her oratory's &c.  
These Clarks (saith she) are of that condition as they will neither speak well of Wives nor any other Women. But they can paint a Lion that never saw his Feature, but by Report; This is but only as it pleaseth the Painter. Had women written Stories (as our Theano, with many more Mirrors of our Sex could have done) they would have found Colours to display the vicious Natures of men, and discovered them guilty of more Enormities than the Issue-Male of Adam should ever redress.  
The children of Mercury and Venus  
Been in her working full contrarious.  
A Contrariety there is in the workings of Mercury and Venus. The Objects at which they aim their several Faculties, are wholly opposite. Mercury is for Wisdom and Speculation; Venus for Riot and Sensual Meetings. Yea, their Dispositions are likewise divers; for, Exaltation of the one is the Humiliation of the other; which (as if this goodwife had been well read in an Erra-Pater, or some other Astronomical Author) she confirms with this Instance:  
And thus God wot, Mercury is desolate  
In Pisces, where Venus is eraltate  
And Venus falleth where Mercury is raised  
Therefore no woman of no clerk is praised.  
Mercury and Venus are ever in Opposition.  
For true it is, Employment hath no time  
To offer Sacrifice to Venus' Shrine.  
Elegantly shadowed by Lucian, feigning Cupid's Encounter with the Muses: For he that converseth with his Mind, by whose Eye the Body is directed, will not intermit his Affairs, to have his Mind with Lust infected. Mercury admits himself no time to take a Turn in Venus Walk.  
The clerk when he is old, and may nought do  
Of Venus' works, not worth his old sho.  
Long Study hath brought him to the Sciatica. He hath so inur'd himself to the Speculative Part, as he is wholly out of use with the Practic. The Remainder of his days (saith she) he spends like a Cricket, in a Chimney-Corner, in descanting on the Lightness of Woman's Natures, wherein he shows the poorness of his own Humour.  
But now to purpose, why I told thee  
That I was beaten for a book pard  
Upon a night Jenkin, that was our sire  
Red upon his book, as he sat by the fire  
Of Eve first etc.  
But would you know (quoth she) more at large the cause of my Beating? I will now return to my Purpose, and fully relate to you the Occasion. Sir Jenkin (as he accustomably used) having laid his Heel on the Ratting Crook, to pass the Winter-night away, or rather, as I expounded it, to disquiet me, took a Book in his Hand, (a various Volume of Numerous Authors) wherein he read of Eve first, how she by consenting to the Serpent, brought all Mankind to the Brink of Perdition. Which mortal Sore required a Sovereign Salve, even the Blood of the Lamb, which regained Man, before lost, and restored our Blood, before corrupted.  
Lo here express of women may ye find  
That woman was the loss of all mankind.  
Jenkin applies the Text he had read; but few or none of all his She-Audience will vouchsafe to make Use of his Application. But to the end he may work stronger upon his Wife's Fantasy, he brings on a fresh Army of Examples in this kind. What did treacherous Delilah to her Samson, when by discovery of his Counsel, she robbed him of his Hairs, wherein lay all his Strength; and after, of his Eyes, which gave him all his Light? What did Deianira to her Hercules, when with Nessus' poisoned Shirt, she set him all a fire? What did Xanthippe to Socrates, when she crowned him with a Chamber-pot? which shameless Abuse of hers, when such as were his Friends, wished him to revenge, he washed off his Disgrace with this Patient Answer:  
It never yet was deemed a Wonder  
To think that Rain should follow Thunder.  
She thundered so much before with her Tongue, as he could expect no less than Rain. What did Pasiphae Wife to Minos of Crete, whose Brutish Lust, and Monstrous Birth, have made her infamous to all succeeding times? What did Clytaemnestra to her Agamemnon? What Dishonour did she to her Noble Parents Tindarus and Leda, when she not only exposed herself to Aegistus Lust, but deprived her Princely Husband of Life? What did Eriphyle Wife of Amphiaraus, when for a Gold-Chain, she disloyally betrayed her Husband Polynices, when he had hidden himself, because he would not go to the Wars of Thebes? What Dispatch made Livia of her Husband, because she loved him too little? What Dispatch made Lucilia of hers, because she loved him too much? What Answer received Latumerus of Arrius (a Philosopher in Alexandria, in Augustus' time) when he made his sorrowful Complaint unto him, how that he had a Tree in his Garden of such a strange Nature, as all his three wives, through mere despite, had hanged themselves on it? O (quoth surly Arrius) do me the Courtesy, Dear Brother, to give me a Plant of that Blessed Tree, that it may grow and prosper in my Garden: For never did any yet plant it, that might make better use of it. What Wives in these later times do we now read of, who not only consented to see their Husbands murdered, but in the very Presence of those dislaughtered Corpse suffered themselves to be defiled? Some have driven Nails through their Brains; Others have deprived them of Life by poisonous Potions: As might be instanced in the Tragic Examples of Drusilla, Faustina, Corombona, Messalina, and many others. All which Stories Sir Jenkin would read so distinctly, passionately, and devoutly, as if they were his Evening Orisons.  
And therewithal he knew more proverbes  
Than in this world there groweth grass or herves.  
He was a most proper Proverbial Jenkin, and could twit his testy Wife with store of such Proverbs as these, which he had at his Finger end. It is better to live with Lions and Dragons, than in house with an angry woman. Better to abide on the Roof ever smoking, than below with a Wife ever chiding. Yea, so perverse, (said he) are they in Will, so contrary in Work, that they ever hate what their Husband's love, like what they loathe. They cast away Shame, when they cast off their Smock. And for their Modesty, this is my Opinion, To see Beauty accompanied by Chastity, were like a Gold Ring in a Swine's Snout.  
Who could ween, or who could suppose  
The woe, that in mine hart was and pine  
And when I saw he would never fine  
To reden on this cursed book all night  
All suddenly three leaves have I plight  
Dut of his book—  
How much this Goodwife was nettled with his Nightly Lectures, she can hardly express herself, much less her Interpreter. Howsoever, one may easily collect by those furious Sparks of her Passion which issue forth, that there is a dangerous Fire within. For first, she takes a poor Revenge on his Book, and tears it; Then she collars with him, and with a sound blow o'th' Ear, throws him down backward into the Fire. Which he, never till now inflamed with such unmanly Fury, requites with such a stroke on her Head, as senseless she falls on the Floor. Die she will needs, there's no Remedy; and the rather, as may be imagined, to make him guilty of her Death, and so raise him to the Ladder of his Suspended Advancement. But coming now at last to herself (for long had she been by herself) in this sort she re-assays to coarse him, before she leave him.  
Oh, hast thou slain me false these I said  
For my land thus hast thou murdered me?  
Et I be dead, yet wool I ones kiss thee.  
Though she approach near the Gates of Death, she can open the Gate of her Teeth, and make the Poet's Observation true,  

Wheel of a Woman's Tongue is like a River,  
Set it once going, it will go for ever.   
Well; It seems, before her Departure, she means to give him a strange Encounter. Sirrah Thief, do you hear! You that first enchanted me, ' and so ravished my Love from me; you that have seized of what was due to me: Nay, you Bloodhound, you that for my Land have thus murdered me, draw near me, let me kiss thee, and so good night to all the world. It shall not be said, but I die in Charity; So, close up mine Eyes, I shall die presently. This dying Salute could not choose but drive poor Jenkin into sundry Extremes. For, thought he, should she die in spite after this manner, I should make a fair End, but a worse Face in an Halter. Gladly would he (if she were not past hope) recover her; Down on his knees he goes, and kisses her; rubs and chafes her; though she needed small Chafing, being as hot at Stomach, as any Pepper. In the end, he resolves to salute her, and if her Stomach be come down, to reconcile himself to her; but still he fears, she is either nearly dead, or wholly deaf to such an Humour.  
And ne'er he came, and kneeled fair adown  
And said, dear sister, sweet Alisoun  
As help me God I shall thee never smite  
That I have done it is thyself to wit  
Foryeve it me, and that I thee beseek  
And yet est sons I hit him on the cheek—  
A right fair and proper Acknowledgement of his Offence; If she will but forgive him this rash and unadvised Assault, may he never desire any Favour, nor deserve any Love from her, nor in his greatest need receive any Succour, if ever he attempt any such presumptuous part thereafter. And yet alas (saith he) it was your Fault that we fell into this Debate: Had you ruled your Tongue, I had held mine Hand; yet forgive it me, dear Sister, sweet Alyson, and I promise you, upon Jenkin's Honesty, that your Tongue shall never force me to like Fury. While poor Jenkin is thus labouring in all humble manner to compose his own Peace, the dead Coarse revives, and fetcheth him such an overthwart Blow, as his Head rings again. Which (good man) sounds better in his Ear, than ever any of her sweet Kisses relished his Lip; For, thought he, if she have such lightness in her Fingers, she cannot but have some Liveliness at her Heart.  
And said: thief, thus much am I bewreke  
Now wool I die, I may no longer speak.  
Like the humorous Lady in the Comedy, she is every foot dying, to make him the more despairing; Though she had already wreaked herself of him sufficiently, yet will she die with this Revenge, in spite of all his Remorse. And to confirm, that she is near Death, she concludes, I may no longer speak: A dangerous Sign that she is past all hope of Recovery. For when a woman is laid speechless, the Bell may well ring out. But see what a bright Beam darted forth of this black Cloud!  
— At last, with mikell care and woe  
We fell accorded within our seluen two  
He give me all the bridle in mine hon  
To have the governance of house & land  
And of his tongue and of his hon also  
And made hent burn his book anon tho.  
The world is well amended with Dame Alyson; She was even now for giving up the Ghost; but holding it far better, upon some reasonable terms, to live than die, she is content to take heart of Grease, and live a while longer; Provided, she may have the Bridle in her own hand, the Government of his Estate, the Command of his Tongue and hand; and lastly, that she may burn this Apocryphal Book, which bred all this Variance and Debate: To all which he accords, and so the Peace is made. A very beneficial Peace for Jenkin, albeit upon hard Terms: For by this means, became all Occasions of future Difference prevented, a shrewd Dame to a peaceable Wife changed. And to HER no less useful, being for term of life, of all his Estate without any Compartner, absolutely seized. Never from that time did any Wife from Denmark to India (to take her own Compass) live with Husband in more Unity, nor show truer Arguments of Constancy, than she did to her Jenkin,, and all this without Hypocrisy.  
— And so was he to me  
I pray to God, that sit in Majesty  
To bliss his soul, for his merch dear  
Now wool I say my tale if ye wool here.  
One True-Love Knot betwixt them both: So faithful was his Love to her till the End, as she cannot choose but remember his Soul in her Prayers after his End. After which Orison, she makes ready to tell her Tale.  
The frere lough when he had heard all this  
Now dame qd he) so have I joy or bliss  
This is a long preamble of a tale.  
The Friar, amongst others of her attentive Audience, starts up, and jeers this good Wife of Bath, for making so long a Preamble to her Tale, which, for aught that he knew, might prove as short; and so resemble the Mindian Building, who, for making large Gates to a little City, were scornfully advised by that Cynic Diogenes, to be very circumspect and wary lest their City should run out at their Gates.  
And when the Sompner herd the frere gale  
Lo (qd this Sompner) by God's arms two  
A frere wool entermete him evermo  
Lo good men, a Fly and eke a Frere  
wol fall in every dish and eke matter.  
In defence of her, and opposition to the Friar, up stands the Sumner; who reproves the Friar for interrupting this Goodwife in her Tale; as if he should say, Marry Duck Sir Friar, Must you be ever intermeddling in others Affairs? You will have an Oar, I see, in every one's Boat: and make that old Proverb good: A Fly and a Friar will fall in every man's Dish and Matter. What have you, Sir Friar, to do with her Preambulations? Whether she amble or troth it concerns you nothing. You hinder our Sport; Sat down, and give her way.  
Ye wolt thou so sir Sompner (qd the Frere)  
Now by my faith I shall, or ere I go  
Tell of a Sompner such a tale or two  
That all the folk shall laugh in this place.  
What, Sir Sumner, are you so malapert? Must you control a Friar? Well! For your grave Reproof, I shall, before we part, tell a Tale or two of a Sumner, that will give Occasion enough of Laughter.  
Now else Frere I beshrew thy face  
(Quod this Sompner) and I beshrew me  
But if I tell tales two or three  
Of Freres—  
The Sumner will not abate the Friar an Ace. He has a Tale or two to bestow on the Friar, and to fit him with his own Cool, before they come to Syttingbourn, towards which they were journeying. He sees his Patience already nettled, and he hopes, when it comes to his Turn to tell his Tale, the Friar will not find himself much refreshed.  
Our host cried peace—  
Like a peaceable Moderator, our Host, who was the very first Mover and Contriver of this Task, cries Peace. Let the woman go on (quoth he) with her Tale; How is it, that you fare as if you were drunk? You trouble us; Revenge your Distastes on one another in your Tales, when your time comes; If you prepare, we shall hear. Then turning himself to this Wife of Bath, he persuades her to go on, in these words;  
Do dame, tell forth your tale, and that is best  
All ready sir (qd she) right as you lest  
If I have licence of this worthy frere  
Yes dame, tell forth your tale, I wool it here.  
Go to Dame, let not their jarring trouble you. You know what you have to do; I hold it best, that you go on with your Tale. I am ready (saith she) to obey your will, provided that I may have this worthy Friar's Leave, whose Patience I have so far abused with my long Preface; which, although it solace not him, it gave me that Delight, as I could have travelled farther in this Discourse, and never been tired. At last, with the Friar's Permission, and Promise of Attention, she goes on with her Tale, in this sort.   

A Comment upon the Wife of Baths Tale.  
IN the old days of king Attour  
Of which the Bretons speken great honour—  
Prince Arthur, the Son of Uther, born in Cornwall, was Crowned King of Britain in the Year 516. He was a Prince, for Spirit no less Courageous, than in all his Attempts Victorious. His Courage proclaimed him a man, and his good Fortune an happy man. He fought twelve several Battles against the Saxons, and always returned Conqueror. And having now to his succeeding memory reduced his Country to quietness, and planted the Peaceful Olive in his Confines; to express his true Love to Chivalry, and memorise such who were not only Associates, but Assistants in his Victory; He constituted the Order of the Round Table, in which Order, he only retained such of his Nobility, as were most Renowned for Virtue and Chivalry. This Round Table he kept in divers places, especially at Carlion, Winchester, and Camalet in Somersetshire. In memory of which Foundation, by the Testimony of Leyland, there is yet to be seen in Denbighshire, in the Parish of Llansavan, in the side of a Stony Hill, a place artificially composed, wherein be four and twenty Seats for men to sit in, some less, and some bigger, according to their several Statures; cut out of the main Rock by man's Hand; where young people coming to seek their cattle, use to sit, play, and repose: They commonly call it Arthur's Round Table. To insist on those Fabulous Relations which former times have broached touching this Prince, I will not, but refer them, who take delight in the Report of such Wonders to our Old Wives Legends. Let it suffice them, that in this King's days (if they will take the word of a good Old Wife of Bath)  
All was this land fulfilled of fairy  
The Elf queen, with her jolly company etc.  
King Oberon, Queen Mab, Prince Cricket, and his Paramour Pig-Widgeon, with all their fair Company, used to repair hither, and dance a Cinque-pace upon the Meads, (if they had so much Art among them.) Yea, by usual resorting and consorting together, they became so familiar with our Milkmaids on the Downs, as they would not only sport with them, but woe them and win them; whence the Poet:  

Pug wooed Jug, a wily Cub,  
To drink with him a Syllabub,  
Which drunk, they so familiar grew,  
As Jug became one of the Crew.   
But this (saith our Wife of Bath) was many hundred Years ago. King Oberon's Race is quite extinct and gone, or else confined to some other remote Island, where they reside. And she gives a Reason of this.  
For there as wont to walk was an Elf  
There walketh now the limitour himself.  

* A Proprias Limites Terris imponendo, & removent ibus Anathemat a denunciando dicti, ut veresimile est.  Limitors and holy Friars supply the Place of Fairies. Their Orisons, Anthems and Prayers have conjured down all Fairies. Before times, young Wenches durst not safely go by themselves: Every Bush had his Hob-thrush, but the world is well amended.  
Women may go safely up and down  
In every bush, and under every tre  
There nis no other incubus but he.  
Safe and secure may now our Maids be. No Incubus, Goblin, or Nightmare shroud themselves in the Bushy Thickets to surprise them, or with a cold Sweat in the Night-times to oppress them: The devout Friar hath scared them. There is no other Incubus but he. Neither need they fear any Dishonour; for nothing but holy Honesty attends the Friar.  
And so fell it, that this king Artour  
Had in his house a lusty bachelor.  
Amongst others of his Princely Retinue, for whom only this brave Victorious Prince reserved his Round Table, one Lusty Youth there was in his Court, who giving Reins to his Desire, encountered a young amorous Maid, and ravished her; The Report of this Rape within few days came to King Arthur's Ear, who, to expiate the Gild of so foul a Crime, and free his Royal Court of all Dishonour, denounced upon this wanton Courtier due Censure: Which Censure (as may be probably conceived) was grounded upon the Statute then, as now in Force; That he who committed any Rape should suffer Death. Albeit, in those days, an especial kind of Death was inflicted on the Ravisher, and that was, he should lose his Head; to counterpoise this Offence, in depriving another of her Maidenhead.  
But that the Queen, and other ladies more  
So long prayden the king of grace  
Till he his life granted in that place  
And gave him to the queen—  
As it hath been ever accounted the highest Honour for Knights to afford succour and relief to distressed Ladies, so hath it been the custom of Noble and Affable Ladies to commiserate the Missfortunes or Overtures of dejected Knights. Such Favour found this young Gentleman at the Hands of his Queen and her Ladies: who, no sooner heard of this Judgement of Death pronounced upon him, than with Prayers and Tears (prevalent Suitors to a compassionate Prince) they laboured to reverse that Sentence, and afford some comfórt to his approaching Ruin. As they prayed, so they prevailed; The King (a Mirror in his time, both for Justice and Mercy) gives this Knight's Life to his Queen, to dispose of, as shall best like her. Nor need he fear aught else than a gracious Usage at her Hands, from whose Sollicitancy he had received his Reprieve, if not Reversal of Judgement.  
The queen thanketh the knig with all her might  
And after this, thus spoke she to the knight etc.  
The Queen, after due thanks rendered unto the King, for speeding so well in her Suit, takes Opportunity to talk with this Knight; and tells him how, indeed, by her means, she had procured his Reprieve for a time; but yet he was not to hold himself safe nor secure from danger. His Life was given her, and she would bestow it on him, provided that he performed what she propounded, and assoiled what she demanded.  
I grant thee thy life, if that thou canst tell me  
What thing is it, that women most desiren  
Beware, and keep thy neck bone from the iron.  
A necessary Caution for this condemned Gentleman. As if she should say, Go to Sir, your Fact was heinous, for which you have here your Sentence. The Sentence of Death, you know, to be already pronounced; to attemper the sharpness of which Censure, I have interceded for you; and so far prevailed, as it is now in my hands whether you live or die. Nor is my Breast so steeled, as altogether insensible of Compassion. Yet must such a Crime as you have committed, sustain the difficulty of some Task before it be remitted. This Question than you must resolve me, if ever you mean to expect any Favour from me. It concerns our Sex, as from our Sex you are to acknowledge the Benefit of your Life.  
And if thou canst not tell it me anon  
Yet wool I give the leave for to gone  
A twelve month and a day, to seek and lete  
An answer sufficient in this matter.  
If the Question seem too intricate, I will give you a twelvemonths time to consider of it; yet with Sureties for your Return at the Years end. Go to, this is all the Favour I will show you.  
Woe was the knight, and sorrowfully he siketh.  
Mightily perplexed was this distressed Knight; but seeing there is no Remedy, but he must either assoil this Question, or despair of Safety; he prepares himself for his Journey. Wherein, you may suppose, what Coasts he frequents, with what people of all Qualities and Conditions he consorts; he leaves no place unsought, where he conceives the least hope that this Question may be assoiled.  
But he ne couth ariven in no cost  
Where as he might find in this matere  
Two creatures according yfere.  
As many Men so many Minds. A whole College of Physicians had not more different Opinions; Nor all the ancient Philosophers more discrepant Tenets concerning Felicity. Some said it was Riches that did most delight them. Others thought Honours did most content them. Others held that Gorgeous Attire did highliest take them. Some said Mirth, others said Delight in Bed, others to be Widows oft. Some, and those of the selfsame Sex (for who knows better their hearts than themselves) taking compassion of this poor perplexed Knight, and desirous to satisfy him in what they could, unriveted the very Secrets of their own Breasts, and told him plainly what of all things in the world they for their parts most desired, and what of all others most contented them. For my part, said one, there is nought that delights me more, than to have Hearts-ease, to be cheered, cherished, flattered and pleased; ever to have my Words seconded, my Arguments maintained, and in all my Business to have myself duly attended. Another of the same Sex, and for her Opinion, by all likelihood of the same Sect, starts up, and affirms; That for her part, she loved nothing better, than to be free and at her own Dispose; to be countermanded by none, to do what she list; not to be reproved for any Vice that she loved; to be esteemed wise; more free than nice; more buxom than precise.  
For truly there nis none of us all  
If any wight wool claw us on the gall  
That we nill kike—  
Here this Goodwife of Bath puts in her Vye, and confirms their Opinion, who held that nothing delighted a Woman more than to be soothed, seconded, and humoured. For whosoever (saith she) use to claw us on the Gall, or nettle us, they shall find us to have Stomaches. We cannot endure to be controlled; give us the Swinge, or they that oppose us, are sure to be swinged. Again, If we be subject to any Vice, we cannot brook that any other's Eye should pry into our Bosoms. When we are lightest, we desire to be held demurest; when most Vicious, to be reputed most Virtuous. They are loved most by us, who defend our Vices; They offend us most, who style not our Vice's Virtues.  
And some men said, that great delight have we  
For to ben hold stable and eke secre  
And in one purpose steadfastly to dwell  
And not bewray thing that men us tell.  
Here she proceeds in the Delivery of their several Opinions; when she shows, how some held it their highest Delight to be esteemed constant in their Courses, secret in their Counsels; to hold their first purpose immutably, and to conceal whatsoever was recommended to their Secrecy. But how lightly (saith she) we of our Sex set by keeping of Counsel, that Fable of 
* Bacchus' Bounty so freely bestowed, waa not so discreetly employed by Midas, as Neptune's Gifts were by Theseus: This brought Midas to the Brink of Misery: Those wrought Theseus safe Delivery.  Midas, reported by Ovid, will sufficiently discover.  
— wol ye here the tale?  
ovid, among other things small  
Said, Midas had under his long heeres  
Growing on his heed, two asses ears.  
Mida, quasi 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, because his Eyes were blinded or filmed with Covetousness. He was King of Phrygia, and one of the richest that ever reigned. The Poets feign, that after he had restored Silenus unto Bacchus, to gratify his Courtesy, Bacchus promised him what Gift soever he should demand; Upon which Offer, he desired that whatsoever he touched, might be into Gold turned. By which means, the very Meat which was provided for his Repast, became Gold; so as, though he surfeited in Gold, he famished for Food. Well then deserved he an Ass' Ears for his Labour, who could not satisfy his Desires without starving Nature. Now to cover this Deformity (as may be supposed) he wore purposely long Hair, so as none knew of it, save only his Wife, whom he especially trusted, and to whose Secrecy those long Ears of his were only disclosed. She, who had solemnly vowed never to disclose what he had recommended to her Trust; both to keep her Oath, and yet disgorge her Stomach of that Secret, which lay so fretting and frying on her, as she must needs be delivered of it; resolved one day to go down to a Marish near adjoining, far remote from the sight or search of man; where, just like as a Bittern puts his Beak in a Reed, and through the hollowness of the Cane makes a shrill and sharp sound, so lay Midas Wife with her Mouth to the Water, using these Words; Dost thou hear, thou Marish? my Husband has a pair of Asse's Ears; This is a Secret, none but myself knows of it; I would not for a world impart it. So, now my Heart is eased: My Lace would have broke, if I had not disclosed it.  
The remnant of the tale, if ye will here  
Redeth Duide, and there ye may it lere.  
This Story you may read in the Eleventh Book of his Metamorphosis, where the Reason of this Transformation is lively expressed.  
This knight, of which my tale is specially  
When that he saw, he might not come thereby  
This is to say, what women love most  
Within his heart sorrowful was his ghost, etc.  
Many Coasts and Countries had this distressed Knight searched, sundry Folks Judgements and Opinions had he sought, yet is he no nearer, than when he began. Different were their Conceits, according to the Difference of their Minds. Nothing was definitely concluded, because their Judgements were so diversely distracted. On draws the time, in which his Summons calls him home; which, rather than he will not keep, in regard of those dear Friends Words engaged for him, he resolves to suffer a thousand Deaths. Thus perplexed, wanders this Pilgrim Knight, hopeless of any Resolve for his Question, and consequently out of all hope to procure his Pardon.  
But home he goth, he might not sojourn  
The day was come, he must home return  
And in his way, it happened him to ride  
In all his care, under a forest side  
Where he saw upon a dance go  
Of ladies four and twenty, and yet more etc.  
Amidst these distracted Cares of his, as he travels homeward (for approached was the time of his Return, with a general Expectance of his Resolve) as he casts his troubled Eye aside, he sees a Company of dainty and delicate Ladies, Sylvanes or Wood-Nymphs all, leading a pleasant Dance near to the Forest side; Towards them he addresseth his Course, in hope to receive some Comfort from them. But to increase his Anguish, no sooner draws he near them, than they vanish.  
No creature saw he that bare life  
Save in the green, he saw sitting an old wife  
A fouler wight there may no man devose.  
Beauty was gone, and Deformity left. All those amiable Ladies were quite vanished; and none remaining but an old Hag, whose sight begot in him more Loathing than Loving. Those, whom former times have painted out for the most ugly, and worst-favoured Creatures that ever breathed; even Nays, Catastes, Thestylis, were dainty Paragons in Nature 
* This Mother-Midnight, shaped like a Sweden Hag, and by all likelihood the Fairies Midwife.   
Again the knight the old wife 'gan arise.  
A proper Salute, and as mannerly a Regreet, you may expect, as an old Trot of her shape could afford. For thus she seems to accost him: God may you bless, young Gentleman; for you look like a bonny gamesome Youth. What way bound you so fast down by this uncouth Forest? Sure, if I miss not my Mark, you are out of your Aim; for this is no Highway; Sooth in God, there is somewhat or other, that gripes you by th' Heart; for your fresh flowery Countenance looks pale. Is it Love, a God's Name, or some sike giddy thing that girds you?  
— Tell me what ye seken by your faith  
Peradventure it may the better be  
This old folk con much thing (qd she)  
We old Trots are good for something. We have many fine Medicines in store, that lustier Hussies little wot on. Read your Reed to me then boldly, you shall find me an honest old woman; And a true trusty Friend in a Corner, though she be never so ore-spent by Nature, may do a Buxsom Boy a Pleasure.  
My lief mother (qd this knight) certain  
I name but deed, but if that I can said  
What thing it is, that women most desire  
Could ye me wisse, I would quite well your hire.  
His time limited is so short, and so speedy his Task, as it admits no Delay. He discovers unto her the reason of his Range in that desert and unfrequented Forest. The Question that he is enjoined to assoil upon pain of Life, he declares unto her. Albeit small Comfort he expect from her. This he no sooner imparts, than she returns him this unexpected Answer to bring him back to himself, from this high-beat Path of his approaching Danger.  
Plight me thy troth here in my hand (qd she)  
The next thing that I require of the  
Thou shalt it do, if it be in thy might  
And I wool tell it you, or it be night.  
Dapper Youth, quoth she, this Gear is of some weight; It is a dear wade, when your Life lies upon last Stake. Well, go to; you have travelled far, and you are never a Chip the wiser. You shall see an old Wife has some Wit. But first you must requite me, or I mean never to resolve you. Give me your Hand-Promise, that after I have told you this Question, you will grant whatsoever I shall demand of you, if it be in your power; Do not deny me, lest I leave you as I found you.  
Have here my trought (qd the knight) I grant.  
Life is sweet; he will neither deny her, nor delay her, but vows truly to perform whatsoever shall be enjoined by her.  
Than qd she, I may me well avaunt  
Thy life is safe—  
Be of good cheer then. Your Life is as safe as mine, and safer too; for I have one Foot i'th' Grave, as you may see, already. I will so truly resolve it, as the Queen herself, who first put this Question to you, shall before all that fair Assembly maintain it, that the proudest she that wears a Kerchief on her Head, shall not deny it. Withdraw yourself into that Arbour, and I will tell you.  
— Without longer speech  
Tho rowned she a pistle in his ere  
And bade him to be glad, and have no fere.  
The preciousest Ear-Ring that ever he wore. What he had sought for among so many Beauteous Damosels, in so many frequented places, in such eminent Courts, and could never attain, he finds now in the Breast of an old withered Hag, in a wild Forest, far remote from the Seat or Sight of men. Suppose him then, thus provided, now approaching the Court, where he is expected according to his Day limited, to return his Answer, where he is either to come off with Honour or Danger.  
(The queen herself, sitting as a justise)  
Assembled been, his answer for to here  
And afterward this knight was bided apere.  
A great Assembly of women are purposely come to Court to hear this Knight's Answer, and to give their Judgements, as may be thought, whether this Question to him proposed, were by him truly or no resolved. A general Silence by an O Yes, thrice publicly cried, was to all Women enjoined. A Task, I grant of no small difficulty, but this was, to th' end this Knight should not be interrupted. The Knight, after his Appearance, and so free Audience, with a shrill Voice and stout Spirit, as one confident of his Answer, assoiles the Question with this Resolution:  
My liege lady: generally, qd. he  
Women desiren to have soverainte  
As well over her husbonds as her love  
And for to ben in mastery him above  
This is your most desire, though ye me kill  
Doth as you list, I am here at your will.  
There is nothing which a woman desires more than Sovereignty; Command is her Content; Dominion her Minion; her will her Weal. This the Poet confirms:  

Nor Love, nor Life, nor Liberty, nor Land,  
Can please a Wench, unless she have Command.   
Sovereignty is such a Pearl in her Eye, that Life is a loathing unless it be attending. Thus hath he returned his Answer; now hear what Applause it receives in this fair Feminine Assembly.  
In all the court nas there wife ne maid  
Ne widow, that contraried that he said  
But said, he was worthy han his life.  
By general Voice and Vote he is held worthy to have his Life. Their own Bosoms else would have condemned them, and nettled the old riveled Hag, from whom he received that Answer, and who all the time had been silent, to have stirred her glib Tongue among them. Now imagine, after this Question so fully resolved, and the whole Court of Women ready to be dissolved, with what unexpected Joy this Late perplexed Knight was transported; which, (behold the Mutability of all Earthly Comforts, ever sweeter in Ambition than Fruition) was as quickly exiled, by another Occurrent: which now succeedeth.  
And with that word, up start the old wife  
Which that the knight fond sitting on the green  
Mercy (qd she) my sovereign lady queen—  
No sooner was this Question resolved, the Knight pardoned, and all ready to depart, than up starts this old Trot, and appeals to the Queen, who sat as Chief Justice; to whom she exhibits her Petition, after that, like another Omphada, she had unnimbly rushed down upon her four Quarters, and in her best homely manner had done her Reverence: Madam, I am an old woman, and so must youngest here be, if they live to't; yet an old woman deserves her due as well as the youngest: This gay Knight, simply though I stand here, was taught by me his Answer: for which he plighted me his Troth, that whatsoever I should demand at his Hand, if it lay in his power, he would perform.  
Before the court than pray I the sir knight  
(Qd. she) that thou me take unto thy wife  
For well thou wotst, that I have kept thy life.  
You shall not say, Sir Knight, that I love you ill; both to save your Life, and procure you a Wife, is no mean Courtesy. I mean to bestow no worse than myself on you; and many a poor Knight would be heartily glad of a worse Choice. You know Promise is Debt; nor can you pay your Debt, unless you tender yourself.  
If I say false, say nay upon thy faith.  
This knight answered, alas and wellaway.  
She puts him to his Book-Oath, but he will neither take it, nor her by his goodwill. He must now turn over a new Leaf, and act another fresh Scene of Sorrow. For, thinks he, if Life be nothing without Society, what may that Life be worth, where he must live with her whom he eternally loathes? Thusto live were to die; yea to die were to live, rather than embrace such a Life. Better thinks he, it had been by many Degrees, to have stood Mute, and submitted himself to the extremest Censure, than upon such hard terms to have procured an Answer, the issue whereof will undo him for ever. He resolves then to make her a fair Proffer, the Acceptance whereof, though it should make him a Beggar, yet in his Conceit infinitely happier.  
Take all my good, and let my body go.  
Nay qd she, than I shrew us both two.  
As if he should say, I confess freely, that I have received an incomparable Courtesy from you; being the next Means under God and my Gracious Sovereign, of preserving my Life; Nor will I deny but I promised you upon the Answer I received from you, whatsoever were in my power, I would freely and without exception give you. But little did I expect that myself should be the Gift. Alas! You are an old Woman, and should think of other matters, than such youthful Marriages. For what would this beget but Jealousy in you, Discontent in me, and some miserable End to us both? This Disparity in our Years, can make no true Harmony in our Affections. Age, generally is more given to the World, than the Flesh; Accept then of my Fortunes, I lay them down at your Feet, and leave me to the wide world to raise me an Estate. I have nothing too dear for you but myself; release me of that, and take all. This, he thought would have prevailed, but he is far deceived; She expressly answers him, that it was not his Fortunes that could content her; No, nor all the precious Ore, Metals, nor Minerals of the whole Earth. As his own Life was by her means saved, so expects she that his own Person shall recompense it. Set your heart then at rest, saith she, as you received from me the Benefit of your Life, so nothing will content me but being your Wife and your Love. My love (qd he) nay my damnation Alas that any of my nation etc.  
My Love, my loathing! Hanging and wedding go by destiny, and he holds it disputable, whether his loss of life or choice of such a Wife, were the greater Misery. He holds martials opinion in his affiance to this woman.  
Paula likes me, so shall I never her,  
Because she's old, unless she elder were.  
He could be the better contented to marry her, if he were but persuaded that he should shortly become her Survivor; mean time, this is his conceit; though, he received from her the benefit of his life, yet he holds his life at too high a rate to be enthralled to her love. Neither, as he verily thinks, would this disgrace which he should thus incur, by engaging himself to this unwieldy Beldame, who was a very fardel of Diseases, reflect only upon himself, but on his whole Nation: For to describe her, and bestow on her her true Character, what was she, but a sapless seer stock without verdure; a crawling creeping Cricket, without vigour; a proportionless feature without favour? One, whose mouth like a common sewer, was ever drivelling; whose Nose, like a perpetual Limbeck, was ever dropping. The Sciatica had taken Possession of her Hip; the Megrim of her Head; An aged Film had quite covered her Eyes; And an incessant Cough taken seizure of her Lungs. Her Mouth was discharged of the Grinders; from which issued such a Steam, as it would have put a Sergeant in mind of his Mortality. Yet must this proper Puss be this Knight's dainty Bride; For howsoever he hold himself highly disparaged, his Nation dishonoured, his succeeding Hopes eternally dashed;  
— The end is this, that he  
Constrained was, that needs must he her wed  
And taketh this old wife, and goeth to ved.  
He must perform his Promise; Where women are Judges, the worst of their Sex must not be wronged. Now what a comfortable Bridal this was, let them judge, who have known the misery of a Loathed Bed. Bat no Remedy in cases of such inevitable Necessity; He must put on the best Countenance he can, and learn to dissemble with the World, the bitterest of whose Discontents he hath now sufficiently tasted.  
Now wolden some men say paraventure  
That for my negligence, I do no cure  
To tell you the joy and the array  
That at the feast was that ilke day.  
Now some (saith this old Wife of Bath) will perhaps expect that I should speak of the Joy and Jollity, Feasts and Solemnity of this goodly Marriage, As first, how the Bride and Bridegroom were attired, with what Companies attended, what Dainty Cates were provided, how the Feasters were ranked, with what Music and Melody cheered.  
To the which thing answer shortly I shall  
I say there was no joy ne feast at all.  
They that expect any jovial Day at such a Bridal-Day, are much deceived; There was nothing there but Pouting, Louring, and Cloudy Wether; All things were out of temper; No Consort could keep any Concord, when the Chief of the Feast were at such mortal Discord. They that came to their Table, might be sure to find store of Foul in every Corner; Foul Looks, Foul Lips, Foul Linen. Well may we think then;  
Great was the sorrow the Knight had in his thought  
When he was with his wife a bed ibrought.  
He is now entering his Mount Aetna, or his Cancasus rather; for she is cold enough for any season. A perpetual Fever now afflicts him. Rest he cannot, yet may she rest, and will not.  
He walloweth, and turneth to and fro.  
His old wife lay smiling evermo  
And said: O dear husband, O benedicite  
Fareth every Knight thus as ye?  
While he makes his Bed his Rack, turning to and fro, tossing and wallowing in his Sheets of Shame, for so he holds them, his Bed-fellow expostulates the Cause with him, and with a comfortable Smile, as you may gather, by her amiable Favour and Feature, thus accosts him; Good God, Dear Husband, what a tossing and turning you make! Fares every Knight with his Wife as you do? Is this the Comfort of a first Night's Marriage? Marry, Fie upon Wedding and this be it. Are King Arthur's Knights so dainty of their Love, as they will tender no Benevolence to them from whom they receive the Benefit of their Life? Sure, others are neither so coy nor curious, so dainty nor dangerous of their Busses nor Embraces as you be. Am not I she, who preserved your Life from Danger, and since have married you, which deserves some Honour? How is it then, that like a mad man, you show this Distemper, and withhold that Freedom of Love from me, which you ought in duty to tender? First Night had been no such great matter, if you had been more sparing of your Love hereafter.  
Fie, what is my gilt? for gods love tell me it  
And it shall be amended if I may.  
Amended (qd this knight) alas nay nay etc.  
Sure my Gild cannot be so great, but if you look on the Means of your Safety, that will excuse me; But if I have been in aught blame-worthy, do but impart it, and I shall amend it. Amend it (quoth the Knight) that's impossible. When I look on thy Deformity, it makes me quite forget the means of my Safety. Thy Presence makes my Bed loathsome; thy Old Age and base Birth make my Life wearisome. No wonder then, if I thus toss, turn and turmoil myself, when I see no Object that may afford to my restless Misery the least Hope of Comfort. Burst then, poor hapless Heart, since thou art destitute of all Hope, and deprived of all Means of Help.  
Is this (qd she) the cause of your unrest?  
Ye certainly qd he, no wonder nis.  
What, saith she, is this all you can object against me? Is it my Base Parentage, or Mean Personage the only Reason of your Distaste? Yes, answers he, what Reasons can be greater, when neither outward Worth, nor Equality of Birth suits with mine Honour?  
Now sir (qd she) I couth amend all this  
If that me list, erit were days three  
Do well ye might bear you unto me.  
Well Sir, these are no such great Eyesores, but they might be cured; yea, and before three Days were expired, if you demeaned yourself towards me as became a Loving Husband. But whereas you stand so much upon Gentility of Blood; Trust me, sweet Spouse, these Titles are but Trifles. Those only are to be held generous, who are Virtuous; those Ignoble, who are Vicious. Nobility of Blood, if it want inward Worth, is soon corrupted; and the highest Family without Virtue, stained. It is true, we derive from our Ancestors our Descents, yet if we come short of them in Deserts, we more dishonour them, than we are honoured by them. For howsoever they confer on us their Inheritance, they cannot leave us their Goodness; That must be by our own Endeavours obtained, not to us Lineally derived. He is a right Gentleman, that has gentle Conditions; from whence he took his Name, as it agreed best with his Nature.  
Well can the wise poet of florence  
That height Daunt, speak in this sentence.  
Daunt, a Famous Italian Poet, of whom succeeding times have given this Approved Testimony;  

Ingenuous Daunt, who had the Art to sit  
His Subject to his Verse, his Verse to it.   
He was Laureate in his Time, and of such a pregnant present Conceit, as he was no less honoured by the Eminentest Princes then living; who joyed to be his Maecenas: than memorised after his Death with a rich and sumptuous Monument, with his Effigies to Life engrav enon it.  
Lo in such manner rhyme is Daunts tale  
Full seld up riseth by his branches sinale  
Prowess of man: for God of his goodness  
Wol that we claim of him our gentleness.  
Here this old Woman shows herself graced with inward Worth, though she want outward Parts, in a free Delivery of her Reading both in Poetry and Philosophy. Wherein she first repeats Daunt's Divine Sentence, how we are to attribute all glory unto God, from whom we receive not only outward Prowess, but all inward Goodness. From our Elders, we may receive Fortunes and Temporal Blessings, which usually prejudice most, where they are possessed most: But for inward Abilities, it is not in their power to derive them to us, nor bestow them on us. And he gives the Reason, which he confirms with a Familiar Instance: For, saith he, Should Goodness be derived lineally, then where there is any goodness in the Ancestor, it should diffuse and propagate itself to all his Family; None that descended from him, should be addicted to any Villainy: There would be an Heritage of Goodness in the whole Lineage. Just as Fire, should you carry it into the darkest Cell betwixt Heaven and Frozen Caucasus, yet would it, according to its Natural Quality and Operation, give Light and Heat; The Darkness of the House could neither obscure nor extinguish it; till what fed it were consumed, and so itself became quenched. But it is far otherwise with Gentry, it derives no such Native Motion nor Operation from her Family.  
For god it wot, men may full often find  
A lord's son done shame and villainy—  
As Bastard-Slips take seldom deep Root, so the freest and most generous Plants bring not always forth most Fruit. The hopefullest Cyens are ofttimes most degenerate. Catiline and Cethegus were a shame to their Fathers; So were Semphroma and Lucilla to their Mothers. He or she then (saith this Moral Bride) that would be accounted Generous, let him be Virtuous; He cannot be a Gentleman, that is not endowed with a Gentle Mind. Be he or she never so nobly Descended, if Debauched, they are but Peasants. Neither can we justly challenge to ourselves any Honour from our Ancestors, if we second them not in Actions worthy the Renown of those Ancestors. It is neither Priority of Place, nor Nobility of Race, that deserves Approving, but Gentleness and Affability, which from God have their sole Beginning.  
Thinketh how noble, as saith Ualerius  
Was thilk Cullius Hostilius.  
Tullus Hostilius, of whom so glorious a mention is made by 
Lib. 7. c. 4.  Valerius Maximus, was the third King of the Romans, a Prince of Singular Sobriety, a singular Observer of all Virtues; Insomuch as his own Goodness raised him to that Greatness. His Poverty could not keep him from Imperial Dignity, because the Eyes of all good men were upon him; by whose general Suffrage he was elected, and to a Regal Seat advanced. Peruse likewise the Works of Seneca and Boetius, two Authors most sententiously Divine, and you shall find (saith this old Bride) that it is gentle Deeds that make one truly Gentile. By all which, she expressly concludes, that an Honourable Descent infers not ever Eminence of Desert; For as one may be Low bred and well disposed, so may one be Highborn, and illaffected.  
And therefore dear husband, I thus conclude  
All were it that mine anceters were rude  
Yet may that high god, and so hope I  
Grant me grace to live virtuously.  
Surcease Husband, to twit me thus with Baseness of Birth; Though mine Ancestors were rude, yet if God give me Grace to be good, my Virtuous Life shall ennoble my low Line. Let not this therefore so much distaste you, though my Descent be mean, I purpose to supply that Want by Deserts, if that may please you.  
And there as ye of poverty me reprove  
The high God, on whom that we believe  
In wilful poverty cheese to lead his life etc.  
Secondly, Whereas you seem so much to tax me for my Poverty; That Condition is rather to be loved, than reproved. He who may be a Pattern to us all for Imitation, preferred voluntary Poverty before any other Condition. Neither may we think would He have chus'd it, if there had been any Evil in it. The Philosopher saith, To be silent in Prosperity, cheerful in Adversity, in both to show an Indifferency, is the highest Pitch of Philosophy. It is the Saying of Sage Seneca, and other Learned men, That he only is Prosperous and Happy, who contents himself with his Poverty; Admit he be not worth a Shirt to his back, he has Wealth enough, who holds himself content. He is the richest, whose Desires are fewest; He the poorest, whose Wishes are fullest. There is no Poverty but Sin properly. Juvenal speaks merrily:  
He that's so poor he is not worth a Groat,  
Before a Thief may sing a merry Note.  
Yea, to describe more fully the Excellency of Poverty; It is a Sovereign good, though generally hateful, inwardly fruitful. An expedite Dispatcher of Business; For howsoever we pay for Expedition in these Courts on Earth, this is that leads us in the expeditest Course to the Court of Heaven; It enlighteneth our Understanding, enliveneth our Conceiving, rectifieth our Judgement, if in these Gusts of seeming Affliction we be patient. These, and many other excellent Fruits produceth Poverty, though few or none entertain it willingly. Nay, which is more, it brings Man to the Knowledge of himself, and of God, who, for his Love to Man, humbled himself. Besides, It is a very clear Mirror or Looking-Glass, wherein he may distinguish Friends from Foes, and try whom he may safely trust. Reprove me then no more (Gentle Sir) for my Poverty; nor grieve yourself at that which brings with it more Comfort than Misery.  
Now sir, eke of eld ye reproved me  
And certes sir, though none authority  
Were in no book ye gentiles of honour  
Saine that men should an old wight honour etc.  
Lastly Sir, Whereas you despise me for mine Age; If no Authority did enjoin you, nor no Book inform you, that Age were to be reverenced, even your own Gentility would exact this from you, and that inbred Civility which Nature hath planted in you. When you see an Old Man, for the Reverence you bear unto his Age, you clepe him Father. Will you contemn me then, because I am like your Mother? In this respect, you should rather cherish, than discourage me, honour, than disparage me.  
Grey Hairs were once in reverence till now,  
So were deep Furrows in an Aged Brow.  
Believe it Sir, though 
* Cani Juvenum Spectra, Senam Specula; Juvenum Ludibria, Senam Decora: Adag.  Grey Hairs be young men's Terrors, they are old men's Treasures; Though young men's Laughter, they are old men's honours. More Experience is here shrouded, than Fair Looks, or Fresh Looks ever yet attained.  
Now there as ye said, that I am foul and old  
Than dread you not to ben a cokewolde.  
Now whereas you still cast in my Dish, mine Age and Deformity; This you may use for an Antidote against Jealousy. When you are abroad, you need not fear me; Affection is grown so cold in me, it can work no strong Effects on my Fantasy. Neither will any one desire much to court me, for my Deformity. Decrepit Age and want of Beauty, are sufficient Guardians to preserve Chastity. For as Age is ever attended on by Honour, it is with more Reverence loved than lusted after.  
But nevertheless, sin I know your delight  
I shall fulfil your worldly appetite.  
These now (qd she) one of these things fifty  
To have me foul and old, till that I day  
And be to you a true humble wife  
And never you displease in all my life  
or else wol you have me young and fair  
And take your adventurst of the repair  
That shall come to your house, because of me  
Or in some other place, may well be?  
But go too Sir; I see these pleas will hardly please. The Bride that lies by you must be beautiful or she will not content you. Beauty is a dainty Pearl in your eye. Well; you shall have your desire: There is nothing that may delight you, wherein I will not satisfy you, if it be in my power to grant you. Go to then, I will offer to your choice two things, wherein please yourself, and you shall please me who am your second self. First is, whether you will have me aged and deformed as I now am; and so find me an humble, loving, and affable Wife, unwilling to displease you, ready at bed and board to be disposed by you, in all respects conformable unto you. Or else, you will have me young and fair, and subject yourself to the hazards of beauty. For well you know, that as youth is sooner tempted, so is beauty soon tainted. I cannot avoid it but I must have Suitors to court me, Servants to comfort me, dainty Didappers to visit me. Your house must be always open to Strangers, mine arms to embraces, my perfumed Lips to youthful Kisses.  
Now cheese your seluen whether that you liketh  
This Knight aviseth him, and sore siketh  
But at the last, he said in manete:  
My lady and my love, and wife so dear  
I put me in your wise governance  
Theseth yourself, which may be more pleasunce  
And most honour to you and me also  
I do no force whether of the two—  
The world is well amended; Now when it is in his choice, he stands indifferent for her Change. Yet could he find in his heart that she had Beauty, so none might share with him in her Beauty. But Jealousy is such a dangerous Malady, as to prevent all occasion, he will content himself with her Deformity, rather than become subject to so cureless an Infirmity. First therefore he here adviseth, then sigheth, lastly thus concludeth: Albeit, Dear Wife, you may imagine what Comfort it would be to me to enjoy a Beautiful Bed-fellow; one whose outward Parts might make her honoured wherever she resorted; and whose sweet. Society might allay my Distastes, and improve my Comforts whensoever occasioned; yet shall not you find me so drenched or drowned in sensual Delights, as to prefer mine own Appetite before the Light of Reason. I understand by your grave and discreet Arguments, that you are wise, which is to be incomparably valued above all outward Beauty. Make choice then of what may seem best in your own Discretion; I will in no wise give way to my own blind Affection; which of these two soever may tender you most Pleasure and Honour, choose it, and so dispose of me and it, as your Honour may be most advanced by it. I shall hold myself content whether of these two you accept.  
For as you liketh, it sufficeth me.  
Than have I got of you the mastery (qd she)  
Sin I may cheese, and govern as my list  
Ye certes wife (qd he) I hold it for the best  
Kiss me (qd she) we be no longer wroth  
For by my truth, I wool be to you both etc.  
Now what she so long aimed at, she has got; her own Will; and therein, which may seem more strange, his Happiness. You have given me, saith she, the Mastery; which shall be such a Government, as it shall not have the least taste of Tyranny. This you have done so freely, as it injoins my Usage to be friendly. Go to Sir; You shall hence find what Benefit an obedient and observant Husband may reap by resigning his Will to the Will of his Wife: You stood doubtful at first, whether of those two Offers which I made you, were to be accepted by you; That is, whether you would have me continue as I am, Aged and Deformed, but withal Constant, Continent, and to your Command Obedient; Or Young and Beautiful, but withal Youthful, and in danger to become Incontinent. But now I shall take from you all Occasion of Doubting, and make you happy in your Affection. For I will be to you both Young and Beautiful; and withal so constant in my Love, so Continent in my Desires, so Moderate in my Delights, so Temperate in my Resolves, so Discreet in my Directions, so Virtuously Good and Gracious in all my Actions, as you shall find your Happiness fully Crowned in enjoying me. Nor will I feed your Hopes with any long Delay; For by the next Morning, shall my Beauty be such, as no Lady from East to West may compare with me; whereof, with my Life, dispose as may best please you.  
And so they slept till it was morrow grey  
And than she said, when it was day  
Cast up the courteine, and look how it is.  
And when this knight saw all this  
That she so fair was and so young thereto  
For joy he hent her in his arms two.  
Howsoever it be said, that they both slept; It is probably to be doubted, whether he, at least, slept or no. Such a longing desire he had to see this approaching Hour of her Transmutation. But when this happy Hour was approached, Aurora her burnished Beams dispersed, and the Curtain drawn aside, by which this Bride's Beauty might be discerned; it is not to be imagined how strangely this overjoyed Bridegroom was intranced. Straightways he inwreaths her in his Arms, looks Babies in her Eyes; and as one embathed in Bliss, a thousand times a row he kisseth her, merely transported with joy for the Beauty he saw in her.  
Thus did they surset it in midst of Plenty,  
Ten Kisses short as one, one long as Twenty.  
To treat farther of it, I will not; Modesty would have this Subject enskreened, & left to the Imagination to conceive it. Let it suffice, that as her Beauty could not choose but give him Content, so was she to him constant and obedient: In which mutual Affection; seconded with perfect Joy, free from all Jar, they continued till their Lives ended.  
— And jesus Christ us send  
husbands meek, young, and fresh a bed  
And grace to overlive him that we wed.  
And I pray to God, to short her lives  
That will not be governed by her wives  
And old and angry niggards of dispense  
God send him soon a very pestilence.  
Here at last this good Old Wife of Bath ends her long Relation with a serious Supplication; By which she shows that she has one Colt's Tooth yet left; Neither doth she pray only for herself, but for the whole Congregation of her Sex: That they may have Husbands Meek, to live with, Young, to love with, and Fresh, to lie with; That they may ever be their Survivors; That such Husbands may have short Lives, who will not suffer their Wives to be Governors; And that a Pestilence may light on all such Husbands and Niggardly Cot-queans as cannot dispose of their own, but are Misers. And so ends she her Story to make her Audience merry. Thus then will we conclude our Comment, and recount the Comical Passages of their Nuptial Content, woven up in these Verses.  

The King's appeased, the Queen rests satisfied,  
The Bridegroom joys in his new-formed Bride  
No Part in her appears from Top to Toe  
But may give Nature thanks for makinged so;  
Inward and Outward Graces jointly meet,  
To make his Comfort in her more complete;  
Long did they live together in true Love,  
While each with other in Affection strove:  
May all Folk marry so that would live well,  
Or let them tarry, and lead Apes in Hell.    

An APPENDIX.  
AFter such time as the Author, upon the instancy of sundry Persons of Quality, had finished his Comments upon these Two Tales; the Perusal of them begot that Influence over the clear and weighty Judgements of the Strictest and Rigidest Censors; as their high Approvement of them induced their Importunity to the Author to go on with the rest, as he had successfully done with these Two first: Ingenuously protesting, that they had not read any Subject discoursing by way of Illustration, and running Descant on such Light, but Harmless Fancies, more handsomely couched, nor modestly shadowed. All which, though urgently pressed, could make no Impression on the Author: For his Definite Answer was this: That his Age, without any Appellant, might render his Apology; and privilege him from Commenting on Conceptions (were they never so pregnant) being intervened with Levity, Saying;  
Of such light Toys he'd tam a long Adieu,  
Nor did He mean his Knowledge to renew.  
Neither could he entertain any such thought of Perfection in these, being begun and finished in his Blooming Years; wherein the Heat of Conceit, more than the Depth of Intellect dictated to his Pen. The Remainder of his Hours henceforth was to number his Days: But if Aesons Herb should revive him, and store him with a new Plumage, he was persuaded that his Youthful Genius could not bestow his Endeavour on any Author with more Pleasure nor Complacency to Fancy, than the Illustrations of Chaucer.  
Amidst this Discourse, a Critic stepping in, objected out of the Quickness of his Censure, much like that Fantastical Madam, who drew Rhapsodies from her Carpet, that he could allow well of Chaucer, if his Language were Better. Whereto the Author of these Commentaries returned him this Answer: Sir, It appears, you prefer Speech before the Head-piece; Language before Invention; whereas Weight of Judgement has ever given Invention Priority before Language. And not to leave you dissatisfied, As the Time wherein these Tales were writ, rendered him incapable of the one; So his Pregnancy of Fancy approved him incomparable for the other. Which Answer stilled this Censor, and justified the Author; leaving Newholme to attest his Deserts; his Works to perpetuate his Honour.  
FINIS.