an anonymous continuation of the Canterbury Tales

The Tale of Beryn is the only surviving medieval attempt to finish what Chaucer left undone. It survives in a single manuscript of the Canterbury Tales — the Duke of Northumberland's copy — bound in after the Canon's Yeoman's Tale, in a hand later than Chaucer's own. An unknown 15th-century writer, very possibly a monk of Canterbury, imagined the pilgrims actually arriving at the shrine: touring the cathedral, buying badges, quarrelling over lodging. Its Prologue is a comic set-piece in which the Pardoner, left alone at the inn, tries his luck with Kit the tapster and is thoroughly and farcically fleeced. Its main tale, told by the Merchant as the company rides home, is a long romance of a merchant's wastrel son, Beryn, who is entrapped by the swindlers of "Falsetown" and rescued only by the wit of a cunning cripple, Geffrey.

Neither piece is by Chaucer, and the unknown author says as much through the mouth of "Thomas" in his own preface — but both are steeped in Chaucer's own characters and manner, and together they are the closest thing that exists to a medieval reader's guess at how the pilgrimage might have ended. This edition — re-edited direct from the unique manuscript by F. J. Furnivall and W. G. Stone for the Chaucer Society, with an abstract of the tale's French, Persian, Indian, and Arabian analogues by W. A. Clouston — is the standard scholarly text. The editors' own account of the discovery of the manuscript, their apparatus of Notes, and their Glossary and Index are preserved below along with the poem itself.

Contents

• Forewords, by F. J. Furnivall
• The Prologue: the Merry Adventure of the Pardoner with a Tapster at Canterbury
• The Tale of Beryn
• The Merchant and the Rogues, by W. A. Clouston
• Notes to the Tale of Beryn
• Glossary and Index

Forewords

by F. J. Furnivall

FOREWORDS. IF this Tale of Beryn had not occurrd in a manuscript of the Canterbury Tales, and had also not been unique and not heretofore printed with fair accuracy, it would yet have claimd a place among the Chaucer Society's books, by reason of its giving the only good nearly-contemporary account, by a Canterbury man-monk, I suppose:¹ see the colophon, p. 120-of how pilgrims like Chaucer's disported themselves in the town, and at the Shrine of the Martyr whom from ' euery schires ende' they sought. That Chaucer intended to have given us such an account himself, we can hardly doubt. The scenes at the "Cheker of the Hope," in the Cathedral and the town, must have afforded him so many a chance for a happy line, a humourous touch, that he must have thought of sketching his companions in their fresh surroundings; but alas, this, like the Tales awanting, was never to be; and we have to rely on a poorer hand for the outline and details we desire. Still, worse than Chaucer's though the hand of the Beryn-writer is, a bit, and a good bit, of the Master's humour and lifelikeness, the later verser has in his Prologue. Chaucer's characters are well kept up;2 and we can see with our own eyes the Pilgrims strolling about the town and visiting the Cathedral, as well as follow the after-supper adventures³ of that loose fish, the

1 See p. 137, note.

2 Note the Miller's stealing the Canterbury brooches, by way of a change from corn, 1. 174-5; the Pardoner's spite to the Summoner, 1. 184-90; the Knight's courtesy and gentleness, 1. 136, 387-8, and his lecturing his son on the defences of the town-see the walls in Smith's plan-1. 237-244; the Cook drinking, 1. 410; the Pardoner singing, and the Summoner acting as chorus, 1412-15; the Host all through.

3 De la panse vient la danse: Pro. Men are the merriest when their bellies are fullest; or, when the bellie is full, the breech would be figging; (for by this Danse is any lustfull, or sensuall, motion vnderstood).-Cotgrave.

FOREWORDS. Pardoner, with Tapster Kit, who sold him so completely.¹ "God knowes who's a good Pilgrim," says the Proverb. We may safely hold that the Pardoner was not one of the saints. As William Thorpe, a Lollard, said of Papist pilgrims in his examination taken before Archbp. Arundel at Saltwood Castle in 1407: "such fond people waste blamefullie Gods goodes in their vaine pilgrimages, spending their goods upon vitious hostelars, which are oft uncleane women of their bodies."-J. G. Nichols. Pilgrimages by Erasmus, p. xxiv, ed. 1875.3 The Beryn Prologue, then, is a piece of contemporary social history to be read and studied, whoever skips or skims the Tale. For a description of the old Canterbury Inn and its present representative, of the cathedral, relics, shrine, jewels, Canterbury brooches and signs, &c., I refer the reader to Dean Stanley's interesting Historical Memorials of Canterbury (p. 216-238, 5th ed., 1868, Jn. Murray), a book which I have already urgd all our members to buy, and which is a necessary part of their Chaucer Library. Thus much for the Prologue. The Tale is an awfully long-winded one, based on part of a French prose romance,5 of which Mr. Clouston has given an epitome

1 Chascun n'est pas aise qui danse: Prov. Euerie one is not merrie that daunces; of such a one wee say, 'his heart is not so light as his heeles.'-1611. Cotgrave.

2 Dieu scait qui est bon pélerin: Prov. God knowes who's a good Pilgrim : the hearts of Pilgrims are best knowne to God.—Cotgrave.

3 He adds: "Also, Sir, I knowe well that when divers men and women will goe thus after their own willes and finding, out on pilgrimage, they will ordaine with them before to have with them both men and women that can well sing wanton songes; and some other pilgrimages will have them with bagge-pipes ; so that everie towne that they came through, what with the noise of their singing, and with the sound of their piping, and with the jangling of their Canturburie-bels, and with the barking out of dogges after them, that they make more noice then if the King came there away, with all his clarions and many other minstrels. And if these men and women be a moneth out in their pilgrimage, many of them shall be an halfe yeare after, great janglers, taletellers, and liers."

4 They represented the mitred head of the saint, with the inscription Caput Thomæ. Some may be seen in the British Museum.

5 The added Second Part of this is summarized on p. 160-174. Note the South-Englishman's touch of the decay of Winchelsea and Rye in lines 754-6, p. 25.

and variants, the former on pages 121 to 140, the latter on pages 141 to 159. It tells how in Rome a rich old senator, Faunus, has at last a son by his loved wife Agea; how they spoil the boy, Berinus, during his youth; and how he turns out a cruel, violent, gambling scamp, caring nothing for his father or his mother, his heritage or his honour. He refuses to come to his fond mother on her deathbed, and like a brute strikes the maiden who's sent for him. His father Faunus, at first inconsolable for the death of Agea, is soon married by the Emperor to a beautiful woman, Rame; and she, after putting-up with Beryn's wildness for a time, schemes to get rid of him, and oust him from his heritage for her own (coming) son. She persuades Faunus to refuse Beryn further supplies. This brings the young scapegrace to his senses; and Father and son are reconciled at the dead Agea's tomb. Beryn then proposes to give up his heritage for five ships full of merchandise, and try his luck abroad. This agreed, he sets sail with his fleet of five, and lands at deceitful Falsetown (in the land of Imagination). There he loses a game at chess to a Burgess, Syrophane, and in consequence has to drink all the salt water in the sea, or forfeit his ships. Then he agrees to change his cargoes for five loads of the goods he can find in one Hany bald's house; but on going there, he finds the house. empty. So he stands in his shoes, without either ships or cargoes. A blind man then accuses him of stealing his eyes, and a woman of having got a son by her, and left her to bring it up. Each has him up before the Judge, and he is bidden to answer the charges, but has a day's respite. He mourns, repents, and confesses that his mishaps have come on him for his misdeeds. A Catchpoll Macaigne then lends him a knife to bribe the Judge with, and at once accuses him of having murdered his (the Catchpoll's) father with it. Beryn is had up again, and is at his wit's end, when a Cripple, Geffrey, appears. Beryn bolts, but is overtaken, and the Cripple agrees to stand his friend if Beryn 'll take him back to Rome. This is agreed, and the Cripple tries to send Beryn to the palace of Isope, the wise King of the land, but Beryn refuses to go, so the Cripple goes instead ; and next day, when the trials all come on, Geffrey outwits all the lying prosecutors,-not by denying their charges, but by confessing

FOREWORDS. them and turning the tables on the rascals,-makes them pay heavy damages, and brings Beryn off a winner. The Burgess Syrophane has to separate all the fresh-water running from rivers into the salt sea before Beryn can drink its salt water, or to pay damages, which latter he does. In the empty house of the cheat Hanybald, Geffrey has let loose two white butterflies; and either five ship-loads of these have to be produced, or big damages paid, which Beryn gets. As to the blind man's lost eyes, Geffrey shows that the blind man changed his bad eyes for Beryn's good ones: if the man 'll return Beryn's good eyes, he may have his bad ones back; but if not, he must pay Beryn damages; which he does. As to the Deserted-Wife; if she's Beryn's wife, let her leave her kin, and start at once for Rome with Beryn; she refuses, and pays. For Macaigne's knife, the truth is, that Beryn found it in his own father's heart, and never knew who the murderer was, till Macaigne claimd the knife. Macaigne must therefore answer for the murder of Beryn's father, or withdraw his plaint, and pay Beryn damages. Macaigne agrees to pay. So Beryn goes back to his ships in triumph, with Cripple Geffrey, and twice as much money as he had before. Beryn then gets five presents from King Isope; next day visits him, stays three days with him, weds his daughter, and reforms the bad Falsetown folk. The issue of the Tales written as Supplements to Chaucer's Canterbury Tales was of course part of the work I laid down for the Chaucer Society; and as the Tale of Beryn is the best of these, I askt our friend Henry Bradshaw¹ where the MS. of the Canterbury Tales containing the unique copy of Beryn (which was first printed in Urry's posthumous edition in 1721) could be. He said "It was lent to Urry by the Hon. Mrs. Thynne,² a widow who afterwards

1 He had a nose for missing MSS. like a bloodhound's for a fugitive.

2 This is stated in the Preface to Urry's Chaucer written by Tim. Thomas from collections by Dart. (See the rough draft of this Preface, begun Aug. 4, ended 29, 1720, in Harl. MS. 6895, and Benn. Lintot's letter in the same MS.) "XIII. The Honourable Mrs. Thynne, Widow of the Honourable Henry Thynne Esq; Son to the late Lord Viscount Weymouth, was pleased to lend him [Urry] a MS. purchased by her, which had belonged to Mr. Long, a Prebendary of the Church of Exeter. It is a fair Book, but is imperfect at the beginning and end, and wants the Coke's Tale, and that of Gamelyn: But this Defect is sufficiently

. The married a Duke of Northumberland. It must be still at Alnwick. Write to the Duke there, and you'll get your MS." I wrote. Duke said he had the MS.; and he kindly let Mr. Martin (the Inner Temple Librarian, who also lookt after the Alnwick Library) bring the Chaucer MS. to the Inner Temple Library for me; and there, with the MS., Mr. Brock and I collated the Beryn pages cut out of my copy of Urry's Chaucer. The proofs were read twice by me with the MS., and I believe the text is a faithful print of it, though unluckily, when editing it, I was affected for a time with the itch of padding out lines by needless little words in square brackets. The reader can easily leave them out in reading when he finds them unnecessary, or gratify his resentment at such impertinences by drawing a pen through them. But he will agree that the MS. is often faulty in metre, and is not a correct copy of the original poem. For the text and side-notes of the Poem, its Forewords, and choosing its Plans, I am responsible. To Mr. Stone is due the Index or Glossary, and such of the Notes as Mr. F. Vipan and Prof. compensated by the addition of two new Pieces, not extant in any of the other MSS. which are there inserted between the Tale of the Chanon's Yeman and Chaucer's Tale of Melibeus, viz. The Adventure of the Pardoner and the Tapster at the Inn in Canterbury, and the Merchant's Tale in the Pilgrim's Return from thence" (sign. k. 2). Of the former of these, Thomas rightly says that "it is not properly a Tale, but an Account of the Behaviour of the Pilgrims, and particularly of the Pardoner, at their Journey's end, and a kind of Prologue to a set of Tales to be told in their Return" (sign. k. 2). He adds, on k. 2, back, "It may (perhaps with some shew of reason) be suspected that Chaucer was not the author of the Adventure and Beryn, but a later Writer, who may have taken the hint from what is suggested in v. 796 of the Prologues, that the Pilgrims were to tell Tales in their Return homewards; but as to that the Reader must be left to his own Judgment. But supposing they were not writ by our Author, we are however obliged to Mr. Urry's diligence for finding out and publishing Two ancient Poems, not unworthy our Perusal: And they have as good a right to appear at the end of this Edition, as Lidgate's Story of Thebes had to be printed in former ones." Of the Plowman's Tale, Thomas says on sign. k. back, it "is not in any of the MSS. which Mr. Urry describes, nor in any other that I have seen or been informed of." No MS. of it has since turnd up. ¹ Ogilby's road-plan of 1675 was the earliest full one I could find. The London to Maidstone plan is borrowd from the E. E. Text Soc.'s edition of Vicary's Anatomie. Smith's MS. I showd long ago to Mr. H. B. Wheatley, and he and Mr. E. W. Ashbee publisht it by subscription in 1879, with all its colourd plans, coats of arms, &c. : 'A Particular Description of England in 1588,' &c.

FOREWORDS. Skeat have not written. Mr. Vipan has also read the French Berinus, &c., for us, and Prof. Skeat has partly revised the Notes and Glossary; while the abstract of that portion of the Romance from which the Tale was derived, and the Persian, Indian, and Arabian variants or versions, with the notes thereon, are due to Mr. Clouston. To these kind helpers, and to the Duke of Northumberland for lending me his unique MS., I tender hearty thanks. To the Members of the Chaucer Society I apologize for the long delay in the production of the concluding Part of this volume. But it's an ill wind that blows nobody good. The delay has led to our getting the valuable help of Mr. W. A. Clouston in his own peculiar line; and all our Members will thank him for his interesting Paper on 'The Merchant and the Rogues,' p. 121-174 below. Canon Scott Robertson's long-promist Paper on the Pilgrim's road to Canterbury is not yet written. Let us pray that it soon will be. The second 'Supplementary Canterbury Tale,' Lydgate's 'Sege of Thebes,' has been undertaken by a Scandinavian friend, Dr. Axel Erdmann, who hopes to get it to press next year. Our Concordance to Chaucer has been taken in hand by Mr. Graham, after 7 years' neglect by Prof. Corson. I hope to live to see it finisht. Now that the first volume of the Philological Society's New English Dictionary, edited by Dr. J. A. H. Murray,¹ has been publisht by the generosity of the Clarendon Press, one need not despair of seeing the Chaucer Concordance in type, tho' it is not so far ahead as Mr. F. S. Ellis's Shelley Concordance. Westfield Terrace, Bakewell, Derbyshire,

13 August, 1888. F. J. FURNIVALL.

1 He is now at work on vol. ii, while volume iii is in the hands of Mr. Henry Bradley, Member of Council of the Philological Society. We started work at the Dictionary in 1858. CORRECTION. p. 80, 1. 2619, for ageyn[se] read ageyn[es]. (I leave each reader to supply, according to his taste, more insertions between brackets, to make all the lines of the Poem of normal length.)

The Prologue

The Merry Adventure of the Pardoner with a Tapster at Canterbury

1
¹The Prologue,
Or, the mery adventure of the Pardonere and Tapstere
at the Inn at Canterbury.¹
[Duke of Northumberland's MS 55, leaf 180, sign. AA 8.
After the Canon's Yeoman's Tale.]
"Hen at this ffressh[e] feleship were com to Caun- When the
As ye have herd to-fore, with talys glad & merry,
(Som of sotil centence, of vertu & of lore,
4
Pilgrims reach
Canterbury,
-after telling Tales
wise and loose,
And som of othir myrthis, for hem þat hold no store
Of wisdom, ne of holynes, ne of Chiualry,
Nethir of vertuouse matere, 2but [holich] to foly
Leyd wit & lustis all, to such[e nyce] Iapis
As Hurlewaynes meyne in every hegg that capes
Thurgh vnstabil mynde,-ryght as þe levis grene
Stondein a-geyn the wedir, ryȝt so by hem I mene ;-
Butt no more here-of nowe, [as] at þis ilche tyme,
In saving' of my centence, my prolog, & my ryme.)
They toke hir In, & loggit hem at mydmorowe, I trowe,
Atte "Cheker of the hope," þat many a man doith knowe. the-Hope' inn.
Hir/3 Hoost of Southwork þat with hem went, as ye have
herde to-fore,
1-1 Urry's title. There is none in the MS.
3 This 'r/' is for 'r' with a downward tag to it.
1
12
2 MS butto.
they put-up at
the 'Cheker-of-
S

The Pardoner
is welcomed by
the Tapster,
who shows him
her empty bed,
and weeps for
her lost husband.
The Pardoner
comforts her,
16
That was rewler/ of hem al, of las & eke of more,
Ordeyned hir/ dyner wisely, or they to chirch[e] went,
Such vitaillis as he fond in town), & for noon opir sent.
The Pardonere be-held the besynes, howe statis wer' I-servid,
Diskennyng hym al pryuely, & a syde swervid,
20
(The Hostelere was so halowid from o plase to a-nothir ;)
He toke his staff to the Tapstere: "welcom myne owne
bropere,"
24
Quod she, with a ffrendly look, al redy for to kys;
And he, as a man I-lernyd of such kynd[e]nes,
Bracyd hir/ by the myddil, & made hir/ gladly chere
As þouȝe he had I-knowe hir al the rathir yeer
She halid hym in-to the tapstry, þere hir bed was makid :
"Lo, Here I ligg" (quod she) "my selff al nyȝt al nakid
Without[en] mannys company, syn my love was dede: 29
Ienkyn Harpour/ yf ye hym know; from fete to þe hede
Was nat a lustier persone to daunce ne to lepe,
Then he was, þouȝe I it sey": And pere-with she to wepe
She made, &, with hir' napron) feir/ & white I-wassh,
She wypid sofft hir eyen, for teris þat she out lassh ;
As grete as eny mylstone, vpward gon they stert.
ffor love of hir' swetyng þat sat so nyȝe hir' hert,
She wept & waylid, & wrong hir/ hondis, & made much
to done;
33
36
[leaf 180, back]
ffor they that loven so passyngly, such trowes þey have
echone.
She snyffith, sighith, and shooke hire hede, and made rouful
chere.
"Benedicite," quod the Pardonere, & toke hir by the
swere;
40
"Yee make sorowe I-nowȝ," quod he, "yeur/ lyff þouȝe ye
shuld lese."
"It is no wondir," quod she than, And þere-with she gan
to fnese.
"Aha! al hole!" quod the Pardoner, "yeur/ penaunce
is som what passid."

3
"God forbede it els!" quod she, "but it were som-what
lassid,
44
I myste nat lyve els, þowe wotist, & it shuld longe endure."
"Now blessid be God of mendement, of hele & eke of
cure!"
Quod the Pardoner tho a-noon, & toke hir' by the Chynne, chucks her chin,
And seyd to hir þese wordis tho: "Allas! þat love ys syn!
50
So kynde a lover as yee be oon, & [eke] so trew of hert,
(ffor, be my trewe conscience, ȝit for ȝewe I smert,
And shal this month hereaftir, for yeur' soden disese :)
Now wele wer' hym ye lovid, so [þat] he coude ȝewe plese! and wishes he
I durst[e] swere oppon a book, þat trewe he shuld ȝewe
fynd;
53
ffor he þat is so 30re dede, is green [ȝit] in yeur/ mynde.
Ye made me a sory man; I dred yee wold have stervid."
"Graunt mercy, gentil Sir!" quod she, "pat¹ yee [been]
vnaservid
d;
Yee be a nobil man! I-blessid mut yee be!
57
could please her.
Sit[tith] down), [and] ye shul drynk!" "nay .I.-wis" (quod she offers him
he,)
drink,
61
then buys
him a pie,
"I am fastyng ȝit, myne owne hertis rote!"
"ffasting it! allas!" quod she, "þerof I can good bote."
She stert in-to the town, & fet a þy al hote,
And set to-fore the Pardoner'; "Ienken, I ween? I note:
Is that yeur/ name, I 30w prey?" "ȝe, I-wis myne owne
sustir;
So was I enformyd of hem þat did me foster'.
64
asks him his
name,
hers is Kit.
And what is yeurs ?" "Kitt, I-wis; so cleped me my dame." and tells him
"And Goddis blessing' have þow, Kitt! now broke wel thy
name!"
And pryuelich vnlasid his both[en] eyen liddes,
And lokid hir' in the visage paramour a-myddis;
And siȝhid pere-with a litil tyme, þat she it here myȝte,
And gan to trown & feyn this song, "now, loue, þou do me
68 The Pardoner
makes eyes at
her,
riȝte !"
1 for 'but.'

[leaf 181]
and says he's in
love with her.
Kit doubts;
a burnt cat
dreads the fire:
loving has done
her harm.
"Ete & be merry," quod she, "why breke yee nowt¹ yeur/
fast'?
To waite more feleshipp, it were but work in wast.
66
72
Why make yee so dul chere? for yeur/ love at home?"
Nay forsoth, myne own) hert! it is for ȝewe a-loon!"
"ffor me? allas! what sey yee? that wer' a sympil prey."
"Trewlich ȝit," quod the pardoner', "It is as I ȝewe sey."
"ȝe etith & beith mery, we wol speke pere-of [ful] sone;
'Brennyd Cat dredith feir/'; it is mery to be aloon : 78
ffor, by our/ lady mary, þat bare Ihesu on hir arm),
I coud nevir love ȝit, but it did me harm);
ffor evir my maner' hath be to love[n] ovir much.”
"Now Cristis blessing," quod the pardoner, "go with al[le]
81
The Pardoner
gives her a groat.
She refuses
it at first,
then takes it,
and asks him to
explain a Dream
she has had,
such!
84
Lo! howe the clowdis worchyn, eche man to mete his match!
ffor trewly, gentil Cristian, I vse þe same tach,
And have I-do [ful] many a ȝer; I may it nat for-ber';
ffor 'kynde wol have his cours,' þouȝ men þe contrary
swer."
And perwith he stert vp smertly, & cast [a]down) a grote,
"What shal this do, gentil Sir? Nay, sir! for my cote
I nold yee payde a peny her', & [tho] so sone pas !" 89
The Pardonere swore his gretter othe, he wold[e] pay no las.
"I-wis, sir, it is ovir-do! but sith it is yeur/ will,
I wol put it in my purs, lest yee it take in il
92
To refuse your/ curtesy:" And pere-with she gan to bowe.
"Now trewly," quod the Pardoner, "yeur/ maners been to
alowe ;
ffor had ye countid streytly, & no thing lefft be-hynde,
96
I myȝte have wele I-demed þat yee be vnkynde,
And eke vntrewe of hert, & sonner me forȝete,
But ye list be my tresorer; for we shut offter mete."
"Now certen," quod the tapster, “yee have a red ful even,
As wold to God yee couth as wele vndo my sweven
That I my selff did mete this nyȝt þat is I-passid :
1 MS nowe.
100

5
103
How I was in a chirch, when it was al I-massid ;
And was in my devocioune tyl service was al doon,
TyH the Preest & the clerk [ful] boystly bad me goon,
And put me out of the chirch with [right] an egir mode." church.
"Now, seynt Danyel," quod þe pardonere, "yeur/ swevyn
turne to good!
that she was
turned out of
And I woh halsow it to the best, have it in yeur/ mynd; The Pardoner
ffor comynly of these swevenys þe contrary men shul fynde
'Yee have be a lover glad, & litil Ioy I-had;
Pluk vp a lusty hert, & be mery & glad;
:
says her Dream
109
[leaf 181, back]
112
have a husband,
¹ffor yee shul have an husbond, þat shal ȝewe wed to wyve, means that she'll
That shal love ȝewe as hert[e]ly, as his owne lyve.
The preest þat put ȝewe out of Chirch, shal lede ȝew in and the priest
ageyn),
117
will lead her into
church again.
(It's not a par-
ticularly holy
story, this;
And help[en] to yeur/ mariage, with al his myȝte & mayn) :'
This is the sweven al & som; Kit, how likith the?"
"Be my trowith, wondir wele; blessid mut þowe be!"
Then toke he leve at þat tyme, tyl he com efft sone,
And went [un]to 2 his feleshippe, as it was [for] to doon.
(Þouȝe it be no grete holynes to prech þis ilk matere,
And þat som list [not] to her' it; ȝit, sirs,³ ner þe latter
Endurith for a while, & suffrith hem þat woll,
And yee shul here howe þe Tapster made þe Pardoner pul but you'll soon
Garlik al the longe nyȝte, til it was nere end¹ day ;
ffor þe more cher' she made of love, þe falsher' was hir lay;
But litil charge gaff she ther-of', þouȝe she aquyt his while,
ffor ethir-is pouȝt & tent was, othir to begile,
As yee shut here her-aftir, when tyme comyth & spase
To meve such mater. but nowe a litil spase
I wol retourne me ageyn) [un]to the company.)
The knyȝt & al the feleshipp, & no þing for to ly,
When they wer al I-loggit, as skil wold, & reson,
Everich aftir his degre, to Chirch þen was seson
To pas[sen] & to wend, to make[n] hir offringis,
Riȝte as hir' devocioune was, of sylvir broch & ryngis.
2 MS wentto.
3
MS ȝit sir ȝit sirs
4
121
128
see how the
Tapster sold the
Pardoner.)
All the Pilgrims
132 go to Canterbury
Cathedral, to
make their
offerings.
near hand, nearly.

The Knight
settles who's to
go-in first.
Then atte Chirch[e] dorr the curtesy gan to ryse,
Tyl þe knyȝt, of gentilnes, þat knewe riȝte wele þe guyse,
Put forth þe Prelatis, þe Person, & his fere.
137
them with holy
A monk sprinkles A monk, þat toke þe spryngil with a manly chere,
And did [right] as the maner' is, moillid al hir/ patis,
Everich aftir othir, riȝte as þey wer' of states.
water,
and won't let the The ffrere feynyd fetously the spryngil for to hold,
Friar take the
sprinkler,
see the Nun's
140
To spryng' oppon the remnaunt,-þat for his cope he nold
Have lafft that occupacioune in þat holy plase,~
as he so wants to so longid his holy conscience to se þe Nonnys fase. 144
The knyȝte went with his compers toward þe holy shryne,
The Knight goes To do þat they were com fore, & aftir for to dyne; [leaf 182]
face.
to
The Pardoner,
Miller, &c.,
make funny
guesses as to
glass window
The Pardoner & þe Miller, & opir lewde sotes,
Souȝt hem selff[en] in the Chirch, riȝt as lewd[e] gotes;
Pyrid fast, & pourid, hiȝe oppon the glase,
Countirfeting gentilmen, þe armys for to blase,
149
Diskyueryng' fast the peyntour, & for þe story mourned,
what the stained- And a red [it] also right as [wolde] Rammys hornyd: 152
"He berith a balstaff," quod the toon, " & els a rakis ende.”
"Thow faillist," quod the Miller, "þowe hast nat wel by
means.
The Host scolds
them, and sends
them to the
Shrine.
and pray;
mynde ;
It is a spere, yf þowe canst se, [right] with a prik to-fore,
To bussh adown his enmy, & þurh the Sholdir bore." 156
"Pese!" quod the hoost of Southwork, "let stond þe wyn-
dow glasid!
Goith
vp, & doith yeur/ offerynge! yee semeth half amasid!
Sith yee
be in company of honest men & good,
Worchith somwhat aftir, & let þe kynd of brode
Pas for a tyme! I hold it for the best;
160
ffor who doith after company, may lyve the bet in rest.”
Then passid they forth boystly, goglyng with hir hedis,
There they kneel Knelid a down) to-fore the shryne, & hert[i]lich hir' bedis
They preyd to Seynt Thomas, in such wise as þey couth;
And sith, the holy relikis, ech man with his mowith 166
Kissid, as a goodly monke þe names told & tauȝt.
And sith to othir placis of holynes þey rauȝte,
kiss the relics,
168

And were in hir' devocioun tyl service wer' al doon;
And sith þey drowȝ to dynerward, as it drew to noon.
Then, as manere & custom is, signes pere þey bouȝte,-
ffor men of contre shuld[e] know whom þey had[de]
ouȝte,-
172
176
and hear all the
service.
Then they buy
Pilgrims' Tokens.
The Miller steals
a lot of Canter-
bury brooches.
Ech man set his sylvir in such thing as þey likid :
And in þe meen[e] while, the Miller' had I-pikid
His bosom ful of signys of Cauntirbury brochis:
Huch þe Pardoner, & he, pryuely in hir' pouchis
þey put hem aftirward, þat noon of hem it' wist,
Save þe Sompnour seid somwhat, & seyd[e] to ham "list! The Summoner
Halff part!" quod he, pryuely rownyng' on hir' ere:
"Hussht! pees!" quod þe Miller, "seist þowe nat
frere,
cries 'halves!'
the The Miller says,
'Hush! look at
180 the Friar!
He's looking.
[leaf 182, back]
Howe he lowrith vndir his hood with a doggissh ey?
Hit shuld be a pryuy thing that he coude nat a-spy:
Of euery crafft he can somwhat, our lady gyve hym sorowe!" Curse him! '
"Amen!" tho quod the Sompnour, "on eve & eke on 'Amen! Devil
morowe !
184
188
take him!
the next tale I
tell!'
So cursid a tale he told of me, the devil of hel hym spede!
And me, but yf I pay hym wele, & quyte wele his mede, I'll pay him out,
Yf it hap[pene] homward þat ech man tell his tale,
As wee did hidirward, þouȝe wee shuld set at sale,
Al the shrewdnes that I can, I wol hym no thing' spare,
That I nol touch his taberd, somwhat of¹ his care!"
They set hir signes oppon hir' hedis, & som oppon
cappe,
hir' They stick their
Tokens in their
191 caps,
And sith[then] to the dynerward, they gan [nè] for to stappe.
Euery man in his degre, wissh, & toke his sete
As they were wont to doon at soper & at mete,
And wer in scilence for a tyme, til girdiH2 gon a-rise ;
But then, as nature axith, (as these old wise
Knowen wele,) when veynys been som-what replete,
The spiritis wol stere, & also metis swete
196
1 ? to.
2 Urry reads 'good ale'; but 'girdill' makes
good sense 'till their bellies swelled.'
wash, and sit
down to dinner.
Silence is kept
at first;
but full bellies
make men merry

and soon all are
talking and
joking.
Causen offt[e] myrthis for to be I-mevid,
And eke it was no tyme tho for to be I-grevid:
Euery man in his wise made hertly chere,
Talyng [to] his felowe of sportis & of chere,
And of othir myrthis þat fyllyn by the wey,
200
As custom is of pilgryms, & hath been many a day. 204
The Host thanks The hoost leyd to his ere, of Southwork as ye knowe,
And thenkid al the company, both[en] hiȝe & lowe,
the Pilgrims
for having told
Tales on the
way down;
and says each
man must tell
another Tale on
the way back,
[leaf 183]
and he'll give
them all a supper
at Southwark,
as he promist.
agree.
'So wele kepeing the covenaunt, in Southwork þat was
made,
That euery man shuld, by the wey, with a tale glade 208
Al the hole company in shorting' of þe wey ;'
"And al is wele perfourmed. but pan nowe þus I sey,
That wee must so homward, eche man tel a-noþir;
Thus we were accordit, And I shuld be a rothir
66
212
To set[ten] ȝewe in governaunce by riȝtful Iugement."
Trewly, hoost," quod the ffrer, "þat was al our/ assent,
With a litil more þat I shal sey ther'-to.
216
220
Yee grauntid of yeur/ curtesy, þat wee shuld also,
Al the hole company, sope with ȝewe at nyȝte:
Thus I trow[e] þat it was: what sey yee, sir knyȝte?"
"It shal nat nede," quod the hoost, "to axe no witnes;
Yeur record is good I-nowe; & of yeur gentilnes
ȝit I prey ȝewe efft ageyn: for, by seynt Thomas shryne,
And yee wol hold [yeur] covenaunt, I wol hold[en] myne.”
"Now trewly, hoost," quod the knyȝt, "yee have riȝt wel
I-sayd;
All the Pilgrims And, as towching my persone, I hold me [wel a]payde ;
And so I trowe þat al doith. sirs, what sey[e] yee?" 225
The Monke, & eke the Marchaunte, & al seid, "ȝe!"
"Then al this aftir-mete I hold it for the best
The Host says,
'Now go and
amuse your-
selves,'
To sport & pley vs," quod the hoost, "eche man as hym
lest,
And go by tyme to soper, & [thanne] to bed also;
So mowe wee erly rysen, our' iourney for to do."
228
The knyȝt arose ther-with-al, & cast on a fressher' gown),

9
And his sone a-nothir, to walk[en] in the town);
232 The Knight and
his Son change
their clothes,
And so did al the remnaunt þat were of þat aray,
That had hir chaungis with hem; they made hem fressh
& gay,
Sortid hem to-gidir, riȝte as hir' lustis lay,
236
As þey were [the] more vsid, traveling by the wey.
The knyȝt [tho] with his meyne went to ¹ se the wal,
And þe wardes of the town), as to a knyȝt be-fal;
Devising ententiflich þe strengthis al a-bout,
And a-poyntid to his sone þe perel & þe dout,
ffor shot of Arblast & of bowe, & eke for shot of gonne,
Vn-to be wardis of the town, & howe it myȝt be wone;
And al defence ther a-geyn, aftir his entent
240
244
and go to see the
wall and defences
of the town.
The Knight
shows how it can
be won, and
defended.
He declarid compendiously. & al that evir he ment,
His 2 sone perseyvid every poynt, as he was ful abil
To Armes, & to travail, and persone covenabil;
He was of al factur, aftir fourm) of kynde;
The Squire
understands it
all,
his lady-love.
And for to deme his governaunce, it semed þat his mynde but is thinking of
Was [set] much in his lady þat he lovid best,
249
That made hym offt to wake, when he shuld have his rest.
The Clerk þat was of Oxinforth, on-to þe Sompnore seyd,
"Me semeth of grete clerge þat þow art a mayde;
ffor þow puttist on the ffrer, in maner' of repreff,
That he knowith falshede, vice, & eke a theff;
252 The Clerk tells
the Summoner
that the Friar
is justified in
knowing of evil
things, as he
And I it hold vertuouse and right commendabit [leaf 183, bk] can then avoid
To have verry knowlech of thingis reprouabil.
256
them;
ffor who so [doth,] may eschew it, and let it pas[sen] by,
And els he myste fall ther'-on, vnware & sodenly.
And þouȝe the ffrere told a tale of a [false] Sompnour,
Thowe ouȝtist for to take[n] it for no dishonour';
260
ffor, of alle crafftis, and of eche degre,
They be nat al perfite; but som [ful] nyce be."
"Lo! what is worthy," seyd the knyȝte, "for to be a clerk !
To sommon a-mong vs hem³, þis mocioune was ful derk;
I comend his wittis, & eke his [grete] clerge,
265
1 MS wentto. 2 MS He. 3 ? To some men among us here.
and so the Sum-
moner oughtn't
to be angry with
the Friar for his
tale.

The Monk asks
the Parson and
Friar to visit an
acquaintance
with him.
The Monk, Par-
son, and Friar,
drink wine
together.
The Wife of Bath
takes the Prioress
ffor of ethir parte he savith honeste."
268
272
The monke toke the person þen, & þe grey[e] ffrer,
And preyd[e] hem ful¹ curteysly for to go in fere:
"I have ther a queyntaunce, þat al this yeris thre
Hath preyd me 2 by his lettris þat I hym wold[e] se:
And yee [be] my brothir in habit & in possessioune.
And now [þat] I am her, me thinkith it is to doon,
To preve[n] it in dede, what cher' he wold me make,
And to ȝewe, my frende, also for my sake."
They went forth to-gidir, talking of holy matere:
But woot ye wele, in certeyn, they had no mynd on water
To drynk[en] at that tyme, when they wer' met in fere;
ffor of the best þat myȝt be found, & þer-with mery cher'
They had, it is no doute; for spycys & eke wyne
Went round aboute, þe gascoyn, & eke the ruyne.3
275
280
to see the inn-
garden at Can-
terbury, full of
pot-herbs, &c.,
[leaf 184]
The wyff of bath was so wery, she had no will to walk;
She toke the Priores by the hond: "madam! wol ye stalk
Pryuely in-to þe garden, to se the herbis growe?
And aftir, with our hostis wyff, in hir parlour rowe,
284
I wohl gyve ȝewe the wyne, & yee shut me also ;
ffor tyl wee go to soper wee have nauȝt ellis to do."
The Priores, as vomman tauȝt of gentil blood, & hend,
Assentid to hir counsel; and forth [tho] gon they wend,
Passyng forth [ful] sofftly in-to the herbery:
289
ffor many a herbe grewe, for sew¹ & surgery;
And al the Aleyis feir' I-parid, I-raylid, & I-makid;
The sauge, & the Isope, I-frethid & I-stakid;
And othir beddis by & by [ful] fressh I-dight:
ffor comers to the hoost, riȝte a sportful sight.
292
a pretty sight.
The Merchant,
&c., go into the
town.
The Marchaunt, & þe mancipil, þe Miller, & þe Reve,
And the Clerk of Oxinforth, to townward gon they meve,
And al the othir meyne; & lafft noon at home,
297
But the Pardoner Save the Pardoner, þat pryvelich, when al they wer' goon,
Stalkid in-to the tapstry: for no thing wold he leve,
stalks into the
taproom after
his Kit,
1 MS for.
p. 202.
4
2 MS hym. 36 'wyne de Ryne', Babees Book,
soup, cooking: potherbs.

To make his covenaunte in certen, þat same eve
300 to secure her for
304
He wold be loggid with hir; þat was his hole entencioun).
(But hap, & eke ffortune, & al the constellacioune,
Was clenè hym ageyns, as yee shul aftir here;
ffor hym had better be I-loggit al nyȝt in a myere,
Then he was þe same nyȝte, or the sonne was vp:
ffor such was his fortune, he drank with-out þe cupp;
But pereof wist[e] he no dele; ne no man of vs alle
May have þat hiȝe connyng, to know what shal be-falle.)
He stappid in-to the tapstry wondir pryuely,
And fond hir' liggyng lirylong; with half[e] sclepy eye
Pourid fellich vndir hir hood, & sawe al his comyng',
And lay ay stil, as nauȝt she knewe, but feynyd hir sclep-
ing'.
309
312
the eve.
(But he gets
sold.)
The Pardoner
finds Kit half-
asleep,
He put his hond to hir brest: "a-wake!" quod he, "a- puts his hand
wake!"
"A! benedicite, sir, who wist ȝewe here? out! þus I myȝt
be take
Prisoner," quod the tapstere, "being' al aloon ;"
And perwith breyd vp in a friȝte, & be-gan to groon. 316
320
324
on her,
She says she
must;
but he was rude,
& ought to have
cought before
he came in.
"Nowe, sith yee be my prisoner, ȝeld ȝewe now!" quod he, and says ‘Yield.'
"I must[e] nedis," quod she, "I may no thing' fle;
And eke I have no strengith, & am but yong' of Age,
And also it is no mastry to cach a mouse in a cage,
That may no where stert out, but closid wondir fast;
And eke, Sir, I tel ȝewe, þouȝ I had grete hast,
Yee shuld have couȝid when ye com. wher' lern ye curtesy
Now trewlich I must chide, for of riȝte pryuyte
Vommen been som tyme of day, when they be aloon.
Wher coud I ([I] ȝewe prey) when yee com efft-sone?"
"Nowe mercy, dere sweting! I wol do so no more:
I thank[e] ȝew an hundrit sithis! & also by yeur/ lore
I wol do here-aftir, in what place þat I com.
But lovers, Kitt, ben evit avisid ful offt & to lom;
Whorfor I prey ȝew hertlich, hold[ith] me excusid,
And I be-hote ȝew trewly, it shal no more be vsid.
The Pardoner
begs her pardon,
[leaf 184, back]
329
332

and asks how
she's been getting
on.
He's very fond
of her.
Kit says
she's sure the
Pardoner's
conjured her,
But nowe to our purpose: how have yee [i]fare
Sith I was with last? þat
ȝew
is my most[e] care.
ffor yf yee eylid eny thing othir-wise þen good,
Trewly it wold chaunge my chere & [eke] my blood." 336
"I have I-farid the wers for ȝewe," quod Kitt, "do ye no
drede
God þat is a-bove? & eke yee had no nede
ffor to congir me, god woot, with yeur/ nygromancy,
That have no more to vaunce me, but oonly my body; 340
And yf it were disteynyd, þen wer I on-do.
I-wis I trowe, Ienkyn, ye be nat to trust to!
and made her in ffor evir-more yee clerkis con so much in book,
Yee wol wyn a vomman, atte first[e] look."
love with him.
He asks if he
may lie with
her that night.
She says, 'Yes,
but come late,
and open the
door quietly.'
They drink to
seal the bargain,
344
Thouȝt the Pardoner, this goith wele'; & made hir
better chere,
348
And axid of hir sofft[e]ly: "lord, who shal ligge[n] here
This nyȝte þat is to comyng? I prey ȝewe telle me!"
"Iwis it is grete nede to telle ȝew," quod she:
"Make it nat ovir queynt, þouȝe yee be a clerk !
Ye know wele I-nouȝ I-wis, by loke, by word, by work!"
"Shal I com þen, Cristian, & fese a-wey þe Cat?"
"Shul yee com, sir? benedicite! what question is that?
Where-for I prey ȝew hertly, do be my counsaille;
Comyth som what late, & for no thing faille;
The dorr shall stond char vp; put it from ȝew sofft :
But, be wel avisid, ye wake nat them on lofft." 356
"Care ye nat," quod Ienken, "I can there-on atte best;
Shal no man for my stering' be wakid of his rest.”
353
360
Anoon they dronk the beuerage, & wer of oon accord
As it semed by hir chere, & also by hir/ word:
And al a-scaunce she lovid hym wele, she toke hym by the
swere,
As þouȝe she had lernyd cury fauel, of som old[e] ffrere.
and the Pardoner The pardonere plukkid out of his purs, I trow, þe dow[e]ry,
gives her money
for a late supper,
And toke it Kit, in hir hond, & bad hir pryuely
'To orden a rere soper for hem both[e] to,-
[leaf 185]
365

13
367
and a cawdle of
wine and sugar.
A cawdel I-made with swete wyne, & with sugir also ;—
ffor trewly I have no talent to ete in yeur absence;
So longith my hert toward ȝewe, to be in yeur/ presence.'
He toke his leve, & went his wey as þouȝe no þing were,
And met with al the fel[e]shippe; but in what plase ne where Then the Par-
He spak no word ther-of, but held hym close & stil
As he þat hopid sikirlich to have had al his wit;
And þouȝt [ful] many a mery pouȝt by hym self a-loon :
"I am I-loggit," þouȝt he, "best, howe-so-evir it gone!
And þouȝe it have costid me, ȝit wol I do my peyn)
372
doner goes back
to his mates,
and thinks he'll
have the best bed,
ffor to pike hir purs to nyȝte, & wyn my cost ageyn." 376 and pick Kit's
Now leve I the Pardonere til þat it be eve,
And woll retourne me ageyn riȝt ther as I did leve.
Whan al wer com to-gidir, in[to] hir' herbegage,
pocket too.
The hoost of Southwork, as ye knowe, þat had no spice of The Host
rage,
But al thing wrouȝt prudencial, as sobir man & wise;
380
"Nowe wol wee to the souper, sir knyȝt, seith yeur/ proposes Supper.
avyse,"
384 The Knight
says he'll act
Quod the hoost ful curteysly; & in þe same wise
The knyȝt answerd hym ageyn, "sir, as yee devise
I must obey, yee woot wele; but yf I faille witt,
Then takith þese prelatis to ȝewe, & wasshith, & go sit ;
ffor I wol be yeur/ Marchal, & serve[n] ȝewe echone ;
And þen þe officers & I, to soper shul wee goon." 388
They wissh, & sett riȝte as he bad, ech man with his fere, They sit down in
And begonne to talk, of sportis & of chere
392
þat they had þe aftir-mete, whils [þat] þey were out;
ffor othir occupacioun, til they were servid aboute,
þey had nat at þat tyme, but eny man kitt a loff;
But þe Pardonere kept hym close, & told[e] no þing' of
The myrth & hope þat he had, but kept it for hym-selff';
And þouȝe he did, it is no fors; for he had nede to solue
Long or it wer mydnyȝt, as yee shul here sone;
ffor he met with his love, in crokeing of þe moon.
as Marshall.
order, and chat
of their after-
noon's walk.
(The Pardoner
keeps quiet;
but he has to
'sol-fa' for it
397
afterwards.)
They were I-seruyd honestly, & ech man held hym payde:

At Supper, all
fare equally, as
all pay alike;
ffor of o maner of service hir' soper was araide,
400
[leaf 185, back]
As skil wold, & reson, sith the lest of al
Payid I-lich[e] much, for growing of þe gal.
But ȝit, as curtesy axith, þouȝ it' were som dele streyte,
but the 'quality' The statis þat wer a-bove had of þe feyrest endreyte. 404
Wherfor they did hir gentilnes ageyn to al þe rout;
get the pick,
and therefore
stand wine for
the others.
After Supper,
the steady men
go to bed.
The Miller and
Cook sit up
drinking.
The Pardoner
sings (that Kit
may hear him)
with the Sum-
moner, Reeve, &c.
This angers the
Host and
Merchant,
off to bed,
They dronken wyne at hire cost, onys round a-boute.
1
Nowe pass y¹ ligtly ovir: when they soupid had,
Tho that were of governaunce, as wise men & sad
Went to hir' rest, & made no more to doon;
Butte 2 Miller & þe Coke, dronken by the moon
Twyes to ech othir in the repenyng".
408
gan to syng',
And when the Pardoner hem aspied, a-noon he
"Doubil me this bourdon," chokelyng in his throte, 413
ffor the tapster' shuld[e] here of his mery note.
He clepid to hym the Sompnoure þat was his own) discipill,
The yeman, & the Reve, & [eke] þe Mauncipit; 416
And stoden so holowing'; for no thing wold they leve,
Tyl the tyme þat it was wel within [the] eve.
The hoost of Southwork herd hem wele, & þe Marchaunt
both,
As they were at a-countis, & wexen som-what wroth. 420
who get them all But ȝit they preyd hem curteysly to reste for to wend;
And so they did, al they route, þey dronk & made an ende;
And eche man drouȝe to cusky, to sclepe & take his rest,
Save þe Pardonere, þat drewe apart, & weytid hym a trest³
ffor to hyde hym selff, til the candit were out.
except the Par-
doner, who hides.
Kit, her Para-
mour, and the
Hostler, have a
good supper off
the goose and
cawdle that the
425
And in the meen[e] while, have ye no doute,
The tapster & hir/ Paramour, & the Hosteler' of the House
Sit to-gidir pryuelich, & of þe best[e] gouse
hat was I-found in town), & I-set at sale,
Pardoner's paid They had ther-of sufficiaunt, & dronk but liti ale;
for.
428
And sit & ete þe cawdel, for þe Pardonere þat was made
With sugir & with swete wyne, riȝt as hym-selff[e] bade:
1 MS passy.
2 But the.
3 Urry prints by a chaste.'
MS Sitto gidir.

15
So he þat payd for all in feer, [ne] had[de] nat a twynt;
ffor offt is more better I-merkid then [there is] I-mynt:
And so [it] farid pere ful riȝte, as yee have I-herd.
[leaf 186]
woman make a
fool of, if she sets
her mind on it ?
But I mustn't
offend the Ladies.
440
(But who is, þat a womman coud nat make his berd, 436 (Whom can't a
And she were there-about, & set hir/ wit ther'-to?
Yee woot wele I ly nat; &, wher' I do or no,
I wol nat here termyn it,―lest ladies stond in plase,
Or els gentil vommen,-for lesing' of my grace,
Of daliaunce & of sportis, & of goodly chere;
Therfor, anenst hir estatis, I woll in no manere
Deme ne determyn; but of lewd[e] kittis,
As tapsters, & oper such, þat hath wyly wittis.
To pik mennys pursis, & eke to bler hir eye;
So wele they makè semè soth, when þey falssest ly.)
Now of Kitt Tapster', & of hir Paramour,
I'll only scold
Kits and Tapsters
444 who blear men's
eyes.)
And the hosteler' of þe House, þat sit in kittis bour': 448
When they had ete & dronk riȝt in the same plase,
Kit be-gan to rendir out al thing' as it was,-
The wowing of þe Pardonere, & his cost also,
After their
carouse
Kit tells her
Paramour and the
Hostler all the
Pardoner's moves
And howe he hopid for to lygg al nyȝt with hir' also; 452 to lie with her;
"But þerof he shall be sikir as of goddis cope;"
And sodenly kissid hir Paramour; & seyd, "we shul sclope but says she'll
Togidir hul by hul, as we have many a nyȝte.
sleep with her
Paramour, and he
shall thrash the
And yf he com & make noyse, I prey ȝew dub hym knyȝt." Pardoner.
"ȝis, dame," quod hir Paramour, "be þow nat a-gast! 457
This is his owne staff, þou seyist; þereof he shal a-tast!"
"Now trewly," quod the hosteler, "& he com by my lot,
He shall drynk for kittis love with-out[e] cup or pot; 460
And he be so hardy to wake[n] eny gist,
I make a-vowe to þe Pecok, þere shal wake a foul myst;"
And arose vp ther-with-al, & toke his leve a-noon :-
It was a shrewid company; they had servid so many oon.
With such maner' of feleshipp ne kepe I nevir to dele, 465
Ne no man þat lovith his worshipp & his hele.—
Quod Kitt to hir Paramour, "ye must wake a while,
ffor trewlich I am sikir, þat within this myle
The Hostler de-
clares that if the
Pardoner comes
by him, he'll
pay him out.
Kit tells her
Paramour to
468 watch, and take

care to cool the
Pardoner's heat.
She goes to bed.
The Pardoner
goes to Kit's
door,
The Pardonere wol be comyng', his hete to a-swage;
But loke ye pay hym redelich, to kele[n] his corage;
And perfor, love, dischauce yewe nat til þis chek be do."
"No! for God! kit! þat wol I no!"
Then Kit went to bed, & blewe out al the liȝte,
And by that tyme it was, nere hond quarter nyȝt.'
•
472
Whan al was stil, the Pardonere gan to walk, [leaf 186, bk]
As glad as eny goldfynch, þat he herd no man talk:
And drouȝe to Kittis dorward, to herken & to list,
476
expecting to find And went to 2 have fond þe dor vp by þe hasp; & eke þe
it unlockt,
but it's lockt.
twist
Held hym out a whils, & þe lok also;
ȝit trowid he no gyle, but went[e] nere to,
480
He scratches and And scrapid the dorr welplich, & wynyd with his mowith,
whines like a dog.
Aftir a doggis lyden³, as nere as he couth.
Kit's Paramour
shouts at him.
The Pardoner
sees that he's
sold,
swears at Kit,
and wishes she
were in the
stocks.
484
"Away, dogg, with evil deth!" quod he, þat was within,
And made hym al redy, the dorr [for] to vnpyn.
"A!" thouȝt þe Pardoner tho, "I trow my berd be made!
The tapster hath a paramour, & Hath made hem glade
With þe Cawde þat I ordeyned for me, as I ges:
Now the devil hir' spede, such oon as she is!
She seid I had I-congerid hir': our lady gyve hir' sorow!
Now wold to God she were in stokkis til I shuld hir
borowe !
ffor she is the falssest þat evir ȝit I knewe,
488
To pik þe mony out of my purs! lord! she made hir
trew!"
A cool end to all And þer-with he cauȝt a cardiakit & a cold sot;
ffor who hath love longing, & is of corage Hote,
his warm love-
longings!
492
He hath ful many a myry þouȝt to-fore his delyte;
And riȝt so had the Pardoner, and was in evil pliȝte; 496
ffor fayling of his purpose he was no thing in ese ;
Wherfor he fil sodenlich in-to a [ful] wood rese,
This line is repeated on the back of leaf 186, sign. BB6:
'And by that tyme it was nere quarter nyȝte.'
2 MS wentto (thought to).
3
Latin, language,

17
Entryng wondir fast in-to a fren[e]sy,
ffor pure verry angir, & for gelousy;
ffor when he herd a man within, he was almost wood;
500
And be-cause þe cost was his, no marvel þouȝ his¹ mood
Were turned in-to vengaunce, yf it myȝt[e] be:
But this was the myscheff, al so strong as he
Was he þat was within, & liȝter man also;
As previd wel þe bate be-twene hem both[e] to.
He gets in a
furious mad rage,
and vows
vengeance.
504
The Pardonere scrapid efft a-geyn; for no þing wold he The Pardoner
blyn,
So feyn he wold have her[e]d more of hym þat was with-in.
scratches again.
"What dogg is þat?" quod the Paramour; "Kit! wost Kit tells her
þou ere?"
509
Paramour
"Have God my trowith," quod she, "it is þe Pardonere."
"The Pardoner with myscheff! god gyve hym evil preff!" it's that thief of a
Sir," she seid[e], "be my trowith he is þe same theff."
"Ther-of þow liest," quod the Pardonere, & myȝt nat long The Pardoner
66
forbere,
513
Pardoner.
[leaf 187]
"A, thy fals body!" quod he, "þe devil of hell þe tere! abuses Kit,
""
516 calls her many
519
ffor be my trowith a falssher' sawe I nevir noon :
And nempnid hir namys many mo þen oon,
Huch 2, to rech[en] hire, were noon honeste
Amonge[s] men of good, of worship & degre.
But shortly to conclude; when he had chid I-nowe,
He axid his staff spitouslich with wordis sharp & rowe.
"Go to bed," quod he within, “no more noyse þow make !
Thy staff shall be redy to morow, I vndirtake."
"In soth," quod he, "I wol nat fro þe dorr[e] vend
TyH I have my staff, þow bribour!" "þen have þe todir
end!"
Quod he þat was with-in; & leyd it on his bak,
Riȝte in the same plase, as Chapmen berith hir pak;
And so he did too mo, as he coud a-rede,
Graspyng aftir with the staff in lengith & eke in brede,
And fond hym othir while red[i]lich I-nowȝe
524
529
bad names,
and asks for his
staff.
The Paramour
hits him with it
on his back
1 MS he.
2 which.
2

.
and brow.
The Hostler
takes a staff,
and joins his
mates.
The Paramour
tells Jack there's
a thief in the
house.
If they can get a
light, they'll
catch him.
But they can't
wake the
Mistress, as it'd
make her in such
a rage.
Jack tells the
Paramour to go
up and look in
the ashes,
With the staffys end hiȝe oppon his browe.
The hosteler' lay oppon his bedd, & herd of this affray,
And stert hym vp liȝtlich, & pouȝt he wold a-say:
He toke A staff in his hond, & hiȝed wondir blyve
532
TyH he were with the felisshipp þat shuld nevir thryve :
"What be yee?" quod the hosteler, & knew hem both[e]
wele.
"Hyust! þese!" quod the paramour'; "Iak, þow must
be-fele.
536
Ther is a theff, I tel the, with-in this halle dorr.”
"A theff!" quod Iak! "this is a nobil chere
That þow hym hast I-found; yf wee hym myȝte cache."
66
ȝis, ȝis, care the nauȝt; with hym wee shul mache
Wel Inowȝe, or he be go, yf so we had[de] liȝte;
540
ffor wee too be stronge Inowȝ with o man for to fiȝte.”
"The Devil of hel," quod Iak, "breke this thevis bonys!
The key of the kychen, as it were for þe nonys,
Is above with oure dame, & she hath such vsage,
544
And she be wake[n] of hir/ sclepe, she fallith in such a rage,
That al the wook aftir ther' may no man hir' plese,
So she sterith aboute this house in a [ful] wood rese. 548
But now I am a-visid bet how we shull have lyȝte; [lf 187, bk]
I have too gistis a-ryn¹, that this same nyȝte
Sopid in the hal, & had a liti feire.
552
Go vp," quod Iak, “& loke, & in the asshis pire2;
And I woh kepe the dorr; he shal nat stert out."
"Nay, for God! þat wol I nat, lest I cach a cloute,"
Seid the todir to Iak; "for þow knowest better þen I
Al the estris of this house: go vp thy selff, & spy!" 556
"Nay for soth!" quod Iak, "that were grete vnryȝte,
To aventur oppon a man þat with hym did nat fiȝte.
Sithens þow hast hym bete, & with þy staff I-pilt,
Me pinkith it were no reson þat I shuld bere þe gilt: 560
ffor, by the blysyng of the cole, he myȝt se myne hede,
And ligtly leue ³ me such a stroke, ny hond to be dede.
3
¹? herein, within. See 1.569.
2
peer.
3
or lene.

19
564
or go with him
to search for
the thief;
but mind the
1 þen wolf wee do by comon assent, sech hym al aboute;
Who þat metith hym first, pay hym on the snoute;
ffor me þouȝt I herd hym here last among the pannys.
Kepe þow the todir syde, but ware þe watir cannys!
And yf he be here in, right sone wee shul hym fynd;
And wee to be strong Inowȝe, o theff for to bynd."
"A! ha ha!" þouȝt þe Pardonere, "beth pere pannys The Pardoner
a-ryn?"
And drouȝe oppon þat side, & pouȝt oppon a gynne:
So atte last he fond oon, & set it on his hede;
568
water-cans!
finds a pan,
572
ladle,
hits the Paramour
ffor, as the case was fall, there-to he had grete nede.
But ȝit he graspid ferthermore to have somwhat in honde, gets hold of a
And fond a grete ladil, riȝt as he was gonde,
And pouȝt[e] for to stert[en] out be-twen hem both[e] to;
And waytid wele the paramour þat had [de] doon hym wo;
And set hym with þe ladil on the grusti on þe nose, 577
That al the wook [þer-]aftir he had such a pose,
That both his eyen waterid erlich by the morowe.
But she þat cause was of al, had þerof no sorowe.
580
But nowe to be Pardoner': as he wold stert awey,
The hosteler met with hym, but no thing to his pay:
The Pardoner' ran so swith, þe pan [ne] fil hym fro,
And Iak [the] hosteler' aftir hym, as blyve as he myȝt go;
And stappid oppon a bronde, al [at] vn-[a-]ware,
That hym had been better to have goon more a-sware :
585
on the nose with
it, and makes his
nose run for a
week.
Hostler Jack
chevies the
Pardoner, who
drops his pan,
and its edge cuts
a vein and sinew
588 in Jack's shin.
[leaf 188]
ffor þe egge of þe panne met with his shyn,
And karff a too a veyn, & þe next[e] syn.
But whils þat it was grene, he pouȝt [ful] litil on,
But when þe oeptas 2 was a-past, þe greff sat nere þe boon.
ȝet Iak leyd to his hond to grope wher it sete;
And when he fond he was I-hurt, þe Pardonere he gan to
thrett,
592
¹ The Paramour may begin here; but he'd hardly know that
the water-cans were in the place.
2 Urry prints 'greneness.' "Typica Febris. Glossæ antiquæ
MSS. Typica febris est, quam quidem periodicam vocant. PAPIÆ,
vel Triteus, vel Tetreus, vel Tphemerius, vel penteus, vel epteus, vel
hebdom." JOAN. DE JANUA, febris periodica.
Jack swears he'll
thrash the
Pardoner if he
can catch him.

But where is he?
The Pardoner
overhears them,
and draws back
to avoid their
blows.
They agree to
fasten the gates,
and catch the
Pardoner next
day.
The Pardoner's
cheeks bleed,
and he's very
savage at Kit's
selling him so.
66
597
And swore by seynt Amyas, 'þat he shuld [hit] abigg
With strokis hard & sore, even oppon the rigg;
Yff he hym myȝte fynde, he no thing wold hym spare.'
That herd þe Pardonere wele, & held hym bettir a square,
And pouȝt[e] þat he had[de] strokis ryȝte I-nowȝe ;
Witnes on his armys, his bak, & [eke] his browe.
'Iak," then quod the paramour, "wher is this theff ago?”
"I note," quod tho Iak; "riȝt now he lept me fro, 600
That Cristis curs go with hym! for I have harm) & spite,
Be my trowith!" "& I also ; & he goith nat al quyte!
But & wee myȝt hym fynd, we wold aray hym so
That he [ne] shuld have legg¹ ne foot, to-morow on to go.
But howe shut we hym fynd? þe moon is [now] a-down).”
603
609
612
As grace was for þe Pardonere, & eke when þey did roun,
He herd hem evir wel I-nowȝe, & went the more a-side,
And drouȝe hym evir bakward, & lete the strokis glyde.
"Iak," quod the Paramour, "I hold it for the best,
Sith [that] the moon is down), [now] for to go to rest,
And make the gatis fast; he may nat then a-stert,
And eke of his own) staff he berith a redy mark,
Wher-by þow maist hym know a-monge[s] al the route,
And þowe bere a redy ey, & weyt[e] wele aboute,
To morowe when they shul wend: this is þe best rede.
Iak, what seyst þowe there-to? is þis wel I-seyd?" 616
Thy wit is cler," quod Iak, "thy wit mut nedis stonde."
He made the gatis fast; ther' is no more to doon.
The Pardoner' stood a-syde, his chekis ron on blood,'
And was riȝt evil at ese, al nyȝt in his hede:
He must of force lige lyke² a colyn³ swerd:
ȝit it grevid hym wondir sore, for makeing of his berd;
He paid atte ful ther-fore, þurh a vomman art,
ffor wyne, & eke for cavdi, & had þerof no part;
? MS altered to 'on bleed.' See 1. 671-2.
2 MS lyle.
620
624
3 Cologne. See in the Percy Folio Ballads, i. 68, 1. 167-9, the
'Collen brand,' 'Millaine knife' and `Danish axe'; also i. 69, 1.
171, 179-81.

21
He curses her
628 to ease his rage,
He þer-for preyd Seynt Iuliane,2 as yee mowe vndirstonde,
That the devil hir' shuld spede, on watir, & on londe,
So to disseyve a traveling' man of his herbegage;
And coude nat els, save curs, his angir to a-swage ;
And was distract [eke] of his wit, & in grete dispeyr';
ffor aftir his hete he cauȝte a cold, þurh þe nyȝtis eyr,
That he was ner a-foundit, & coude noon othir help.
But as he souȝt his logging', he appid³ oppon a whelp 632 and as he's going
That lay vndir a steyir, a grete Walssh dogg,
That bare a-boute his nek a grete huge clogg',
Be-cause þat he was spetouse, & wold[e] sone bite :
The clogg was hongit a-bout his nek, for men shuld nat
wite
636
No thing the doggis master, yf he did eny harm) ;
So, for to excuse hem both, it was a wyly charm).
The Pardoner wold have loggit hym pere, & lay som-
what ny;
640
The warrok was a-wakid, & cauȝt hym by the thy,
And bote hym wondir spetously, defendyng' wele his couch,
That the Pardonere myȝt nat ne[re] hym, nepere touch,
But held hym [right] a square, by þat othir syde,
As holsom was at that tyme, for tereing of his hyde: 644
He coude noon othir help, but leyd a-down his hede
In the doggis littir, & wisshid aftir brede
Many a tyme & offt, the dogge for to plese,
To have I-ley more nere, [right] for his own) ese.
But, wissh[en] what he wold, his fortune seyd[e] nay ;*
So trewly for the Pardonere it was a dismol day.
The dogg lay evir grownyng', redy for to snache;
Wherfor the Pardoner durst nat with hym mache;
But lay as styl as ony stone, remembryng his foly,
That he wold trust a tapster of a comon hostry :
ffor comynly for þe most part they been wyly echon).
1 leaf 188, back.
648
652
2 The patron-saint of Innholders. See Awdeley's Vacabondes
& Harman's Caveat, notes.
3 happened, came.
4 blame.
but catches cold;
to his bed,
a great Welsh
dog
bites him in the
thigh.
The Pardoner
daren't move, and
is forced to lie
down in the dog's
litter,
and think what a
fool he's been to
trust a Tapster.

Next morning,
But nowe to all the company: a morow, when þey shuld
goon,
no one's ready so Was noon of al the feleshippe half so sone I-diȝte
soon as the
Pardoner.
He washes the
blood off his
cheeks, binds up
his head, and
pretends to be
merry.
The Hostler can't
identify the
Pardoner,
and keeps in the
middle of the
company.
As was the gentil Pardoner'; for al tyme of þe nyȝte
He was a-redy in his aray, & had no thing to doon,
Saff shake a lite his eris, & trus, & [tho] be goon.
656
660
Yet, or he cam in company, he wissh a-wey the blood, [if 189]
And bond the sorys to his hede with the typet of his hood,
And made liȝtsom cher, for men shuld nat spy
No thing of his turment, ne of his luxury.¹
664
And the hosteler of the house, for no thyng he coude pry,
He coude nat knowe the pardoner a-mong the company
A morowe, when they shuld wend, for auȝt þat þey coude
pour',
So wisely went the Pardoner' out of þe doggis bour; 668
who shirks him, And blynchid from the hosteler', & turned offt a-boute,
And evirmore he held hym a-mydward [of] the route,
And was evir synging', to make[n] al thing good;
But ȝit his notis wer' som-what lowe, for akyng of his hede.2
So at that [ilche] tyme he had[de] no more grame,
But held hym to his harmysȝ [for] to scape shame.
The Pilgrims
leave Canterbury
early.
The Host joys
in the fine
weather,
the birds' song,
673
676
The knyȝt & al the felisship, forward gon þey wende,
Passing forth [right] merely [un]to be townys ende;
And by þat tyme þey were there, þe day be-gan to rype,
And the sonne merely, vpward gan she pike,
Pleying [right] vndir the egge of þe firmament.
"Now," quod þe hoost of Southwork¹, & to þe feleshipp
bent,
"Who sawe evir so feir, or [evir] so glad a day?
And how sote this seson is, entring in to may,
680
[When Chauceres daysyes sprynge. Herke eek the fowles
syngyng,]
The thrustelis & the thrusshis, in þis glad mornyng, 684
The ruddok & the Goldfynch; but þe Nyztyngale,

1. luxuria, lust.
   2
   3 Urry prints 'hapynes.'
   ? ryme 'good, hede.' See 1. 619, 620.
   4 MS Southword.

23
His amerous notis, lo, how he twynyth smale!
greenery,
Lo! how the trees grenyth, þat nakid wer', & nothing bare the trees'
þis month afore; but now hir' somer clothing [wear]! 688
692 the blossoms on
the bushes, the
primroses and
flowers.
697
Lo! how nature makith for hem everichone!
And, as many as ther' been, he forȝetith noon!
Lo! howe the seson of þe yer, & auerel shouris,
Doith the busshis burgyn out blosom[i]s, & flouris!
Lo! þe pryme-rosis, how fressh þey been to seen!
And many othir flouris a-mong the grasis grene,
Lo! howe they spryng', & sprede, & of diuers hewe!
Be-holdith & seith both rede, [and eke] white, & blewe,
That lusty been, & confortabil for mannys siȝte!
ffor I sey, for my selff, It makith my hert' to liȝte. [If 189, bk] "It makes my
Now, sith almyȝty sovereyn) hath sent so feir/ a day,
Let se nowe, as covenaunt is, in shorting' of þe way,
Who shall be the first that shal vnlace his male,
In comfort of vs al, & gyn som mery tale?
ffor, & wee shuld now be-gyn [for] to draw[en] lott,
Perauentur/ it myȝt[e] fall ther it ouȝt[e] not,
On som vnlusty persone, þat wer nat wele a-wakid,
Or semybousy ouyr eve, & had I-song" & crakid
Som what ovir much; howe shuld he pan do?
heart light.
700 But who'll tell
us the first Tale?
If we draw lots,
perhaps it'll fall
704 on some sleepy
ffor who shuld tel a tale, he must have good will perto;
or half-bousy
fellow.
can't tell a Tale
And eke, som men fasting beth no thing iocounde,2 709 Some men, too,
And som, hir/ tungis, fasting, beth glewid & I-bound
To þe Palet of the mowith, as offt[en] as they mete;
So yf the lott fel on such, no thonk shuld they gete; 712
And som in the mornyng', hir mouþis beth a-doun) :
Til þat they be charmyd, hir/ wordis woll nat soun).
So þis is my conclusyioun, & my last[e] knot,
It were gretè gentilnes to tel without[en] lott."
"By be rood of Bromholm)," quod the marchaunte tho,
"As fer as I have saylid, riden, & I-go,
Sawe I nevir man ȝit, to-fore þis ilch[e] day,
1 MS Barre, in 1. 688.
before breakfast.
Who'll tell a Tale
without drawing
716 lots?"
2 Urry transposes the endings of lines 708, 709, and leaves out

1. 710-11.
   The Merchant
   says that as he's
   never seen such
   a good Manager
   as the Host,

he will tell a
Tale,
though he can't
ornament it
properly.
So well coude rewle a company, as [can] our hoost, in fay.
His wordis been so comfortabil, & comyth so in seson,
That my wit is ovir-com, to make[n] eny reson
Contrary to his counsail, at myne ymaginacioune;
Wher/for I wol tel a tale to yeur consolacioune;
In ensaumpit to ȝewe; that when þat I have do,
Anothir be all redy þen[ne] for to tell; riȝt so
To fulfil our hoostis wil, & his ordinaunce.
724
Ther shall no fawte be found in me; good will shal be my
chaunce,
With þis I be excusid, of my rudines,
Al þouȝe I can nat peynt my tale, but tel [it] as it is;
Lepyng ovir no centence, as ferforth as I may,
But telle ȝewe þe ȝolke, & put þe white a-way.
728

The Tale of Beryn

732

25
[Here be]gynnyth the [March]ant his tale
W
[in the low left margin of leaf 189, back]
[The Tale of Beryn.]
the City of Rome
Hilom ȝeris passid, in the old[e] dawis, [leaf 190] Once upon a time,
When riȝtfullich be reson governyd ware þe lawis,
And principally in the Cete of Room þat was
so rich,
And worthiest in his dayis, & noon to hym I-lich
Of worshipp ne of wele, ne of governaunce;
ffor alle londis Cristened, þerof had dotaunce,
And alle othir naciouns, of what feith they were.
Whils þe Emperour was hole, & in his paleyse pere
I-may[n]tenyd in honour, & in popis se,
Room was then obeyid of alle Cristiente.
1
736 was the most
740
744
honoured in the
world.
But it, like all
other cities, has
gone down,
for all things
get worse, and
748 man's life grows
short.
752 So Rome has lost
its honour,
(But it farith ther-by, as it doith by othir thingis:
ffor Burh,¹ nethir Cete, regioune ne kyngis,
Beth nat nowe so worthy, as were by old[e] tyme;
As wee fynde in Romauncis, in gestis & in Ryme.
ffor alle thing doith wast, & ekë mannys lyfle
Ys more shorter þen it was; & our/ wittis fyve
Mow nat comprehende, nowe in our dietes,
As som tymè myȝte, these olde wise poetes.
But sith þat terrene thingis been nat perdurabil,
No mervel is, þouȝe Rome be som what variabil
ffro honour' & fro wele, sith his ffrendis passid;
As many a-nothir town) is payrid, & I-lassid
Within these fewe ȝeris, as wee mowe se at eye,
Lo, Sirs, here fast by Wynchelse & [eke riht so by] Ry.)
But ȝit þe name is evir oon of Room, as it was groundit
Aftir Romus & Romulus, þat first þat Cete foundit,
That brithern) weren both[e] to, as old[e] bookis writen;
But of hir lyff & governaunce I wol nat nowe enditen;
But of othir mater, þat fallith to my mynde.
Wherfor, gentil sirs, yee þat beth be-hynde,
'Urry prints though.'
755
Winchelsea and
just as we've seen
Rye worsen.
758
762 But, Sirs, close-in,

that you may
hear me.
After Romulus,
Julius Cæsar
ruled Rome,
and subdued all
lands, including
England.
After him,
the Douzepairs
held sway.
Then came
Constantine;
then his son
Augustinus,
in whose time
lived the Seven
Sages:

1. Sother
   Legifeer.
   Drawith somwhat nere, thikker to a route,
   That my wordis mowe soune, to ech man a-boute.
   Afftir these too bretheryn, Romulus & Romus,
   Iulius Cezar was Emperour, þat riȝtful was of domus :
   This Cete he governed nobilich[e] wele,
   764
   769
   [lf 190, bk]
   773
   776
   And conquerd many a Regioune, as Cronicul doith vs tel.
   ffor, shortly to conclude, al tho were aduersarijs
   To Rome in his dayis, he made hem tributorijs:
   So had he in subieccioune both[e] ffrende & foon;
   Of wich, I te ȝew trewly, Eng[e]lond was oon.
   ȝet aftir Iulius Cezare, & sith that Criste was bore,
   Room was governed as wele as it was to-fore,
   And namelich in þat tyme, & in tho same ȝeris,
   When it was governed by the Doseperis :
   As semeth wele by reson, who so can entende,
   That o mannys witt, ne will, may nat comprehende
   The boncheff & the myscheff, as mowe many hedis:
   Therfor hire operaciouns, hire domes, & hire deedis,
   Were so egallich I-doon; for in al Cristen londis,
   Was noon that they sparid for/ to mend[en] wrongis.
   Then Constantyne þe þird, aftir þese dosiperis,
   Was Emperour of Room, & regnyd many ȝeris.
   So, shortly to pas ovir, aftir Constantyns dayis,
   Philippus Augustinus, as songen is in layis,
   That Constantynys sone, & of plener age,
   Was Emperour I-chose, as fil by heritage;
   In whose tyme sikirlich, þe .vii. sagis were
   In Rome dwelling' dessantly; And yf yee lust to lere,
   Howe they were I-clepid, or I ferther goon,
   780
   784
   788
   792
   I woll tel ȝewe the names of hem euerychoon ;
   And declare ȝewe the cause why þey hir namys bere.
   The first was I-clepid Sother' legifeer';
   This is thus much for to sey, as 'man bereing þe lawe;'
   And so he did trewly; for levir he had be sclawe,
   Then do or sey eny thing þat sownyd out of reson,
   So cleen was his conscience I-set in trowith & reson.
   796

27
25
Marcus Stoycus þe second, so pepit hym hiȝte;
803
That is to mene in our consceit, 'a keper of þe riȝte:' 800
And so he did ful trewe; for þe record & þe plees,
He wrote hem evir trewly; & took noon othir fees
But such as was ordeyned to take by þe ȝere.
Now, lord God! in Cristendon I wold it were so clere!
The pird, Crassus Asulus, among men clepid was;
'An hous of rest, & ese, & counsel in every case;'
ffor to vndirstond þat was his name ful riȝte,
ffor evir-more the counsallis he helpid with all his myȝte.
Antonyus Iudeus, the ferth was I-clepid,
807
811
1 That was as much to meen, as wele me myȝt have clepid,
As eny thing purposid of al the longe ȝeer/,
That myȝth have made hym sory, or chongit onys chere,
But evir-more reyoysing, what þat evir be-tid;
2. Marcus
Stoycus.
8. Crassus
Asulus.
4. Antonyus
Judeus.
815 5. Summus
Philopater.
ffor his hert was evir mery, ryȝt as þe somer bridd.
¶ Svmvs Philopater was the ffifft-is name:
That þouȝe men wold sclee hym, or do hym al the shame,
Angir, or disese, as evil as men couthe,
ȝit wold he love hem nevir þe wers, in hert[e], ne in mowith.
His wil was cleen vndir his foot, & no thing hym above;
Therfor he was clepid, 'fadir of perfite love.'
820
¶ The sixt & [eke] þe sevenyth of these .vij sagis,
Was Stypio, & Sithero; As pes word 'Astrolages'
Was surname to hem both, aftir hir' sciencis;
ffor of Astronomy, Sikerlich þe cours & al the fences 824
Both they knowe hit wele Inowȝe, & wer riȝte sotil of art.
But nowe to othir purpose; for her I wol departe
As liȝtly as I can, & drawe to my matere.
In that same tyme, þat these sages were
Dwellyng þus in Room, a litil without the wales,
In the Subbarbis of þe town, of Chambris & of hallis,
And al othir howsing, þat to² a lord belongid,
Was noon with-in the Cete, ne noon so wele be-hongit
With docers³ of hiȝe pryse, ne wallid so A-boute,
6. Stypio
(Scipio).
7. Sithero
(Cicero).
828 At this time
831
dwelt in the
suburbs of Rome
' leaf 191.
2 patto, MS.
3 dorsers.

a Senator,
Faunus, rich,
835
As was a Cenatour[i]s hous, within & eke without:
¶ ffavnus was his name, a worthy man, & riche;
And for to sey[e] shortlych, in Room was noon hym lych.
His sportis & his estris were ful evenaunte
valiant, and high- Of tresour/, & of lordshippe; also the most vaillant
He was, & eke I-com of hiȝe lynage.
born.
for her knowledge
and beauty.
He wedded a wife And atte last he toke a wyff, like to his parage;
ffor, noriture & connyng, bewte & parentyne,
Were tho countid more with¹, þen gold or sylvir fyne.
(Now men marry But nowe it is al othir in many mannys þouȝt;
ffor muk is nowe I-maried, & vertu set at nouȝt.
ffawnus & his worthy wyff were to-gidir a-loon
muck, and not for
virtue.)
But they have
no child
xv. vyntir fullich, & issu had they noon.
Wherfor hir Ioyis were nat halff perfite;
ffor vttirlich to have a child was al hir' delite,
840
844
848
bat myȝte enyoy hir/ heritage, & weld[en] hir/ honoure;
[leaf 191, back] And eke, when they were febil, to [be] hir' trew socoure.
Hir fasting & hir/ preyer, and al þat evir þey wrouȝte,
for a long time,
though they pray
and long for one. As pilgremage & Almes-ded, euer þey besouȝte
At last, the wife
feels herself with
child,
and turns ill.
But her women
lead her home.
(She is a very
loveable woman,
852
That God wold of his goodnes som fruyte betwene hem
send;
ffor gynnyng of hir spousail, þe myddil & þe ende,
This was hir most[e] besynes ; & al othir delites,
And eke this worldis riches, þey2 set at litil pris.
So atte last, as God wold, it fill oppon a day,
As this lady fro chirch[e]ward went [right] in the way,
A child gan sterè in hir vombe, as goddis wille was;
Wherof she gan to mervil, & made shorter pas,
With colour pale, & eke wanne, & fyl in hevynes;
ffor she had nevir, to-fore þat day, such manere seknes.
The vymmen, þat with hir were, gon to be-hold
The lady & hir' chere; but no thing þey told;
But feir/ & sofft with ese, homward they hir led :
ffor hir soden sekenes ful sore þey were a-dred,
ffor she was inlich gentil, kynde, & amyabil,
I worth.-Urry. (accounted of, thought of.)
856
860
864
2 MS þat.

29
And eke trewe of hert, & nothing variabil.
868
She lovid God a-bove al thing, & dred[de] syn & shame;
And Agea sikirly was hir riȝtful name.
So aftir in breff tyme, when it was perseyvid
That she had done a vommans dede, & had a child con-
seyvid,
The Ioy[e] that she made, ther may no tunge tel :
And also much, or more, yf I ne ly shell,
ffavnus made in his behalf, for þis glad tyding',
That I trow, I leve þe Emperour/ ne þe kyng
Made no bettir cher to wyff, ne no more myrth,
Then ffavnus to Agea. & when the tyme of birth
Nyȝhid nere & nere, after cours of kynde,
Wetith wele in certen, þat al the wit & mynde
Of ffavnus was continuel of feir' delyveraunce,
Be-twene Agea & his child; & made grete ordenaunce
Ageyn the tyme it shuld be bore, as it was for to doon.
872
876
880
884
So as God wold, when tyme cam, Agea had a Son.
Butte Ioy þat ffawnes made, was dobil tho to-fore,
When þat he knewe in certen she had a sone I-bore ;
And sent a-noon for nurssis four, & [right] no les,
To reule this child. aftirward, as yeris did pas,
The child was kept so tendirly, þat it throff wel the bett;
ffor what þe norisshis axid, a-noon it was I-fett.
888
In his Chambir it norisshid was; to town it mut nat go;
ffavnus lovid it so cherely, hit myȝt nat part hym fro. 892
It was so feir/ a creature, as myȝt be on lyve,
Of lymys & of fetour/, & growe wondir blyve.
This Child, that I of tel,-Berinus was his name,—
Was ovir mych chersshid, wich turned hym in-to grame,
As yee shut here[n] aftir, when tyme comyth & spase:
ffor aftir swete, þe soure comyth, ful offt, in many a plase.'
ffor, as sone as he coude go, and also speke,
Al þat he set his eye on, or aftir list to keke,
Anoon he shuld it have; for no man hym wernyd.
and her name is
Agea.)
When she finds
she is really with
child, she
and Faunus make
great joy.
In due time Agea
bears a son, to
Faunus's great
delight,
[leaf 192]
and he spoils the
child sadly.
The boy's name
is Berinus,
and whatever he
cries for, he has.
900
But it had be wel bettir, he had be wele I-lernyd

Afterwards, he
hits or stabs any
child he doesn't
like,
and his father's
knights and
squires too.
When he's over 7,
he's always doing
wrong, and
injuring poor
men.
Berinus also plays
at dice,
and gambles.
Noriture & gentilnes; & had I-had som hey.
ffor it fill so aftir, with what child he did pley,
Yf þe pley ne likid hym, he wold breke his hede;
904
908
912
Or with a knyff hym hurt, ryȝt nyȝe hond to be dede.
ffor ther nas knyȝt, ne Squyer, in his ffadirs house,
That þouȝt his owne persone most cora[g]iouse,
That did or seyd [right] eny thing', Berinus to displese,
That he nold spetously a-noon oppon hym rese;
Wherof his ffadir had[de] Ioy, & his modir also;
ȝit it semeth to many a man, it was nat wisely do.
When Beryn passid was .vij. yeer, & grewe in more age,
He wrouȝt
ful many an evil chek; for such was his corage,¹
That ther' he wist, or myȝte do eny evi dede,
He wold nevir sese, for auȝt þat men hym seyde;
Wherfor many a poreman ful offt was agrevid;
But ffawnus And Agea ful lite peron belevid;
And þouȝe men wold pleyne, ful short it shuld a-vaih
ffor ffawnus was so myȝty, & cheff of al counsail
With Augustyn the Emperour, þat al[le] men hym dradd,
And lete pas ovir [mischefe] & harmys þat þey had.
Berinus, ferpermore, lovid wele the dise,
;
916
920
And for to pley at hazard, And held þerof grete pryse, 924
And al othir gamys þat losery was in ;
He always loses; And evir-more he lost, & nevir myȝte wyn.
and often comes
home naked.
[leaf 192, back]
Berynus atte hazard many a nyȝte he wakid;
And offt[e] tyme it fil so, þat he cam home al nakid; 928
And that was al his Ioy: for ryȝt wele he knewe,
Faunus settles
the worst com-
plaints against
him.
(Now, too, many
a man undoes
his child.)
That Agea his modir wold[e] cloth hym newe.
Thus Berynus lyvid, as I have told to-fore,
Tyl he was of þe age of xviij yeer or more.
932
But othir whils a-mongis, for pleyntis þat wer' grete,
ffawnus made a-mendis, & put hem in quyete;
So was the ffadir cause the sone was so wild ;-
And so have many mo such, of his owne child
Be cause of his vndoyng', as wee mowe se al day ;—
1 heart, disposition.
936

31
ffor thing I-take in [youthe, is] hard to put away;
As hors þat evir trottid, trewlich I ȝew tel,
It were hard to make hym, aftir to ambil well;
940
Riȝt so by Beryn, that had his lust & wil when he was
lite,
It shuld be hevy aftirward, to reve his old delite,
Save the whele of ffortune, þat no man may withstonde;
ffor every man on lyve, ther-on he is gond:
O spoke she turnyd Bakward, riȝt atte hiȝe noon,
Al a-geyn Berinus, as yee shul here sone.
Agea, his Modir, fil in grete sekenes,
944
952
(Teach a horse
trotting, and it's
hard to make him
amble.)
But Fortune
turns against
Beryn.
Agea falls ill, and
sends for Faunus.
He comes, sees
her wan face,
knows she
must die;
956 and though he
And sent aftir [hir] husbond, with wordis hir' to lis, 948
And, for she wold[e] telle hym hir' hole hertis will,
Er she out of þe world partid, as it was riȝte & skil.
When ffawnus was I-come, and sawe so rodylese 2
His wyff þat was so dere, þat for love he chese,
No mervel þouȝe his hert[e] wer' in grete mournyng!
ffor he perseyvid fullich, she drewe to hir ending :
ȝit made he othir chere, þen in his hert was,
To put awey discomforte, dissimilyng with his fase
The hevynes of his hert; with chere he did it close:
ffor such a maner crafft þere is with hem can glose,
Save þat tournyth al to cautele: but ffawnus did nat so,
ffor, wetith wele, in certeyn) his hert was ful of woo
ffor his wyff Agea; & ȝit, for crafft he couthe,
The Teris fro his eyen ran downe by his mowth.
When he sawe the Pangus of deth comyng so fast
Oppon his wyff Agea, almost his hert to-brast.
9.60
tries to look
cheery,
his tears flow,
and his heart
963 nearly bursts.
[leaf 193]
Agea lyfft vp hir' eyen, & beheld the chere
Of hir' husbond fawnus, þat was so trewe a fere;
And seyd, "Sir, why do yee thus? þis is an elyng fare,
In comfort of vs both, yf yee myȝte spare,
968
And put a-wey this hevenys, whils þat yee & I
Miȝte speke of othir thingis; for deth me nyȝhith nyȝe
ffor [ne] to body, ne to soule, þis vaylith nat a karse."
Agea begs
Faunus
to be quiet
and hear her.
1 MS when he.
2
rudless, pale.

Agea prays
Faunus not to
wed again,
and give Beryn a
Stepmother.
Faunus says he
doesn't mean to
have another
wife.
Agea looks for
Beryn,
but he's away
gambling.
"Now tellith on," quod ffawnus, " & I wol lete it pase 972
ffor the tyme of talkyng', as wele as I may :
But out of my remembraunce, on-to my endyng' day,
Yeur' deth wol nevir, 'I woot it wele', but evir be in mynde."
66
979
983
Then, good sir," quod Agea, "beth to my soule kynde
When my body is out of siȝte, for perto have I nede:
ffor truer make þen yee be, in word[e] ne in dede,
Had nevir vomman [lyvand], ne morè kynd[e]nes
Hath shewed on-to his make, I knowe riȝt wele I-wis :
Now wold yee so her'-aftir, in hert[e] be as trewe,
To lyve with-out[e] make; & on yeur/ sone rewe,
That litil hath I-lerned, sithens he was bore,
Let hym have no Stepmodir; for Children have to-fore,
Come[n]lich they lovith nat.2 wherfor, with hert I prey,
Have cher' on-to yeur/ sone, aftir my endyng day :
ffor, so God me help! & I lafft ȝew be-hynde,
Shuld nevir man on lyve bryng it in my mynde
To be no more I-weddit, but lyve soule a-loon.
Nowe yee knowe[n] al my wil, good sir, þink ther-on.”
"Certis," [tho] quod ffawnus, "whils I have wittis fyve,
I thynk[e] nevir, aftir ȝewe, to have a-nothir wyff."
The preest was com[en] perwithal, for to do hir riȝtis;
ffawnus toke his leve, & all the othir knyztis,
Hir kyn & all hir' ffrendis, kissid hir' echone:
988
992
It is no nede to axe, wher' there was dole, or noon. 996
Agea cast hir eye[n] vp, & lokid al a-boute,
And wold have kissid [Beryn]; but then was he withoute
Pleying to the hazard, as he was wont to doon;
[leaf 193, back] ffor, as sone as he had ete, he wold ren out anoon.
This bursts her
heart, and she
dies.
1000
And when she sawe he was nat ther', þat she þouȝt most on,
Hire sekenes & hir/ mournyng berst hir' hert a-noon.
A damesel, to-fore þat, was ronne into the town)
ffor to seche Beryn, þat pleyd[e] for his gown),
And had almost I-lost it, riȝt as þe damesel cam,
1-1 read out, I woot.'
2 For stepmothers commonly love not children had before.
1004

3332
And swore, & starid, as he was wood, as longit to the game.
The dameset seyd to Beryn, "Sir, yee must com home!
ffor, but yee hiȝe blyvè¹, þat yee were I-come,
1008
The damsel tells
Beryn to haste
home before his
mother dies.
Yeur/ modir woll be dede. she is ȝit on lyve;
Yf yee wol speke with hir, yee must hiȝe blyve."
"Who bad so, lewd kitt?" "yeur ffadir, sir/," quod she;
"Go home, lewde visenage, þat evil mut þowe the!" 1012 Beryn curses
Quod Beryne to the damesel, & gan hir fray & ffeer;
And bad the Devil of het hir shuld to-tere.
1016
"Hast þowe outȝ2 els to do but let me of my game?
Now, be God in heven, by Petir, & by Iame !"-
Quod Beryn in grete angir, & swore be book & bel,
Rehersing many namys, mo þen me list to tell,-
"Ner þow my ffadirs messenger'3, þow shuldist nevir ete.
brede !
and abuses her:
1020 he'd rather she
and his mother
were dead than
I had levir my modir, & also þowe, were dede,
Then I shuld lese the game, þat I am now; in!"
And smote þe Dameset vndir þe ere: be weet gon vpward game.
spyn.
The deth of Agea he set at litil prise ;
he should lose his
He cares not for
his mother's
1024 death.
1028
So, in that wrath[e], frelich Beryn prewe þe dise,
And lost with þat same cast al¹ was leyde a-down);
And stert vp in a wood rage, & ballid on his croun),
And so he did the remnaunte, as many as wold abide ;
But, for drede of ffawnus, his felawis gan to hide,
And nevir had[de] will ne lust, with Beryn for to fiȝte,
But evir redy to pley, & wyn[ne] what they myȝte.
The Deth of Agea sprang a-bout þe town);
And euery man þat herd the belle for hir/ sown),
Be-menyd hir/ ful sore; saff Beryn toke noon hede,
And souȝt a-nopir feleshippe, & quyklich to hem ȝede,
To such[e] maner company, as shuld[e] nevir thryve,
ffor such he lovid bettir, þen his modirs lyve;
And evir-more, it shuld be nyȝte or he wold home drawe;
ffor of his ffadir, in certen, he had no maner awe,
1032
Rome bemoans
Agea's death;
but Beryn heeds
it not.
1036
[leaf 194]
¹ hie quickly.
2 ouȝt.
3 MS adds 'were '.
✦ all that.
3

Faunus buries
his wife
in royal state,
but though she
lies in a leaden
coffin 4 weeks,
Beryn never
comes near the
corpse, but
gambles still.
ffor evir in his 30with he had al his will,
And was I-passid chastising', but men wold hym kitt. 1040
ffawnus for Agea, as it was wele sitting',
Made [ful] grete ordenaunce for hir burying,
Of Prelatis, & of prestis, & of al other thing',
As þouȝe she had[de] be a wyff of a worþy kyng': 1044
It myȝt nat have be mendit, such was his gentilnes,
ffor at hir' enteryng was many a worthy messe.
ffor foure wookis ful, or he did hir entere,
She lay in lede within his house. but Beryn cam nat þere,
Namelich in-to the place there his modir lay,
Ne
onys
1049
wold he a Pater noster for hir/ soule say.
His pout was al in vnthryfft, lechery, & dyse,
And drawing al to foly; for 30with is recheles,
But ther it is refreyned, & hath som maner eye;
And perfor me thinkith, þat I may wele sey,
A man I-passid 30with, & is with-out[en] lore,
May be wele I-likened, to a tre without[en] more,¹
1052
1056
A man past
youth, and un-
taught, is like a
tree without root.
The rod makes
virtue grow in
children.
will only bend
That may nat bowe, ne bere fruyte, but root, & euer wast;
Riȝt so by ȝouthe farith, þat no man list to chast.
This mowe wee know[e] verely, by experience,
1060
That ȝerd[e] makith vertu & beneuolence
In Childhode for to growe, as previth Imaginacioun) :
They, like plants, A plant, whils it is grene, or it have dominacioun),
A man may with his fyngirs ply it wher hym list,
And make ther-of a shakil, a with[ey], or a twist;
But let the plant[e] stond, & ȝeris ovir grove,2
Men shall nat, with both his hondis, vnnethis make it bowe³:
when young.
a brute.
No more myȝt ffawnus make his sone Beryn,
When he growe in age, [un]to his lore enclyne;
1064
1068
Beryn grows up ffor euery day when Beryn rose, vnwassh he wold dyne,
And drawe hym to his ffeleshipp as even as a lyne ;
And þen com home, & ete, & soop, & sclepe at nyȝte:
This was al his besynes, but yf þat he did fiȝte.
Wherfor his ffadirs hert, ffawnus, gan for to blede, [If 194, bk]
3 MS growe.
1 root.
2 growe.
1072

335
e;
That of his modir, þat lay at home, he took no more hede
And so did at the pepil that dwellid in the town),
Of Beryns wildnes gon [they] speke, & eke [to] roune.
ffawnus, oppon a day, when Beryn cam at eve,
Was set oppon a purpose to make his sone leue
1077
1083
1088
Al his shrewd[e] tacchis, with goodnes yf he myȝte,
And tauȝte hym feir & sofft; but Beryn toke it liȝt, 1080
And countid at[te] litil price al his ffadirs tale.
ffawnus saw it wold nat: with colour wan & pale
He partid from his sone, & with a sorowful hert.
I [ne] can write halffyndele¹, howe sore he did[e] smert
The disobeying of his sone, & his wyffis deth;
That, as the book tellith, he wisshid þat his breth
Had I-been a-bove the serkill celestyne;
So ffervent was his sorowe, his angir, & his þyne.
So, shortly to conclude, Agea was enterid,
A[nd] ffawnus lyvid wyfles, [tyl] iij yeer wer' werid ;
Wherof ther' was grete spech[e], for his hiȝe honour.
TyH, atte last, word cam on-to þe Emperour,
That ffawnus was with-out[en] wyff, & seld[e] was iocounde,
But mournyng for Agea, þat he was to I-bounde,
And lyvid as an hermyte, soule & destitute,
With-out[e] consolacioune, pensyff offt, & mut.
Wherfor Augustinus, of Rome þe Emperour,
Was inwardlich[e] sory, & in grete dolour';
[And] With the .vij. sagis, & Senatouris al,
Were assemblit, to discryve what shuld þerof fall.
The wich seyd shortly, 'for a molestacioune
Ther' was noon othir remedy, but a consolacioune;
ffor who so were in eny thing' displesid or a-grevid,
Must by a like thing egal be remevid.'
Fawnus tries to
win Beryn from
his bad ways,
but in vain.
Fawnus sorrows,
and wishes he
was dead.
1092 The Emperor
1096
Augustinus
consults with the
Seven Sages how
1100 to console
Fawnus,
1104
and resolves
And when þe Emperour knewe al hir' determinacioune,
Quiklich in his mynde he had Imaginacioun),
That ffawnus for agea was in hiȝe distres,
And must be I-curid with passing' gentilnes
1 MS halsfyndele.
1108 that he must be

cured by a fresh
wife.
The Emperor
accordingly weds
Of som [fair] lusty lady, þat of pulcritude
Were excellent¹ al othir. so, shortly to conclude,
The Emperour had a love-tofore he had a wyff—
an old love of his That he lovid as hertlich as his owne lyff,
own, excelling in
beauty,
to Fawnus.
Fawnus soon
forgets his first
wife Agea
As was as feir/ a creature, as sone myȝte be-shyne,2
So excellent of bewte, þat she myȝt be shryne
To all othir vymmen, þat wer' tho lyvand.
[leaf 195]
1112
But for þe Emperour/ had a wyff, yee shul wele vndirstond,
He cam nat in hir company, to have[n] his delite;— 1117
ffor Cristendom & conscience was tho more perfite
Then it is nowe a dayis, yf I durst tel;
But I wol leve at þis tyme.-pan ffawnus also sneH³ 1120
Was aftir sent in hast, of sekenes to be curyd.
So, what for drede & ellis, they were both ensuryd
In presence of the Emperour/; so ffawnus myȝt nat flee :
It was þe Emperours wil, it myȝt noon opir be.
1124
So with-in a tyme Agea was for-ȝete;
ffor ffawnus pouȝt [ful] litil on þat he hir' be-hiȝte;
ffor, as the .vij sages had a-fore declarid,
It cam al to purpos; ffor ffawnus liti carid
1128
for his 2nd wife, ffor eny thing at all, save his wyff to plese,
Rame,
foolishly.
That 'Rame' was I-clepid; for rest[e], nethir ese,
ffawnus nevir had, out of hir' presence:
on whom he dotes So was his hert on hir/ I-set, þat he coude no defence,
Save evir-more be with hir, & stare on hir visage,
That the most[e] parte of Room held it for dotage,
And had[de] muche mervel of his variaunce.
(But what is þat ffortunè can nat put in chaunce?)
ffor þere was man on lyve on vomman more be-dotid,
Then ffawnus was in Rame, ne halff so much I-sotyd.
When Rame has With þat Ram had knowlech þat ffawnus was I-smyt
With þe dart of love, yee mowe riȝt wele it wyt,
That all þat evir she coude cast[en] or bythynch,
Was al a-geyn Berinus; for many a sotil wrench
caught Fawnus,
she schemes
against Beryn.
1 overtopping, exceeding.
3
quickly. MS swelle.
2 shine on.
4 read 'nas.'
1133
1136
1140

37
1144
1148
She þouȝt & wrouȝt, day be day, as meny vommen doon,
TyH they have of hir desire the full conclusyoune.
ffor, the more that ffawnus of Rame did[e] make¹, [f 195, bk]
The more daungerous was Rame, & of Chere sade;
And kept[e] wel hir/ purpose vndir coverture:
She was the las to blame, It grew [so] of nature.
But þouȝe þat Rame wrouȝt so, God for-bede þat alle
Were of þat condic[i]oune! (yet touch no man the galle,'
It is my pleyn counsel; but 'doith as othir doith;'
'Take yeur/ part as it comyth, of rouȝe & eke of smoth.')
ȝit noritur, wit & gentilnes, reson & perfite mynde, 1153
Doth al these worthy vommen to worch ageyn[e]s kynde;
That þouȝe they be agrevid, þey suffir/ & endure,
And passith ovir, for the best, & folowith no-þing nature.
But nowe to Rames purpose, & what was hir' desire:
Shortly to conclude, to make debate & Ire
1160
Rame's design
is to breed strife
between Fawnus
and Beryn.
Be-twene the ffadir & the sone, as it was likly tho;
What for his condicioune, & what for love also
That ffawnus owt to his wyff, þe rathir he must hir' leve,
And graunt[e] for to mend, yf ouȝt hir/ did[e] greve.
Berynus evir wrouȝt, ryght as he did to-fore,
And Rame made hym cher of love,-pere myȝt no vomman gives him money
more,-
Beryn goes on
badly, and Rame
and fair words,
1164
tho' she'd like to
have eaten his
1169 heart.
And gaff hym gold & clothing, evir as he did lese,
Of þe best[e] þat he couthe, ouȝwher 2 in towne chese;
And spak³ ful feir' with hym, to make[n] al thing' dede;
ȝit wold she have I-ete his hert, with-out [e] salt or brede.
She hid so hir felony, & spak so in covert,
That Beryn myȝt nat spy it, but lite of Ramys hert.
So, shortly to pas ovir, It fil oppon a nyȝte,
When ffawnus & his ffressh[e] wyff were to bedd I-diȝte,
He toke hir' in his armys, & made hir' hertly chere,-
Ther myȝt[e] no man bettir make [on lyve] to his fere,-
And seyd, "myne ertly Ioy, myne hertis ful plesaunce,
''make' is crost thro', and 'made' written after it.
3 MS spal.
2
anywhere.
One night
Fawnus asks
Rame

why she is sad.
Rame says,
'No wonder I'm
sad since I
wedded you.
1177
My wele, my woo, my paradise, my lyvis sustenaunce !
Why ne be yee mery? why be yee so dul,
Sith
yee knowe I am your own), riȝt as yeur/ hert wol?
Now tel on, love, myne hown) hert! yf yee eylith ouȝt;
ffor & it be in my power, a-noon it shal be wrouȝte." 1180
Rame with þat gan siȝhe, & with a wepeing chere [leaf 196]
Vndid þe bagg of trechery, & seid in þis manere ;
"No mervet þouȝe myne hert be sore & full of dele,
ffor when þat I to ȝew weddit was, wrong[e] went my whele:
But who may be, a-geyn[e]s hap & aventure?
Ther for, as wele as I may, myne I mut endure."
With many sharp[e] wordis she set his hert on feir,
To purchase with hir practik, þat she did desire.
But hoolich al hir wordis I can nat wele reherce,
Ne writè, ne enditè, howe she did[e] perce
Thurh ffawnys hert, & [eke] his scull also:
1185
1188
ffor more petouse compleynt, of sorow & of woo,
Made nevir vomman, ne more petously,
1192
Then Rame made to ffawnys: she smote ful bittirly
In-to þe veyn, & þurh his hert[e] blood;
She bloderid so, & wept, & was so hiȝe & mode,
1196
Alas! if I
have a child by
you,
he'd better die
than be like
Beryn!
That vnneth she myȝte speke, but, oper while a-mong',
Wordis of discomfort, & hir hondis wrong;
ffor "alas & woo þe tyme, þat she weddit was!"
Was evir more þe refreit, when she myȝt have spase; 1200
"I am I-weddit! ȝe, God woot beste, in what maner & howe !
ffor if it wer so fall, I had a child be ȝewe;
Lord! how shuld he lyve? howe shuld he com a-way?—
Sith Beryn is yeur/ first sone, & heir aftir yeur/ day,—
But yf þat he had grace to scole for to goo,
To have som maner connyng', þat he myȝte trust[en] to;
ffor, as it now stondith, it were þe beste rede;
ffor, so God me help! I had levir he were dede,
Than were of such condicioune, or of such[e] lore
As Beryn yeur/ sone is! it wer' better he were vnbore.
ffor he doith nat ellis, save atte hazard pley,
1205
1208

39
And comyth home al nakid, e[veri]ch othir day.
ffor within this month, þat I have with ȝew be,
[ful] ffifftene sithis, for verry grete pete,
I have I-clothid hym al newe when he was to-tore;
ffor evir more he seyde, 'þe old[e] were I-lore.'
Now, & he were my sone, I had levir he were I-sod!
ffor, & he pley so long', [the] halff [of] our lyvlode
Wold scarsly suffise hym selff [al]oon.
And, nere yee wold be grevid, I swere be seynt Iohn)
He shuld aftir þis day be clothid no more for me,
But he wold kepe hem bettir, & drawe fro nycete."1
66
Nowe, gentil wyff, gromercy of yeur/ wise tale!
I thynk[e] wel þe more, þat I sey no fale:
1212
1216
15 times in this
month have I
re-clad Beryn!
[leaf 196, back]
He'll waste half
our property.
1221 I'd give him no
more clothes.'
Fawnus
declares
1224 he won't.
1228
Next morning
Beryn calls for
1232 new clothes.
ffor towching my grevaunce, þat Beryn goith al nakid,
Treulich þat grevaunce is [now] somwhat a-selakid.
Let hym a-loon, I prey ȝew, & I wol con² ȝew thanke;
ffor in such losery he hath lost' many a ffrank.
The devil hym spech³, þat reche yf he be to-tore4,
And he vse it her-afftir, as he hath doon to-fore!"
Beryn arose a-morowe, & cried wondir fast,
And axid aftir clothis; but it was al in wast;
Ther was no man tendant for hym in al the house :
The whele was I-chaungit in-to a-nothir cours.
ffawnus herd his sone wele, how he be-gan to cry,
And rose vp [tho] a-noon, & to hym did[e] hiȝe;
And had for-ȝete no thing', þat Rame had I-seyde;
ffor he boillid so his hert, he was nat wel apayde.
He went in-to the Chambir, ther' his sone lay,
1236
And set hym doun in a chair, & þus he gan to sey. 1240
"My gentil sone Beryn! now feir I wol þe tech:
Rew oppon thy selff, & be þyn owne leche !
Manhode is I-com nowe, myne own dere sone;
It is tyme þow be aweynyd of þyne old[e] wone;
And þow art xx wynter, & nauȝt hast of doctryne;
ȝit, woldist þowe drawe to profite, þe worshipp wold be thyne,
His father
Fawnus
begs him
1244 to give up his
bad ways, as he
is 20,
1
folly. 2 acknowledge, give.
3
spitch.
4 See 1. 1388.

and mix with
good men,
or else he must
stand on his
own feet.
Fawnus will
To noritur & goodshipp, & [eke] al honest thing',
Ther myȝt com to myne hert[e] no more glad tyding'. 1248
Leve now al thy foly, and thy rebawdy,
As Tablis, & merellis, and þe hazardry,
And draw the to þe company of honest men & good,
Els-leve þowe me as wele as Criste died on the rode, [leaf 197]
And for al men-kynde his gost pas lete!—
1253
Thow shalt, for me, here-aftir stond on thyn owne fete;
ffor I [ne] wol no lengir suffir this aray,
To clothe the al new, e[ueri]ch othir day.
1256
Yff þow wolt drawe the to wit, & rebawdry withdrawe,
Of such good as God have sent, þy part shalt þow have.
And yf þow wolt nat, my sone, do as I the tel,
give him nothing. Of me shalt þow nauȝt have, truste me riȝt well!
1260
Beryn lours,
asks for clothes,
Wenyst þow with thy dise-pleying hold[en] myne honoure
Aftir my deth-day?" then Beryn gan to loure,
And seid, “is this a sermon or a prechement?
Yee were nat wont her-to. how is this I-went?
Sendith for som clothing, þat I were a-go;
My felawis lokith aftir me, I woot wele þey do so.
refuses to give up I wol nat leve my feleshippe, ne my rekelagis,
1264
gambling,
1268
says
'Rame has
set his father
against him-
curse her!-
she's taken his
wits away.
Ne [yit] my dise-pleying, for all yeur' heretages !¹
Doith your best with hem by yeur lyff day;
ffor when they fal to me, I wol do as I may.
Benedicite, ffadir! who hath enfourmyd ȝewe,
And set ȝewe in-to Ire, to make me chere rowe²?
1272
But I know wel I-nowȝ whens [that] this counsail cam ;
Trewlich of yeur owne wyfe, þat [ful] evil dame :
[Curse] Com oppon hir body, þat fals putaigne!
ffor trewlich, ffadir, yee dote on hir; & so al men seyn.
Allas! þat evir a man shuld, þat is of hiȝe counsail, 1277
Set[ten] al his wisdom, on his wyvis tayl !
Yee lovith hir/ so much, she hath be-nome yeur/ witt ;
And I may curs the tyme, that evir yee were I-knyt ;
ffor now, I am in certen, I have a Stepmodir:
1281
1
2
Urry. MS hostagis.
rough cheer, countenance.

41
They been shrewis som,-ther been but few othir,—
Vel fikil flaptail, such oon as she ys.
1284
ffor al my pleying atte dise, ȝit do yee more a-mys ;
Yee have I-lost yeur/ name, yeur worshipp & yeur feith;
So dote[n] yee on hir/, & levith al she sayith."
ffawnus, with the same word, gaff þe chayir a but,
And lepe out of the Chambir, as who seyd "cut!"
And swore, in verry woodnes, be God omnipotent,
That Beryn of his wordis shuld[e] sore repent!
Beryn set nouȝt þerof; [but] with a proude hert
Answer[i]d his ffadir, & axid a new shert.
He gropid al a-boute, to have found[en] oon,
As he was wont to-fore, but þere was noon.
Then toke he such[e] willokis as he fond ther',
And beheld hym-selff what [maner] man he were.
1288
[leaf 197, back]
1293
ffor when he was arayde, then gan he first be wrothe;
ffor [tho] his vombe lokid out, & his rigg both.
He stert aftir his ffadir, & [loud] be-gan to cry,
ffor "seth myne aray! for thy vilany
Ys as wele ȝeurs, as it is myne!"
ffawnus lete hym clatir, & cry[en] wel & fyne,
And passid forth [ful] stil, & spak nat [tho] a word.
Then Beryn gan to pink, it was nat al bord
That his ffadir seyde, when he with hym was;
""
Stepmothers
are shrews!
Fawnus has lost
his honour by
doting on Rame.'
Fawnus swears
Beryn shall
repent his words.
Beryn can get
no clothes,
has to put on
rags;
1296
belly and back
are bare.
1300 He appeals to
Fawnus,
1304
And gan to think[en] al about; & perwith seyd, "Allas!
Now know I wele for soth, þat my modir is dede :
ffor tho gan he to glow[e] first a sory mannys hede. 1308
(Now kepe thy Cut, Beryn; for þow shalt have a fit
Somwhat of the world, to lern[e] better witt;
but in vain.
Then he thinks
it's no joke, and
says he knows
indeed that his
mother is dead.
(Yes, Mr Beryn,
you're to have a
turn now.
ffor & þow wiste sikirly what is for to com,
Thow woldist wissh aftir thy deth ful offt & I-lome; 1312 You'll often wish
ffor pere nys beting half so sore, with staff nethir [with]swerd,
As man to be [I-]bete[n] with his owne ȝerd.
The pyry is I-blowe,-hop, Beryn, hop!—
That ripe wol heraftir, & on thyn hede dropp.
Thow tokist noon hede whils it shoon hoot;
1316
you were dead!)

Beryn goes
towards the
church,
laments that his
mother Agea is
dead,
and that all men
scorn him.
At his mother's
tomb
he swoons;
his 5 wits go.
Then he under-
stands that
Fortune sets-up
some men, and
overthrows
others.
Therfor wyntir þe nyȝhith: asay[e] by thy Cote !)
Beryn, for shame, to town durst he nat go;
1324
He toke his way to chirchward, his frend was made his foo.
ffor Angir, sorow, & shame, & hevynes þat he had, 1321
Vnneth he myste speke, but stode halff as mad.
"O Allas!" quod Beryn, "what [maner] wit had I?
That coude nat, to-fore this day, knowe sikirly
That my modir dede was; but nowe I knowe to sore;
And drede more, þat eche day her-aftir, more & more
I shall knowe & fele, that my modir is dede.
Allas! I smote þe messangere, & toke of hir noon hede.
Allas! I am right pore! Allas! þat I am nakid.
1329
1332
1336
1 Allas! I sclept to fast, til sorowe nowe hath me wakid.
Allas! I hungir sore! allas! for dole & peyn!
ffor eche man me seeth, hath me in disdeyn."
This was al his myrth, [un]to the chirch[e]-ward,
That of his modir Agea he toke so litil reward.
When Beryn was within the chirch, þen gan he wers fray :
As sone he sawe þe tombe where his modir lay,
His coloure gan to chaunge in-to a dedely hewe.
"Allas! gentil modir! so kynd þow were, & trewe,
It is no mervel, for þy deth þouȝe I sore smert."
Ant pere-with-al þe sorowe so fervent smote in his hert,
That sodenly he fil [a] down), stan dede in swowe : 1341
That he had part of sorowe, me thinkith pat2 myȝt a-vowe.
Beryn lay so longe, or he myȝte a-wake,
ffor al his fyve wittis had clene hym forsake.
Wel myȝte he by hym selff, when reson I-com were,
Vndirstond that ffortune had a sharp[e] spere,
And ekè grete power, a-mong[es] hiȝe & lowe,
Som [men] to avaunce, & som to ovir-throwe.
So atte last, when Beryn a litil wakid were,
He trampelid fast with his feet, & al to-tare his ere³
1 leaf 198.
2 read 'I,' or 'men.'
1344
1348
3 hair. Tearing your hair with tears that run from your eyes,
is a manœuvre that 'd puzzle a modern Englishman. But, as the
writer so often says, we're a degenerate race.

43
And his visage both, ryȝt as a woodman,
With many a bittir tere, þat from his eyen ran ;
And sighid many a sore sigh, & had much hevynes;
And evir-more he cursid his grete vnkyndnes
1352
Beryn weeps,
sighs, and curses
his unkindness to
his mother.
To foreȝit his modir, whils she was a-lyve;
And lenyd to hir' tombe opon his tore sclyu[e]¹;
1356
And wisshid a powsand sithis, he had I-be hir by:
And beheld hir tombe with a petouse eye.
"Now, glorious God," quod Beryn, "þat al thing madist He asks God
of nouȝt,
Heven & erth, [&] man & best! sith I am mys-wroust, 1360
Of ȝewe
I axe mercy, socour & help, & grace,
1364
[leaf 198, back]
ffor my mys-dede & foly, vnthryfft & trespase.
Set my sorowe & peyn, somwhat in mesure
ffro dispeir & myscheff, as I may endure !
Lord of al lordis! þouȝe ffortune be my foo,
ȝit is thy myȝte a-bove, to turn hym to & fro.
ffirst, my modirs lyff, ffortune hath me berevid,
And sith my ffadirs love, & nakid also me levid.
What may he do more? ȝis, take a-wey my lyff.
But, for that were myne ese, & end of al [my] stryff;
Therfor he doith me lyve; for my wers, I sey,
That I shuld evir-more lyve, & nevir for to dey."
yee
2 Now leve I Beryn with his modir, tyl I com a-ȝe,
And wol retourne me to Rame, þat of hir sotilte
Be-þouȝt hir al aboute, when Beryn was agoon,
That it shuld be wittid hir: wherfor she a-noon
In this wise seyd to ffawnus; "Sir! what have
Al-þouȝe I speke a mery word, to suffir yeur/ sone go
Nakid in-to þe town), it' was nat my counsaill.
What wol be seyd þerof? sikir, with-out[en] fail,
ffor I am his stepmodir, þat I am cause of al!
The violence, the wrath, þe angir & þe gal,
That is be-twene ȝewe both, it wol be wit[tid] me;
pardon for his
misdeeds.
Fortune has
taken his mother,
1368 and his father's
love, and only
leaves him his'
life, that he may
suffer.
1372
Rame, to prevent
being blamed,
1376
do?
tells Fawnus she
was in fun,
1380
1 scleve, sleeve. 2 There are no breaks or insets in the MS.

and begs him
to fetch Beryn
home at once.
Fawnus, to
please her,
agrees,
Wherfor I prey ȝew hertly, doith hym com home a-ye."
"Nay by my trowith," quod ffawnus, "for me comyth he
nat ȝit;
Sith he, of my wordis, so litil prise set,
1385
1388
1392
As litil shall I charge[n] his estate also.
Sorowe have, þat recchith¹ þouȝe he nakid go !
ffor euery man [wel] knowithe þat he is nat wise;
Wherfor may be supposid, his pleying atte dise
Is cause of his aray, & no thing yee, my wyff."
"ȝis I-wis," quod Rame, "the tale wol be ryff
Of me, & of noon othir; I knowe riȝte wel a fyne:
Wherfor I prey ȝewe, gentil Sir, & [eke] for love myne,
That he were I-fet home, & þat in grete hast
And let asay efft ageyn) with ffeirnes hym to chast; 1396
And send[e] Beryn clothis, & a newe shert;"
And made al wele in eche side, & kept[e] close hir hert.
"Now sith it is yeur wil," quod ffawnus tho a-noon,
"That Beryn shall home come; for yeur sake aloon 1400
I wcl be the message, to put yeur hert in ese ;
t;
And els, so God me help, wer it nat ȝewe to plese,
The gras shuld growe on pament, or I hym home bryng!"
seeks in vain for ȝit nethirles, forth he went, with too or thre, ryding [leaf 199]
ffrom o strete to a-nothir, enqueryng to & fro
Beryn in all
his old haunts,
but at last finds
him lamenting
in church.
Fawnus too
weeps at Agea's
tomb.
1405
Aftir Beryn, in every plase wher he was wont to go;
Sheching eviry halk², howris to or thre,
With hazardours, & othir such, pere as he was wont to be;
And fond hym nat there; but to³ chirch went echone,
And atte dorr they stode a while, & herd Beryn made his
moon:
They herd at his compleynt, þat petouse was to here.
ffawnus, in-to the Chirch, pryuelych gan pire;
But also sone as he beheld wher Agea lay,
1412
His teris ran down be his chekis, & þus he gan to say;
"A! Agea, myne old love, & [eke] my newe also !
Allas! þat evir our hertis shuld depart a too!
1416
I he who recks, cares.
2
corner.
3 MS butto.

45
ffor in your graciouse day is, of hertis trobilnes
I had nevir knowlech, but of al gladnes."
Remembryng in his hert, & evir gan renewe
Fawnus remem-
bers Agea's
graciousness.
1421
Beryn avoids him.
1424
1428
1432
Fawnus
meets Beryn,
says, 'Don't take
my scolding too
much to heart!
We'll be friends
again.
You take to good
ways.
The goodnes be-twene hem both, & hir' hert[e] trewe;
And drewe hym nere to Beryn, with an hevy mode.
But, as sone a[s] Beryn knew & vndirstode
That it was his ffadir, he wold no le[n]gir a-bide ;
But a-noon he voidit by þe todir syde :
And ffawnus hym encountrid, & seyd: "wee have þe souȝte
burh[out] the town), my gentil sone, & perfor void þe nouȝte!
Þouȝe I seyd a word or to, as me þouȝt for þe best,
ffor thyne erudicioune, to drawe þe to lyff honest;
Thow shuldist nat so feruently have take it to þyn hert.
But sith I knowe my wordis doith the so sore smert,
[I] ShaH no more her aftir; & ech day our diete
Shall be mery & solase, & this shal be for-ȝete.
ffor wel I woot, þat for by modir¹ þow art to-tore;
Also þow hast grete sorow; but onys nedith, & no more
And perfor, sone, on my blessing, to put sorow a-wey,
Drawe þe nowe her-aftir to honest myrth & pley.
Lo, ther' is clothing for ȝewe, & yeur/ hors I-diȝte
With harneyse al fressh[e] newe! And yf ye list be knyght,
I shal ȝit, or eve [come], that Bergeyn vndirtake, [leaf 199, back]
That the Emperour, for my love, a knyȝt [he] shal ȝew make:
And what that evir yee nede, a-noon it shall be bouȝt;
ffor whils þat I have eny thing', ye shal lak[ke] nauȝte.”
"Graunte mercy!" quod Beryn, with an hevy chere, 1443 Beryn declines
"Of yeur worshipful profir þat yee have proferid me here;
But ordir of knyȝthode to take, [it] is nat my likeing';
And sith yeur wit is for to do[en] somwhat my plesing',
Yee have a wyff ye love wele, & [eke] so tendirlich,
That, & she have children, I knowe right sikirlich
Al that she can devise, both be nyȝte & day,
Shall be to make hir Childryn heirs, yf þat she may;
And ekè sowè sedis of infelicite,
1436
1448
Here are clothes
and a horse for
you.
I'll get the
knight you.
Emperor to
the knighting,
but asks, that as
Rame will want
Fawnus's lands
for her children,
¹ MS. for by modir þat.

and will not let
him give Beryn
much money,
Wherof wold growe devisioun be-twene ȝewe & me. 1452
ffor yf ye spend on me yeur/ good, & [do] þus riallich,
Levith well in certen, yeur wyff woll sikirliche
Eche day for angir hir tuskis [sharpe] whet,
1455
And to smyte with hir tunge, yeur/ hert in wrath to set
Toward[es] me from day to day. but [yf] ye wold aply
Somwhat to hir purpose, & aftir hir/ ȝewe guy,
She wold wexe so ovirtwart, & of so lither tach,
And evir loure vndir hir/ hood, a redy for to snache; 1460
She wold be shortyng of yeur/ lyf; & þat desire I nauȝt.
Fawnus shall let Wherfor, to plese[n] al aboute, my purpose & my þouȝt
him be a Mer-
chant, and shall
buy his heirship
for 5 ships well
freighted.
Fawnus agrees,
rides home,
Rame what
Beryn says.
Is for to be a marchaunte, & leve myne heritage,
And relese it for evir, for Shippis fyve of stage
fful of marchandise, the best of al this londe.
And yff yee wol so, ffadir, quyk let make þe bonde."
1464
ffawnus was ryȝte wele a-payde that ilk[e] word out-stert ;
But ȝit he seid to Beryn: "I mervel in myne hert 1468
Where haddist þow þis counsel, to leve þyne honoure,
And lyve in grete aventur, & in grete laboure;"
And rid so forth talking', a sofft [and] esy pase,
Homward to his plase, þer þat Rame was.
And as sone as ffawnus was I-liȝte a-down),
1472
and tells his wife And hiȝed fast[e] to his wyff, & with hir/ gan to rown),
And told hir al the purpose, & made ffawnus chere: 1475
She did hym nat halff so much, þe tyme she was his fere;
She is delighted, She 'hullid hym, & mollid hym, & toke hym aboute þe
cuddles him,
coaxes him,
and begs him
thus to secure
his inheritance.
nekk,
[leaf 200]
And went lowe for the kite², & made many a bekk,
And seyd: "sir/, by yeur/ spech[e] nowe riȝt wel I here,
That yf ye list, yee mowe do thing þat I most desire; 1480
And þat is this yeur' heritage, pere ȝewe best[e] likid,
hat yee myȝt gyve;" & evir a-mong, þe brussh a-wey she pikid
ffrom hir clothis here & þer, & sighid þer-with-al.
Fawnus promises ffawnus, of his gentilnes, by hir/ myddil smal
Hert[e]lich hir bracyd, & seyd: "I wol nat leve,
to do it.
1484
1 ? the MS u. 2 ? crouched humbly, as a dove from the kite.

47
I suyr ȝew my trowith, þat onys or it be eve
That I shall do my devoir, without [eny] fentyse,
ffor to plese yeur/ hert[e] fullich in al wise."
1488
"Graunt mercy, myne own) soverene!" quod Rame þo, Rame declares
mekely;
And made protestacioune, þat she wold sikirly,
Al the dayis of hir/ lyff, be to hym as ende
As evir voman was to man, as ferforth as hir/ mynde 1492
And wit hir/ wold[e] serve, & made grete othe.
ffawnus bood no lenger, but forth þer-with he goith.
(A! precius God in heven, kyng of mageste !
1496
she'll be gentle to
Fawnus, and
serve him all
her life.
Fawnus pretends
to persuade
Beryn to give up
1501 chant
So plentivouse this world is of iniquite!
Why is it I-suffrid, þat trowith is brouȝt a-down)
With trechery & falshede, in feld, & eke in town?)
But now to ffawnus, & his entent. when he his sone met,
He toke hym sofft[e] by þe hond; his tung he gan to whet,
Sotilly to engyne hym. first he gan to preche :
"Leve thy foly, my dere sone, & do as I þe teche:
Sith þow hast wit & reson, & art of mannys age,
What nedith the be marchant? & shal have heritage
ffor, & by good were I-lost, þe sorow wold be myne,
(To telle the soth,) riȝt nyȝe paregal to þyne.
And yf þat I were dede, whil[e]s þow were oute,
al
1505
being a mer-
Lond, & rent, & all my good, (have þow no doute,) 1508 he might lose his
It wold be plukkid from the; thy parte wold be lest.
And also ferpermore, I make [now] oon beheest,
lands by it.
That I trowe my moblis wol nat [well] suffice
To charge fyve Shippis ful of marchandise,
1512
But yf I leyde in morgage my lond, & eke my rent; [lf 200, bk]
And þat I leve be nat thy wil, ne þyne entent.
ȝit nethirles, yf [that] thy hert[e] be so inly set
But if he is set
on it, then
1516 Fawnus will
help him.
ffor to be a marchant, for no thing woh I let
That I nyl do thy plesaunce, as ferforth as I may,
To go ryȝte nyȝe myne own) estate; but levir I had nay."
Hir' wordis, ne hir/ dedis, ne maters hem be-twene,
I wol nat tary now þereon, my parchemen to spene: 1520

Beryn agrees to
release his
heirship and
honours to
Fawnus for 5
ships laden with
merchandise.
The deed of
Release, and
Bond, are
executed,
and deposited
as an escrow
with a third
person.
Fawnus and
But fynallich[e], to the ende of hir' acordement,
ffawnus had so goon a-bout, I-turned & I-went,
That he had brouȝt his sone to-fore þe Emperour,
To relese his heritage, & [eke] al his honour'
1524
That he shuld have aftir his day, for shippis fyue, & ful
I-led of Marchaundise, of lynnyn, & of woll,
And of othir thingis, þat were I-vsid tho.

Engrosid was the covenaunte be-twen hem [bothe] to,
In presence of þe Emperour,-in opyn, & no roun), 1529
To-fore the grettest Cenatours, & eldest of þe town).
So when the relese selid was, with a syde bonde,
They were I-leyde both [right] in a meen[e] honde, 1532
In-to the tyme þat Beryn) fullich [i]sesid were
In the fyve Shippis, þat I ȝew tolde ere.
Rame rejoice at
the bargain.
But who was glad but ffawnus? & to his wyff [he] went,
And seyd[e]: "nowe, my hertis swete, al þyn hole entent
Is vttirlich perfourmyd! vs lakkith nowe no more,
But marchandise & Shippis, as I told to-fore."
“That shal nat fail," quod Rame, & began to daunce;
And aftirward they speken of þe purveaunce.
1537
1540
Fawnus gets the
ships ready,
gives Beryn
seisin (that is,
possession) of
them, and gets the
Release.
Of Beryn's
adventures.
(Allas! this fals[e] world! so ful of trechery!
In whom shuld the sone have trust & feith sikirly,
If his ffadir faylid hym? whepir myȝt he go
ffor to fynde a sikir ffrend, þat he myȝt trist[en] to?) 1544
So when these .v. shippis were rayid & [i-]diȝte,
ffawnus & his sone to þe Emperour/ ful riȝte
They went, & many a grete man for þe same case,
To see both in possessioune, as hir' covenaunte wase. 1548
Beryn first was sesid in the Shippis fyve;
And ffawnus had the relese, & bare it to his wyff; [leaf 201]
And Eche held hem payde, & Rame best of al;
ffor she had conquerd thing, þat causid most hir' gal. 1552
Now leve I ffawnys & his wyff: & of þe governaunce
Of Beryn I wol speke, & also of his chaunce.
When lodismen, & maryneris, in al þing' redy was,

49
with his 5 ships.
This Beryn in-to Alisaundir (yf God wold send hym grace, Beryn sets sail
That wynde hym wold[e] serve,) he wold. so on a day
The wynde was good; & [tho] they seylid on hir/ wey
Too dayis fullich, & a nyght ther-with-al,
And had wedir at wil; til atte last gan fall
1560
For 3 days
thick darkness
is on them,
Such a myst a-mong hem, þat no man myȝt se othir;
That wele was hym þat had[de] pere þe blessing' of his modir.
ffor thre dayis dessantly' þe derknes a-mong hem was,
That no shipp myȝte se othir; wherfor, ful offt "alas!”
The[y] seyd; & to þe hiȝe God þey made hir' preyere, 1565 greatly.
That he wold, of his grace, hem govern & stere,
So þat hire lyvis myȝte I-savid be;
ffor þey were cleen in dispeyr/, be-cause þey myȝt nat se
and they fear
The loder, wherby these Shipmen her cours toke echon).
So atte last, þe ferth day, makeing þus hir moon,
The day gan clere ; & þen such wynde a-rose,
1570
On the 4th day
a fierce wind
blows,
1573
That blew hir' Shippis els-wher' þen was hir/ first purpose.
The tempest was so huge, & [was] so strong also,
That wel was hym þat coude bynd[en] or ondo
Any rope with-in the Shipp, þat longit to þe crafft:
Euery man shewid his connyng', to-fore þe Shipp, & bafft.
every one
prepares for
death,
The wynd a-wook; the see to-brast; it blew so gresly sore, the sea bursts,
That Beryn & all his company, of synnys las & more, 1578
Eche man round a-boute, shroff hym-selff to othir;
And put in goddis gowernaunce, lyff, [&] Shipp, & strothir2.
ffor pere nas³ Shippis meyne, for auȝt [þat] þey coude hale,
That myȝte a-bate[n] of the Shipp þe þiknes of a skale ;
The wedir was so fervent of wynd & eke of thundir, 1583
That euery shipp from othir was blowe of siȝte a-sondir/; and all the ships
And durid so al day & nyȝte; tyl on the morowe, [lf 201, bk]
I trow It was no questioune wheþer þey had Ioy or sorowe.
So aftirward, as god wold, the wynd was somwhat sofft:
Beryne clepid a Maryner/, & bad hym "sty on lofft, 1588
And weyte aftir' our four Shippis, [pt] aftir vs doith dryve;
ffor it is butte grace of God, yf þey be [now] alyve.”
1 Urry prints' incessantly.'
2
? rothir.
4
3 MS was. 4 but the.
are driven apart.
Then it grows
calmer.

All Beryn's
five ships are
safe,
A marynere anoon with that, ryȝt as Beryn bad,
Styed in-to the topcastel, & brouȝt hym tydingis glad:
66
"Sir," he seith, "beth mery! yeur Shippis comyth echone
Saff & sound[e] sayling, as yee shul se a-noon;
and land is near. And eke sir' ferþermore, lond also I sigh :
Beryn orders
the lodesman to
steer to land.
Beryn takes
counsel with
his men;
and they agree
to his landing
alone,
to see what kind
of town they
are at.
1594
Let draw our/ corse estward; þis tyde wol bryng' vs ny."
"Blessid be God!" quod Beryn, "þen, wer' our' Shippis com,
[·
.] 1598
Wee have no nede to dout[e] werr, ne molestacioun ;
ffor pere nys within our shippis no þing of spoliacioun),
But all trewe marchaundise. wherfor, sir¹ lodisman,
Stere onys in-to þe Costis, as wel as [evir] þowe can. 1602
When our/ Shippis been I-com, þat we mow pas in fere,
Lace on a bonet 2 or tweyn, þat wee mowe saille nere.”
And when they were the Costis nyȝe, was noon of hem al
That wist what lond it was. þen Beryn gan to cal
Out of euery Shipp a-noon a marynere or tweyne,
ffor to take counsel; & þus he gan to seyne:
“The ffrountis of þis ilch[e] toun) been wondir feir withal :
Me pinkith it is þe best[e] rede, what þat evir be-fall,
That I, my selff aloon, walk in-to the toun),
1608
And here, & se, both here & pere, vpward & doun), 1612
And [eke] enquere fullich of hir' governaunce.
What sey yee, sirs? wol yee sent³ [vn]to þis ordenaunce ? ”
Al they accordit wel perto, & held it for þe best;
"ffor þus, yf it be profitabil, we mowe a-hide & rest, 1616
And yf [that] it be othir-wise, þe rathir shall we go;
ffor aftir þat ye spede, wee wol[len] worch & do."
But nowe mowe yee here, riȝt a wondir þing':
and most deceitful In al the world[e] wyde, so fals of hir' lyving
Was no pepil vndir sonne, ne noon so desseyvabil,
As was the pepit of this town, ne more vnstabil; [leaf 202]
And had a cursid vsage of sotil ymaginacioune,
That yff so were the Shippis of any straunge nacioun
Now in this town
dwell the falsest
people in the
world.
When shipmen
come, the towns-
men hide,
Were come in-to the porte, a-noon þey wold hem hyde
1
Urry prints 'for'.
2
a small sail.
3 ? assent.
1620
1623

51
With-in hir' own[e] howsis, & no man go, ne ryde, 1626
In no strete of al the town); ascaunce þat þey were lewde,
And coude no skit of marchandise: a skil it was, a shrewde,
As yee shul here aftir, of hir/ wrong & falshede:
But ȝit it fill, as worthy was, oppon hir/ owne hede. 1630
Beryn arayd hym fresshly, as to A marchand longith,
And set hym on a palfrey wel be-sey & hongit,
And a page rennyng by his hors[e] feet:
1636
1640
He rode endlong þe town, but no man coud he mete;
The dorrys were I-closid in both too sidis;
Wherof he had mervel. ȝit ferpermor' he ridis;
And waytid on his ryȝthond a mancipilis plase,
Al ffressh & newe, & þidir gan he pase;
The gatis were wyde vp, & þidir gan he go ;
ffor þurh-out þe longe town) [ne] he fond so no mo.
Ther-in dwellid a Burgeyse, þe most[e] scliper man
Of al the town þurh-out; & what so [that] he wan
With trechery & gile,-as doith [now] som ffreris,-
Right so must he part[en it] with his [false] comperis. 1644
Beryn list down on¹ his hors, & inward gan he dres,
And fond the good man of þe house pleying' atte ches²
With his neyȝbour/, as trewe as he, þat dwellid hym fast by.
But as sone as this Burgeyse on Beryn cast his eye, 1648
Sodenly he stert vp, & put the ches hym fro,
as if they knew
nothing of
merchandise.
Beryn rides
into Falsetown,
but sees no one;
all doors are shut.
At a Manciple's
house
he alights,
finds the man
playing at chess,
warmly.
And toke Beryn by the hond, & seyd these wordis tho
"Benedicite! what manere wynd hath I-brouȝt ȝewe here? and is welcomed
Now wold to God I had wherof 13 coude make ȝew cher!
But yee shall lowe my good wil, & take such as pere is,
And of yeur/ gentil paciens suffir þat is a-mys." 1654
ffor well he wist by his aray, & by his contenaunce,
That of the Shippis þat were I-com, he had som gouern-
aunce;
Wherfor he made hym chere, semeyng Amyabil, [If 202, bk]
I-colerid all with cawtelis, & wondir desseyvabil.
1658
¹ of, off. 2 MS 'dise'. Urry prints 'chess': see 3 lines on.
3 MS 'or'.
(The man sees
Beryn is well off.)

The Burgess of
Falsetown is
delighted to
see Beryn,
and offers him
anything he
wants;
declares he has
seen Beryn 100
times,
He bracyd hym by the Middil, & preyd hym sit a-down),
And lowly, with much worshipp, dressid his cosshon).
"Lord God!" seyd this Burgeyse, "I pank þis ilk[e] day,
That I shuld see ȝewe hole & sounde here in my contray;
And yff yee list to telle the cause of yeur/ comyng',
And yff yee have nede to eny maner thing',
And it be in my power/, & þouȝe I shuld it seche,
It shuld go rigt wondir streyte, I sey ȝew sikirlich,
But yee it had in hast, pere-with ȝewe to plese;
ffor nowe I se ȝewe in my house, my hert is in grete ese."
1664
1670
The todir burgeyse rose hym vp, for to make Rouse',
And axid of his felawe, þat lord was of the house,
"Whens is this worshipful man?" with wordis end & lowe,
"ffor it semeth by the manere, þat ye hym shuld[e] knowe,
And have sey hym to-fore þis tyme." "I have seen hym !”
quod þe todir,
1674
"ȝe, I-wis an .C. sithis! & riȝt as to my brothir
I wold do hym plesaunce, in al that evir I can;
ffor trewlich in his contray he is a worshipful man.”-
"ffor soth, Sir/, & for yeur love, A M in this town)
Wold do hym worshipp, & be riȝte feyne & bown)
To plese hym, & a-vail, to have þonk of ȝewe,
1678
asks his mate to
amuse Beryn,
while he sees to
Beryn's horse,
and then he'll
broach his best
pipe of wine.
1682
I woot wele; God hem ȝeld! so have þey offt or nowe."-
And arose vp ther-with-al, & with his felaw spak
Of such maner mater, þat faylid nevir of lakk.
So when hir/ counsel was I-do, this burgeyse preyd his fere
To sit a-down be Beryn, & do hym sporte & chere:
"And in the [mene] while, I woll se to his hors ;
ffor every gentil hert, a-fore his owne cors,
Desirith that his ryding best be servid & I-diȝte
Rathir then hym-selff. wherfor with al my myȝte
I wol have an ey þerto; & sith[ens] perce² wyyn,
Wich tonne or pipe is best, & [eke] most' fyne."
Beryn was al a-basshid of his soden chere;
But nethirles the Burgeyse sat hym som-what nere,
1686
1690
1
flattery, politeness.
2
Urry prints 'sich parte'.

53
[leaf 203]
Beryn talks
with the second
1696 Burgess of
And preyd hym, of his gentilnes, his name for to telle,
His contrey, & his lynage. & he answerd snelle;
"Berinus I am I-named, & in Rome I-bore,
And have fyve shippis of myne owne, las & more¹,
fful of marchaundise, ligging to-fore þe town):
But much mervail have I, þe good man is so boune
To serve me, & plese, and [not] how it myȝt be."
"Sir," [tho] seyd the Burgeyse, no merve it is to me:
66
ffor many a tyme & offt, (I can nat sey how lome,)
He hath be in yeur/ marchis; &, as I trowe, in Room
Also he was I-bore, yf I ne ly[en] shaft."
1699
"Yf it be so," quod Beryn, "no mervel it is at al, 1704
Þouȝe he me have I-sey; & eke his genti chere
Previth it al opynly: but, be hym þat bouȝt me dere,
I have þerof no knowlech, as I am nowe avisid."
With that cam in the goodman, with contenaunce disgisid,
And had enquerid of þe Child, þat with Beryn cam, 1709
ffro gynnyng to þe ending', & told his mastris name,
And of Agea his modir, & al thing' as it was;
Wher-þurh he was ful perfite, to answere to euery cas. 1712
So entryng in-to the hal, þe Burgeys spak a-noon:
"A, my gentil Beryn! allas! þat vndir stone
Myne Owne hert Agea, thy modir leff & dere!
Now God assoyl hir/ soule! for nevir bettir chere
Had I of frend vomman, ne nevir halff so good.
Benedicite a marchaunt comyng' ovir flood!
Who brouȝt ȝewe in this purpose? & beth yeur ffadirs heir.
Now, be my trewe conscience, ryȝt nyȝe in dispeyr
I waxe for yeur/ sake; for now [ful] frendlese
Falsetown.
Meantime the
has pumpt
first Burgess
Beryn's man,
and comes
back with
"Ah! Beryn
and so your
mother's dead.
The best friend
1716 I had!
1720
And you're
turned merchant!
Yee mowe wel sey[e] þat ye been. but ȝit, sir², nethirles Well; take
Yee mut endure ffortune, & hevynes put a-wey;
Ther is noon othir wisdom. also, yeur shippis gay 1724
That been I-com in savete, ouȝt to a-mend yeur' mode,
your hap!
at your ships."
The wich, when wee have dyned, I swer, sir², by the rood, I'll go and look
Wee wohl se hem trewly, with-in & eke with-oute,
1 smaller & greater.
2 Urry prints 'for'.

And havè wynè with vs, & drynk [en] al a-boute." 1728
[leaf 203, back] They set, & wissh, & fedd hem, & had wher'of plente :
They have a
good dinner,
and some
beautiful
chessmen are
brought out.
The Burgess of
Falsetown asks
Beryn to play,
and says his
ships are not
settled in the
ooze.
So Beryn plays
the Burgess,
The Burgeys was a stuffid man, pere lakkid noon deynte.
So when they had I-dyned, the cloth was vp I-take;
A Chese pere was I-brouȝt forth: but tho gan sorow to wake.
The Ches was al of yvery, the meyne fressh & newe 1733
I-pulsshid, & I-pikid, of white, asure, & blewe.
Beryn be-held the Chekkir; it semed passing' feire :
"Sir/," quod the Burgeys, "yee shul fynd here a peyre, 1736
That wol mate ȝew trewly, in las þen half a myle;'
And was I-sayd of sotilte, Beryn to begile.
""
"Now in soth," quod Beryn, " it myste wel hap, [or] nay;
And nere I must my Shippis se, els I wold assay." 1740
"What nedith þat?" quod the Burgeyse; "trewlich I
wol nat glose;
They been nat ȝit I-setelid, ne fixid in þe wose
ffor I have sent[e] thries, sith [that] yee hidir cam,
1745
To waite oppon hir governaunce: wherfor lete set o game,
And I shall be the first[e], þat shatt ȝewe a-tast."
The meyne were I-set vp; they¹ gon to pley[e] fast':
who lets him win Beryn wan the first, þe second, & þe pird;
4 games.
And atte fourth[e] game, [right] in the ches a-myd, 1748
be Burgeyse was I-matid: but þat lust hym [ful] wele;
And al was doon to bryng hym in, As yee shul here snel.
Beryn then stops, "Sir/," then seyd Beryn, "yee woot wele howe it is;
Me list no more to pley; for yee [wel] know[e] this; 1752
Wher is noon comparisoun, of what þing' so it be,
Lust & likeing fallith pere, as it semeth me;
as one-sided play Ne myrth is nat commendabit, þat ay is by o syde, 1755
But it rebound[e] to the todir; wherfor tyme is to ryde.
is no fun.
But the Burgess
wants another
game,
And as many thonkis, as I can or may,
Of my sport & chere, & also of yeur' play."
"Nay I-wis, gentil Beryn, I woot yee wol nat go;
ffor noritur[e] wol it nat, for to part[e] so;
And eke my condicioune, but I ley som thing',
1 MS &
1760

55
1764
Is no more to pley, þen who so shoke a rynge,
Ther no man is within, þe rynging to answere;
To shete a fethirles bolt, al-most as good me were.
But & yee wold this next[e] game som maner wager legg';
And let the trowith, on both sidis, be morgage & I-plegg,
That who-so be I-matid, graunt & [eke] assent
To do the todirs bidding; & who-so do repent,
Drynk[en] al the watir, þat salt is of the see."
[leaf 204]
for a wager;
the mated man is
to do the victor's
1768 bidding,
1772
1776
or drink all the
salt water in the
sea.
Beryn agrees,
plays very
carefully,
1780 and soon gets the
worst of it;
Beryn belevid þat he coude pley bettir þen he,
And sodenly assentid, with hond in hond assurid;
Men þat stode be sidis, I-cappid & I-hurid,
Wist[e] wele that Beryn shuld have þe wers[e] mes;
ffor the Burgeys was the best pleyer atte ches
Of all the wyde marchis, or many a myle aboute;
But þat ne wiste beryn of, ne cast þerof no doute.
He set the meyne efft ageyn, & toke better hede
Then he did tofore, & so he had [de] nede.
The Burgeyse toke a-visement long on euery drauȝte;
So with[in] an houre or to, Beryn he had I-cauȝte
Som what oppon the hipp, þat Beryn had þe wers.
And al be it his mynde & wit was for to curs,
ȝit must he dure his ffortune, when he was so fer I-go.
(ffor who is that þat ffortune may [nat] alwey vndo? 1784
And namelich [he that] stont even in eche side
Of pro & contra; but God help, downe wol he glide.
But nowe a word of philosophy, þat fallith to my mynde,
'Who take hede of þe begynnyng, what fal shal of þe ende,
He leyith a bussh to-fore the gap, þer fortune wold in ryde;'
But comynlich yowith forȝetith þat, þurh-out the world.
Riȝt so be Beryn I may wele sey, þat consaillis in rakid
Likly to lese his marchandise, & go hym-selff al nakid.)
Beryn studied in the ches, al-þouȝe it nauȝt a-vailid:
The Burgeyse in þe mene while, with othir men counsaillid
To fech the Sergauntis in the town), for þing he had a-do.
So when they com[en] were, they walkid to & fro,
Vp & down in the hall, as skaunce þey knewe nauȝte; 1797
but he must
stand his
chance.
(He who at first
stops Fortune's
looks to the end,
attack.)
Beryn is likely
to lose all.
The Burgess
Serjeants.
sends for the

The Serjeants
lie in wait to
arrest Beryn.
And ȝit of all the purpose, wit, & mynde, & þouȝt
Of this vntrew[e] Burgeys, by his messengeris
They were ful enfourmyd. wherfor with ey & eris 1800
They lay a waite ful doggidly, Beryn to a-rest;
1807
ffor perfor þey were afftir sent, & was hir charge & hest.
[leaf 204, back] (Lord! howe shuld o sely lombe, a-mong wolvis weld,
And scape[n] vn-I-harmyd? it hath be seyn [ful] seld. 1804
Kepe thy Cut nowe, Beryn! for þow art in the case.)
The hall was ful of pepil, þe seriauntis shewid hir/ mase:
Beryn kast vp his hede, & was ful sore amayid;
ffor then he was in certen the burgeys had hym betrayde.
"Draw on," seyd the Burgeyse; "Beryn! ye have þe wers!"
And euery man to othir þe covenaunt gan rehers.
The Burgeyse, whils þat Beryn was in hevy pouȝt,
and takes a rook. The next drauȝt aftir, he toke a roke for nauȝte.
Beryn swat for angir, & was in hevy plyste,
The Burgess
calls on Beryn
to play,
Beryn is in great And dred ful sore in hert; for wele he wist al quyte
He shuld nat escape, & was in hiȝe distres;
distress,
turns pale,
and is check-
mated.
The Serjeants
tell Beryn he
must go before
the Steward.
1812
And pryuylich in his hert, þat evir he saw the ches 1816
He cursid þe day & tyme: but what a-vaylid þat?
ffor wele he wist[e] þen, þat he shuld be mate :
He gan to chaunge his coloure, both[e] pale & wan.
The Burgeyse seid: "comyth nere! ye shul se þis man,
How he shall be matid, with what man me list!"
He drouȝe, & seyd "chek mate!" þe Sergauntis were
ful prest,
1821
And sesid Beryn by the scleve. "sirs¹, what þynk ye for
to do?"
1825
Quod Beryn to þe Seriauntis, "þat yee me handith so?
Or what have I offendit? or what have I seyde?"
"Trewlich," quod the seriauntis, "it vaylith nat to breyde;
With vs yee must a while, wher [that] ye wol or no,
To-fore the Steward of this town). a-rise, & trus, &
go
And pere it shall be openyd, howe wisely þow hast
!
wrouȝte:
1 MS & seid sirs'.
1829

57
This is þe ende of our/ tale, make it nevir so touȝte.”
"Sirs, farith feir! yee have no nede to hale."
"Pas forth!" quod the seriauntes, "wee woll nat here
by tale."
1832
"ȝis, sirs, of yeur/ curtesy, I prey ȝewe of o word.
Al-þouȝe my gentil hoost hath pleyd with me in borde,
And [hath] I-wonne a wager, yee have nauȝt to doon;
That is betwene hym & me; yee have no thing' to doon."
The hoost made an hidouse cry, in gesolreut¹ þe haut, 1837
And set his hond in kenebowe; he lakkid nevir a faute :
"Wenyst þowe," seid he to Beryn, "for to scorn[e] me?
What evir þow speke, or stroute, certis it wol nat be; 1840
Of me shalt þow have no wrong; pas forth a better pase;
In presence of our/ Steward I wol te my case."
"Why, hoost, sey yee this in ernest, or in game?
Yee know my contray & my modir, my lynage & my
name;
And þus ye have I-seyd me .x. sith on þis day."
66
1844
ȝe, what þouȝe I seyd so? I know wele it is nay:
Ther lijth no more ther-to, but anothir tyme
Leve me so much the les, when þow comyst by me; 1848
ffor al that evir I seyd, was to bryng the in care;
And now I have my purpose, I wol no thing the spare."
Thus Iangelyng to ech othir, endenting euery pase,
They entrid both in-to the hall, pere þe Steward was: 1852
Evandir was his name, þat sotil was, & fel,
He must be wel avisid, to-fore hym shuld[e] tel.
Anothir Burgeyse with hym was, Prouost of þe Cete,
bat hanybald was I-clepid; but of sotilte
He passid many a-nothir, as yee shul here sone.
Beryns hoost gan to tel al þing as it was doon,
1856
ffro gynnyng to be ending', þe wordis with the dede;
And howe þey made hir covenaunte, & wager howe þey
leyde.
1860
"Now, Beryn," quod the Steward, "þow hast I-herd þis tale;
Beryn says,
'Don't pull me!
You've nothing
to do with the
wager between
my host and me.'
[leaf 205]
But the Burgess
going before the
insists on his
Steward,
and says he only
pretended to be
his friend, in order
to get him into
trouble.
Evandir is
Steward,
and Hany bald
is Provost.
The Burgess
states his case
against Beryn.
1 ? gesolrent.

Evandir says
Beryn must do
his host's bid-
ding,
or drink all the
salt water in the
sea.
1864
How & in what maner þow art I-brouȝt in bale.
Thow must do his bidding; þow maist in no wise flee;
Or drynke[n] al the watir, þat salt is in the see:
Of these too thingis, þow must chese the toon :
Now be wel avisid, & sey thy will a-noon.
To do yee both[e] lawe, I may no bettir sey,
Which will he
do?
ffor þow shalt have no wrong', as ferforth as I may.
Chese thy selff riȝte as the list, & wit þow no þing' me,
Þouȝe thowe chese the wers, & let þe better be."
1868
Beryn asks for a
day's delay.
Beryn stood a-stonyd, & no mervail was,
And preyd the Steward, of a day, to answere to þe case:
"ffor I myȝt[e] liȝtlich in som word be I-cauȝte;
1873
[leaf 205, back] And eke it is riȝte hard to chese, of to þat beth riȝte nauȝt.
But & it were yeur/ likyng to graunt me day til to-morow,
I wold answere, þurh Goddis help." "þen must þow fynde
a borow,"
But he must
find a surety.
Hanybald pro-
poses to take his
5 ships as the
surety.
Beryn agrees.
They leave the
court,
and Hanybald
suggests to
Beryn,
that tho' his
ships must be
seized,
1876
Seyd the Steward to Beryn, " & ȝit it is of grace."
"Now herith me," quod hany bald, "I prey, a litil space :
He hath fyve Shippis vndir þe town), liggyng' on þe strond,
The wich[e] been sufficiant, I-sesid in our honde,
1880
By me, þat am yeur/ prouost, to execute þe lawe."
"He must assent," quod Evander, "let vs onys here his
saw."
"I graunt[e] wele," quod Beryn), "sith it may be noon othir."
Then hanybald arose hym vp, to sese both Shipp & strodir,
And toke Beryn with hym. so talking on þe wey, 1885
"Beryn," quod hanybald, "I suyr þe be my fey,
That þow art much I-bound to me þis ilk[e] day;
So is thy ple amendit by me; & eke of such a way 1888
I am a-visid in thy cause, yf þow wolt do by rede,
That lite or nauȝt, by my counsail, ouȝt[e] þe to drede.
Yee knowe wele, to-morowe þe day of plee is¹ set,
That ye mut nedis answere; or els with-out[en] lett 1892
I must yeld hem yeur Shippis; I may in no wise blyn;
So have I vndirtake. but the marchandise within,
1 MS 'it.'

59
Is nat in my charge,-ye know as wele as I,—
To make þerof no lyuery: wherfor now wisely
Worch, & do aftir [my] rede; let al yeur marchandise
Be voidit of yeur Shippis; & atte hiest prise
1896
I wol have it everydele in covenant, yf ye list.
To se myne house here onys tofore, I hold it for þe best;
Wher/ yee shul se of diuers londis, housis to or thre 1901
fful of marchandise, þat þurh this grete Cete
Is no such in preve, I may riȝt wel a-vowe.
[·
•
•]
1904
So when ye have all seyn, & I have yeur/ also;
Let som Bargen be I-made be-twen vs both[e] to."
“Graunt mercy, sir," quod Beryn, "yeur/ profir is feir &
good:
ffeyn wold I do peraftir, yf [that] I vndirstood
I myst, without[en] blame of breking of a-rest."
"ȝis," quod hanybald, "at my perel me trest."
1908
So to hanybaldis house to-gidir both þey rode;
And fonde, as hanybald had I-seyd, an houge house, long
& brode,
fful of marchandise, as riche as it may be,
Passing al the marchantis þat dwellid in þat Cete.
1912
Thus when al was shewid, þey dronk, & toke hir leve ;
his cargoes
needn't be ;
these he'd better
sell to Hanybald,
or exchange
with him.
Beryn goes to see
Hanybald's goods.
[leaf 206]
goes to Beryn's
To see [at] Beryns shippis, in hast þey gon to meve. 1916 Hanybald then
And when þat hanybald was avisid what charge þe Shippis ship
bere,
He gan to speke[n] in his voise, ascaunce he rouȝt[e] nere
Wheper he bargeynyd or no, & seyd þus: "Beryn, ffrend, and offers
Yeur/marchandise is feir & good; now let vs make an ende;
If
him:
5 ship loads of
yee list, I can no more, yee knowith how it is. 1921
Com, of short, let tuk le meyn; me pinkith I sey nat mys; to swap with
And þen yeur meyne, & yee & I, to my house shal wee go,
And of þe marchandise yee¹ saw,—I wol nat part þerfro,-
Chese of þe best of þat yee fynd[en] there;
Thurh-out þe long[e] house, þer shal no man yew dere;
1 MS I.
1925
the goods he can
find in Hany-
bald's house, for
Beryn's 5 cargoes.

Beryn consults
his men,
and they agree
to the exchange
with Hanybald.
But now for this
rascal Hany bald's
trick!
And perwith shall yeur Shippis be fillid al[le] fyve:
I can sey no bettir; yf yee list to dryve
I
This bargeyn to þe ende, counsellith with yeur men ;
may nat longe tary, I must nedis hen."
Beryn clepid his meyne, counsel for to take;
But his first[e] mocioun was, of þe woo & wrake,
And al the tribulacioune, for pleying' atte ches,
That he had euery dele, his shame, & his dures,
1928
1932
1940
ffro poynt to poynt, & how it stode, he told[e] how it was;
And then he axid counsel, what best was in the cas; 1936
To chaunge with the Burgeys, or el[le]s for to leve.
Ech man seyd his a-vise; but al þat þey did meve,
It were to long a tale for to tell it¹ here;
But fynally atte end, þey cordit al in fere,
That þe chaunge shuld stond; for as þe case was fal,
They held it clerly for þe best; & went[e] forth with-al
The next wey þat þey couth, to Hanybaldis plase.
But nowe shul yee here þe most sotil fallace
That evir man wrouȝt til othir, & hizest trechery,
Wich haynybald had wrouȝt hym selff [un]to þis company :
1944
[leaf 206, back] "Go in," 'quod hanybald, " & chese, as thy covenaunt is."
In goon these Romeyns e[veri]ch oon, & fond a-mys; 1948
ffor pere was no thing, þat eny man myȝte se,
He has had all
his goods removed
from his house,
so that Beryn
finds it empty.
Beryn is half
mad,
Saff þe wall, & tyle-stonys, & tymbir made of tre.
ffor hanybald had do void it, of al thing þat was there;
Whils he was atte Shippis, his men a-wey it bere.
1952
1956
When Beryn saw the house lere, þat ful was pere-to-fore
Of riche marchandise; "alas!" pouȝt he, "I am [i]lore,
I am [lore] in this world." & witith wel, his hert
Was nat al in likeing; & outward gan he stert,
Like half a wood[e]man, & bote both his lippis,
And gan to haste fast toward his owne Shippis,
To kepe his good within, with al þat evir he myȝte,
That it were nat dischargit, as hym þouȝt verry ryȝte. 1960
But he's too late. But al for nauȝt was his hast; for three hundred men,
and starts to
stop his cargoes
being moved
from his ship.
1 MS 'tellit.'
2 MS ēēē for ccc.

61
As fast as [evir] they myȝte, thé bere þe good[is] then,
Thurh ordenaunce of Hanybald, þat priuelich to-fore 1963
Had purposid, & [had] I-cast, [they] shuld be out I-bore.
Beryn made a swyff pase; pere myȝt no man hym let;
But hanybald was ware Inowȝ, & with Beryn met:
"Al for nouȝt, Beryn! þow knowist wel & fyne,
Thy Shippis been a-restid, & þe good is myne.
What woldist þow do pere? þow hast pere nauȝt to do;
I wol hold thy covenaunte, & þow shalt myne also.
ffor ȝit sawe I nevir man, þat was of þy manere;
Somtyme þowe wolt auaunte, & som tyme [wolt] arere;
Now þow wolt, & now þow nolt; where shut men þe
fynde?
1968
1971
1675
Now sey oon, & sith a-nothir; so variant of mynde!
Saw I nevir, to-fore þis day, man so variabil.
Sith I the fynde in suche plyte, our bargen for to stabil,
Wee wol tofore þe Steward, þere we both shut have riȝte."
Nay for-soth!" quod Beryn. "ȝis trulich, the tite,"
Quod hanybald, "wher/ þowe wolt or no; & so I the
""
charge,
1979
As Prouost. knowe þat, yff me list, my warant is so large,
And þowe make eny diffence, to by-nym thy lyff.
Take þyn hors! it gaynyth nat for to make stryffe." 1982
So, with sorowful hert, Beryn toke his hors,
And sofftly seyd[e] to his men: "of me," quod he, "no fors;
But wend[ith] to yeur shippis; I wol com when I may.
Yee seth wele euerichone, I may no bet a-wey."
Hanybald tells
Beryn that his
ships are seized,
and his cargoes
are Hanybald's.
Hanybald offers
Steward.
to refer it to the
Beryn refuses
this,
[leaf 207] gives-in;
(Now here by this same tale, both[e] fre & bonde 1987
Mow fele[n] in hir/ wittis, & eke [mow] vndirstonde,
That litil vailith wisdom, or el[le]s governaunce,
Ther fortune evir werrith, & eke hap & chaunce.
Or what a-vailith bounte, beute, or riches,
ffrendship, or [eke] sotilte, or els hardines,
Gold, good, or catel, wit, or hy lynage,
Lond, or lordis service, or els hiȝe parage?
What may al this a-vait, þer fortune is a foo?
and sends his
men back to the
ships.
(Poor Beryn!
But no wisdom,
friend,
or money,
is of any good
against Fortune.)
1992

are known all
over the town,
1997
2000
I-wis, riȝte litil, or nevir a dele: ful offt it fallith so.)
So, shortly to pas ovir; þey fil to such an end,
Beryn's mishaps That Beryn shuld have day a-geyn, a morow. & so to wend
He set hym in ful purpose to his Shippis ward:
But ȝit or he cam ther', he fond þe passage hard.
ffor how he was begilid, þurh-out al the town)
þer & þer a coupil gon to speke, & [eke] to roune ;
And euery man his purpose was to have parte,
With falsnes & with soteltees; þey coud noon oper art.
Beryn rode forth in his wey,-his page ran hym by,—
fful sore a-dred in hert, & cast a-bout his eye
and every man
wants to plunder
him.
A blind man
seizes him,
and declares
he'll have the law
of him,
2003
Vp & down), euen long the strete, & [right] for angir swet.
And er he had riden a stones cast, a blynd man with hym
met,
2008
And spak no word, but sesid hym fast by the lap,
And cried out, "& harowe !" & nere hym gan to stap.
"Al for nouȝt!" quod this blynde, "what? wenyst þow for
to skape?"
2011
Beryn had pouȝt to prik[ke] forth, & pouȝt it had be Iape.
The blynd man cast a-wey his staff, & set on both his
hondis;
"Nay, þow shalt nat void,” quod he, "for al þy rich[e] londis,
TyH I of the have reson, lawe, & eke riȝte;
2015
ffor trewlich, I may wit it þe, þat I have lost my siȝte."
So, for auȝt þat Beryn coude othir speke or prey,
[leaf 207, back] He myȝt in no wise pas. ful sore he gan to may,
for Beryn
blinded him,
The Steward
shall judge his
case.
And namelich, for the pepil throng hym so a-boute, 2019
And ech man gan hym hond; & seyd, "without[en] doute
Ye must nedis stond, & rest, & bide the lawe,
66
Be yee nevir so grete a man." so wold I, wondir fawe,"
Quod Beryn, "yf yee had cause; but I know noon." 2023
"No? þow shalt knowe or þow go! þow hast nat al I-doon,"
The blynd man seyd to Beryn. "tel on þen," quod he.
"Here is no place to plete," þe blynd man seid a-ȝe;
"Also wee have no Iuge here of Autorite;
But evandir, the Steward, shal deme both the & me, 2028

63
2031
When I my tale have told, & þow hast made answere,
By þat tyme men shal know, how þow canst þe clere.
Nowe, soveren God! I thank the, of þis ilk[e] day!
Then I may preve þe be my lyve, of word, & eke of fay,
ffals, & eke vntrew of covenaunt þowe hast I-makid.
But litil is thy charge now, pouȝ þat I go nakid,
That som tyme were [my] partinere, & rekenydist nevir [ȝit;]
But þow shalt here, or we depart, þerof a litil witt; 2036
ffor, aftir comyn seying, 'evir atte ende
The trowith woll be previd, how so men evir trend.''
Thus they talkid to ech othir, til they com in-to þe plase,
And were I-entrid in the hat, pere the Steward was. 2040
The blynd man first gan to speke: "sir Steward! for
goddis sake
2044
The blind man
thanks God that
he can now prove
Beryn his de-
faulting partner.
They reach
and the blind
the court,
man
says that he lent
Beryr. his eyes,
and Beryn has
kept them
because they
were better than
2052 his.
Herith me a litil while! for here I have I-take
He þat hath do me wrong, most of man of mold:
Be my help, as law wol, for hym þat Iudas sold!
Yee know wele þat offt tyme I have to ȝew I-pleynyd,
How I was be-trayed, & how I was I-peynyd,
And how a man, som tyme, & I, our yen did chaunge:
This is the same persone, þouȝ þat he make it straunge.
I toke hem hym but for a tyme, & leuyd trew[e]ly 2049
Myne to have I-had ageyn); & so both he & I
Were ensurid vttirlich, & was our/ both[e] wil;
But, for myne þe bettir were, wrongfullich & il
He hath hem kept hidirto, with much sorow & þyne
To me, as yee wele knowith. be-cause I have nat myne,
I may nat se with his; wherfor me is ful woo;
And evir-more ye seyde 'þat ye myȝt no þing do
Without presence of the man þat wrouȝt me this vnquert :'
Nowe, sith he is to-fore ȝew now, let hym nat a-stert.
ffor, many tyme & offt, yee [here] be-hete me,
And he myȝt be take, he shuld do me gre.
Sith yee of hym be sesid, howe evir so yee taue,
Let hym nevir pas, til I myne eyen have."
"Beryn," quod Edwandir, "herist þow nat thy selve
2056
[leaf 208]
2060
"Make Beryn
give me back
my eyes!"

Beryn
won't deny it,
as that would
lose him his case.
(The blind man
wants to get
money out of
him.)
How sotilly he pletith, & ware by eche halue?”
2064
Beryn stood al muet, & no word he spak.
And þat was tho his grace; ful sone he had be take,
And he had myssey[e]d onys, or els I-sey[e]d nay;
ffor þen he had been negatyff, & vndo for ay.- 2068
(ffor they were grete Seviliouns, & vsid probate law;
Wher, evir-more, affirmatyff shuld preve his owne sawe.
Wherfor they were so querelouse, of al myȝt com in mynde,
Þouȝe it were nevir in dede I-do; such mater þey wold fynde
To be-nym a man his good, þurh som maner gile. 2073
ffor þe blynd man wist riȝt wele, he shuld have lost his
while,
To make his pleynt on Beryn, & suyd oppon his good,
ffor Shippis, & eke marchandise, in a balaunce stode; 2076
Therfor he made his chalenge, his eyen for to have;
Or els he shuld[e] for hem fyne, yf [that] he wold hem have,
And ligg for hem in hostage, til þe fynaunce cam:
This was al the sotilte of þe blynd[e] man.)
Beryn stood al mewet, & no word he spak.
2080
66
'Beryn," quod Evander, "lest þow be I-take
So Beryn asks
for a day's delay
to prepare his
answer.
It is granted.
Beryn goes,
2084
2088
In defaute of answere, þow myȝtist be condempnyd;
Be riȝt wele avisid, sith þow art examened."
"Sir," seyd Beryn, "it wold litil a-vail
To answere þus aloon, without[en] good consail:
And also fe[r]pirmore, ful litil I shuld be levid,
What-evir I answerd, þus stonyd & reprevid;
And eke my wit doith faille; & no wondir is:
Wherfor I wold prey ȝew, of yeur gentilnes,
To graunte me day til to morow, [that] I myȝt be avisid
To answere forth, with othir þat on me been surmysid."
"Depardeux," quod the Steward, "I graunt wel it be so."
2093
Beryn toke his leve, & hopid to pas & go;
[leaf 208, back] But as sone as Beryn was on his hors rydyng',
but is at once
seized by a
woman,
He met a vomman, & a child, wip sad cher comyng', 2096
That toke hym by þe reyn, & held hym wondir fast,

65
2104
And seyd, “sir, voidith nat! ȝit vaillith nat to hast;
Yee mow in no wise sccape; ye must nedis abide ! 2099
ffor þouȝe ye list to knowe me nat, ȝit lien by yeur side
I have ful many a tyme; I can nat telle ȝewe [howe] lome.
Come to-fore the Steward! pere shul ye here yeur/ dome
Of þing that I shal put on ȝew, & no word for to ly:
To leve me thus aloon, it is yeur/ vylany!
Alas! the day & tyme þat evir I was yeur/ make!
Much have I endurid, this too yeer, for yeur sake;
But now it shall be know[en] who is in the wronge."
Beryn was al abasshid, the pepil so thik thronge
Aboute hym in eche syde. for ouȝt þat he couth peyn,
He must[e] to þe Steward, of fyne force ageyn).
who declares
he is her
husband,
and has, rascal
like, deserted
her.
2108 Beryn is taken
2113
back to the
Steward,
and the woman
says that her
husband has
deserted her,
and left her
2117 in penury, to
Now shul yee here how sotillich þis vomman gan hir/tale
In presence of the Steward; with colour wan & pale,
Petously she gan to tel, & seyd[e]: "sir/, to ȝewe
fful offt I have compleynyd, in what manere & howe
My childis ffadir lefft me, by my selff aloon,
Without[en] help, or comforte, as grete as I myȝt goon
With my sone here, & his, þat shame it is to tel
The penury þat I have I-had, þat a force sel
I must[e] nedis myne aray, wher' me list or lothe,
Or els I must have beggit, for to fynd vs both.
ffor ther was nevir voman I-leve, as I [kan] ges,
ffor lak of hede of lyvlode, þat lyvid in more distres
Then I my selff, for offt tyme, for lak of mete & drynk :
And ȝit I trow no creatur was feyner for to swynke
My lyff [for] to sustene. but, as I mut nede,
2120
2124
bring up his son.
She has lackt
meat and drink.
Above al othir thingis, to his child take hede,
That wondir is, & mervail, þat I am a-lyve;
ffor þe sokeyng of his [child], ryȝt as it were a knyve 2128
It ran in-to my hert, so lowe I was of mode,
That wel I woot in certen, with¹ parcel of my blood
His child I have I-norisshid, & þat is by me seen ;
ffor [al] my rede colour/ is turnyd in-to grene.
1 MS without.
3
2132
It's a wonder
she's alive.
She's turned from
red to green.
[leaf 209]

"This Beryn is
the culprit!
Make him pay
for it!'
The Steward
Evander
2136
And he þat cause is of all, here he stondith by me :
To pay [en] for þe fosteryng me pinkith it is tyme.
And sith he is my husbond, & hath on me no rowith,
Let hym make a-mendis, in saving of his trowith.
And, yf he to any word onys can sey nay,
Lo! here my gage al redy, to preve al þat I say."
The Steward¹ toke the gage, & spak in sofft[e] wise :
"Of this petouse compleynt a mannys hert may grise;
ffor I know in parcel, hir/ tale is nat al lese;
2141
calls on Beryn
for his defence.
Beryn again
ffor many a tyme & offt, þis vomman þat here is,
Hath I-be to-fore me, & pleynyd of hir greffe ;
But, without a party, hir/ cause myȝt nat preff.
Now þow art here present, þat she pleynyth on,
Make thy defence now, Beryn, As wele as þow can.
Beryn stood al mwet, & no word he spak.
"Beryn," quod the Steward, "doist þow sclepe, or wake?
Sey onys oon or othir: ys it soth or nay,
2144
2149
As she hath declarid 2? tel on saunce delay."
"Lord God!" quod Beryn, "what shuld it me a-vaile,
Among so many wise, with-out riȝt good counsail,
2152
Wherfor, I wold prey ȝew, of yeur/ gentilnes,
asks for a day's
delay to answer.
Evander grants
it.
Beryn is very sad;
To telle[n] eny tale? ful litil, as I ges.
Graunt me day til to-morow to answer forth with othir."
"I graunt wele," quod the Steward, "but, for fadir &
modir,
Thow getist no lenger term, pleynly I the tell."
Beryn toke his leve; his hert[e] gan to swel
2156
his trust in the
world is gone.
ffor pure verry anguyssh; & no mervel was.
And who is þat þat nold, & he were in such case;
ffor al his trist & hope in eny wordlich thing
2160
Was cleen from hym passid, save sorow & mys-likyng';
ffor body, good & CateH, & lyff, he set at nouȝte,
So was his hert I-woundit, for angir & for þouȝt.
Beryn passid sofftly, & to his hors gan go;
And when he was without þe gatis, he lokid to & fro,
2164
1 MS 'Stwarge.'
2 MS declarith.

67
And coude noon othir contenaunce; but to his page he
seyd,
2169
"Preciouse God in heven! howe falsly am I betrayde !
I trowe no man a-lyve stont in wors[e] pligte !
And al is for my synne, & for my yong' delite;
[leaf 209, back]
Beryn confesses
that all his
mishaps have
come for his
unkindness to
And pryncipally, a-bove al thing', for grete vnkynd[e]nes his mother.
That I did to my modir; for litil hede I-wis
2172
2176
I toke of hir,-þis know I wele,-whils she was alyve;
Therfor al this turment is sent to 2 me so ryve.
ffor pere was nevir vomman kynder to hir child
Then she was; & pere ageyns, nevir þing' so wild
Ne so evil-thewid, as I was my selff;
Therfor sorow & happous environ me by eche helve,
That I note whidir ryde, nethir vp ne down),
Ther' been so many devillis dwelling in þis town),
And [been] so ful of gile, & trechery also,
That wele I woot in certeyn, the[y] wolle me on-do.
Now, wold to God in heven! what is my best rede?"
He toke his hors [tho] to his page, & thus to hym he seyde:
"Lede my hors to shipward, & take it to som man; 2185 He sends his
And I woll go on foot, as pryuyly as I can,
2180 These treacherous
devils of False-
town will undo
him.
horse to the ship,
And assay, yf I may, in eny maner wise,
Ascape[n] vnarestid more in such[e] maner wise."
2188
The Child toke his mastris hors, & lafft hym þere alone,
Walking forth on foot, makeing offt his moon :
And in his moste musing', I can nat sey how lome
and walks forth
on foot,
his sad state.
2193
He wosshid, nakid as he was bore, he had[de] be in Room. sorrowing over
And no mervail was it, as the case stode,
ffor he drad more to lese his eyen, pan he did his shippis
or his good.
2196
(Now yee þat listith to dwell, & here of aventure,
How petously dame ffortune, Beryn to a-mvre,4
Turnyth hir whele a-bout[en], in the wers[e] syde;
With hap of sorow & anguyssh, she gynnyth for to ride.)
Beryn passid toward þe stronde, pere his shippis were;
'inure-Urry.
1 MS 'butto.'
2 MS 'sentto.' 3 MS 'be.'
(But Fortune 'll
give him a worse
fall yet.)

But yee mow vndirstond, his hert was ful of fere ;
ȝit nepirles he sat hym down) sofftly on a stal,
Semyvif for sorow; & lenyd to the wall,
2200
Beryn appeals to
God against his
accusers.
[leaf 210]
A catchpoll
overhears him,
resolves to take
him in again,
and so begins to
sympathize with
him:
'Tell me your
distress, and I'll
help you in it.'
Beryn says he
knows not whom
to trust.
2204
ffor turment þat he had; so wery he was, & feynt ;
And to God a-bove, thus he made his pleynt :
"Glorious God in heven! þat al thing' madist of nouȝt!
Why sufferist þow þese cursid men to stroy[e] me for nouȝt?
And knowest wel myne Innocent, þat I have no gilt
Of al that the[y] pursu me, or [þat] on me is pilt." 2208
¶ And in the meen[e] whils þat Beryn þus gan pleyn,
A CachepoH stode be sidis, (his name was macaign),)
And herd [tho] all the wordis ; & knew also to-fore
How Beryn was turmentid, both with las & more,— 2212
It was I-spronge þurh the toun;-so was he ful ensensid
How he hym wold engyne, as he had purpensid;
And had araid hym sotillich, as man of contemplacioun,
In a mantel with the lyste, with fals dissimulacioune,
And a staff in his hond, as þouȝ he febil were ;
And drow hym toward Beryn, & seid in this manere :
"The hiȝe God of heven, þat al thing made of nouȝt,
Bles ȝew, gentil sir/! for many an hevy þouȝt
Me pinkith that yee have; & no wondir is:
But, good sir, dismay yew nat, but levith yeur/ hevynes,
And, yff ye list to telle me som what of yeur/ distres,
I hope to God almyȝty, in party it redres
2217
2220
2224
2228
Thurh my pore counsail,―& so I have many oon ;—
ffor I have pete on ȝew, be God & by seynt Ion !
And eke pryuy hevynes doith eke man appeir/
Sodenly, or he be ware, & falle[n] in dispeir';
And who be in that plage, þat man is incurabill;
ffor consequent comyth aftir sekenes abominabit :
And perfor, sir, diskeuerith ȝewe, & be no þing a-drad.”
"Graunt mercy, Sir/," quod beryn, "ye seme trewe & sad;
But o þing lijth in my hert; I note to whom to trust; 2233
ffor þo þat dyned me to-day, ordeyned me to a-rest."
"A! sir, be ye þat man? of ȝew I have I-herd.

69
Gentil sir/ doutith nat, ne be no þing' a-ferd
2236 The Catchpoll
Macaigne ad-
vises Beryn
2239
Of me; for I shall counsel ȝewe as wel as I can ;
ffor trulich in the Cete dwellith many a fals[e] man,
And vsyn liti els but falshode, wrong & while,
And how þey my;t[e] straungours with trechery be-gile :
But yee shut do ryȝt wisely somwhat be my counsayl;
Speke with the Steward; þat may ȝewe most a-vail; 2242 to speak to the
ffor pere is a comyn byword, yf ye it herd havith;
2255
Steward.
[leaf 210, back]
'He has long
wanted a knife
of mine.
I'll sell it you
for 5 marks;
you give it the
Steward, and
he'll help you.
than lose all;
and I'll speak
for you too.'
'Wele settith he his peny, þat þe pound [therby] savith.'
The Steward is a couetouse man, þat longe hath desirid
A knyff I have in kepeing, wher/with his hert I wirid :
[It] Shall be ȝewe to help, in covenaunte þat yee
Shal gyve me fyv mark, yeur/ trew[e] ffrend to be. 2248
The knyff is feir, I tel ȝew; ȝit nevir to-fore þis Day
Myȝt the Steward have it, for auȝt [þat] he coud prey ;
The wich ye shulle gyve hym, þe bettir for to spede,
And behote hym xx ti to help ȝewe in yeur/ nede. 2252
And yf he grauntith, trustith wele yestond[en] in good pliȝte; Better lose a little
ffor better is, then lese al, þe las þe more quyt:
And I wohl go with ȝewe, streyte to his plase,
And knele doun), & speke first, [for] to amend yeur/ case;
And sey yee be my cosyn; þe bettir shut yee spede :
And when þat I have at I-told, þe knyff to hym yee bede.
Beryn pankid hym hertlich, & on hym gan [to] trust,
With hond in hond ensurid, & al [pouȝt] for the best ;
Beryn þouȝt noon othir, al¹ þat it opir was.
Macaign hym comfortid, talking" of hir/ case,
And passid forth [ful] stylly toward þe Steward blyve,
Beryn & Macaigne; but Beryn bare þe knyff,
And trust much in his felaw to have [of him] som help.
But, or they departid were, þey had no cause to yelp
Of no maner comfort, as ye shul her' a-noon ;
ffor as sone as macaigne to-fore þe Steward come,
He fit plat to þe erth; a grevous pleynt & an huge
He made, & seyd, "sir Steward! nowe be a trew Iuge
? al be although.
2261
Beryn agrees,
2264
takes the knife,
and they go to
the Steward.
2268 But then
Macaigne

having murdered
his (Macaigue's)
father Melan,
accuses Beryn of Ageyns this fals treytour/, þat stondith me be-syde;
Let take of hym good hede, els he wol nat abyde. 2272
Now mercy, Go[o]d Steward! for yee hav herd me ȝore,
ffor
my fadir melan, pleyn to ȝew ful sore,
That with .vij dromodarijs,-as I have told ȝewe lome,-
With marchandise chargit, went toward[e] Rome;
And it is vij yeer a-go, and a litil more,
who went to
Rome 7 years ago.
[leaf 211]
Beryn tries to
bolt,
but Macaigne
stops him,
says 'Murder
will out!'
and that Beryn
has on him
Melan's knife.
Beryn at once
gives-up the
knife,
and is ordered to
answer the
accusation to-
morrow.
Of hym, or of his goodis, þat I herd les or more.
And it I have enquerid, as bysely as I couthe,
And met nevir man ȝit, þat me coude tel with mouth
Any tyding of hym, onto þis same day :
But now I know to much; allas! I may
wel say."
2276
2281
When Beryn herd these wordis, he kist [a]doun his hede;
"Allas!" he pouȝt in hert, "Allas! what is my rede?"
And wold feyn have voidit, & outward gan to stapp: 2285
But Macaigne arose, & sesid [him] by the lapp;
"Nay, þow shalt nat void!" he seid; "my tale is nat I-
do:
ffor, be trowith of my body, yf þow scapidist so,
39
2288
2291
I shuld nevir have mer[c]y whils I were on lyve ;
And set hond fast on Beryns othir scleve,
And seyd, "good sir Steward, my tale to þe ende
I prey [þat] yee wold here; for, wend how men [wol] wend,
Ther may no man hele murdir, þat it wol out atte last.
The same knyff my ffadir bere, when he of contre past,
Let serch[en] wele this felon, & here yee shul hym fynde ;
I know þe knyff wel I-nowȝ, it is nat out of my mynde:
The Cotelere dwellith in this town, þat made þe same knyff;
And for to preve þe trowith, he shall be here as blyve.”
Beryn swat for angir; his hert was ful of fere;
He toke the knyff to þe Steward, or he serchid wher'.
The Steward [seyd] on-to Beryn, " my frend, lo !" quod he,
"And þow pink the wel about, þis is a foule plee!
I can know noon othir, but þow must, or þow go,
ȝeld the body of melan, & his good also.
Now, be wel avisid ageyn to morow day!
2299
2304

71
Then shalt þow have þy Iugement; þere is no more to say.”
When Beryn fro þe Steward þus departid was,
Beryn afresh
curses Falsetown
And was with-out þe gate, he lokid oppon the plase, 2308 bitterly,
And cursid it wondir bittirly, in a feruent Ire,
And wisshid many tymes it had been a feir':
"ffor I trow þat man of lyve was nevir wors. be-trayid
Then I am; & pere-with-al my hert is cleen dismayid;
ffor her I have no frendship, but am al counselles; 2313
And they been falsher þen Iudas, & eke mercylese.
A! lord God in hevyn! þat' my hert is woo!
And it suyrly I mervel nat þouȝ þat it be so;
ffor ȝit in al my lyve, sith I out vndirstode,
Had I nevir wil, for to lern[e] good :
[leaf 211, back]
2316 but confesses that
ffoly, I hauntid it evir, þere myȝt no man me let;
And now he hath I-paid me, he is cleen out of my dett.
ffor whil[e]s I had tyme, wisdom I myȝt have lernyd; 2321
But I drowȝ me to foly, & wold nat be governed,
;
2325
But had al myne owne wil & of no man a-ferd,
ffor I was nevir chastisid: but nowe myne owne ȝerd
Betith me to sore; þe strokis been to hard
ffor these devillis of this town) takith but litil reward
To sclee my body to have my good; þe day is set to morowe.
Now, wold to God I were in grave! for it were end of sorow.
I was I-wis to much a fole! for hate I had to Rame 2329
I wold forsake myne heritage; therfor sorow & shame
Is oppon me fal, & riȝt wele [is] deservid;
ffor I tooke noon maner hede, when my modir stervid d;
And disobeyid my ffadir, & set hym at nauȝt also : 2333
What wondir is it than, þouȝ þat I have woo?
ffortune & eke wisdom have werrid with me evir,
And I with hem in al my lyff, for ffortune was me levir
Then eny wit or governaunce; for hem too I did hate;
And þouȝe I wold be [now] a-toon, now it is to late. 2338
O myȝtful God in heven! wher' was evir man
That wroust ¹hym-selff more foly þen I my selff did pan?
1 MS my
his own bad life
has brought these
punishments on
him.
His own rod
beats him sore.
Would God I
Grave!
were in the
For my own
faults, has shame
fallen on me!'

'Cursed be the
time I sold my
heritage!
Had I behaved
well, I should
ing, and flirting
with fair girls
now.
But I'm like the
man who, to
A-cursid be the tyme þat I out of Rome went,
That was my ffadirs riȝte heir', of ly vlode & of rent,
And al the rial lordshipp þat he hath in þe town)!
Had I had wit & grace, & hold me lowe & boune,
2344
2348
have been sport- It were my kynd [right] now, a-mong my baronage
To hauke[n] & to hunt, & eke to pley & rage
With feir[e] fresh[e] ladies, & daunce when me lyst!
But nowe it is to late to speke of had-I-wist!
But I fare like the man, þat, for to swele his vlyes
drive the flies off, He stert in-to the bern, & aftir stre he hies,
And goith a-bout þe wallis with a brennyng' wase,
Tyl it was atte last, þat the leem & blase
Entryd in-to the Chynys, wher þe whete was,
And kissid so þe evese, þat brent was al the plase;
But first in the begynnyng', til feer smote in the raftris,'
He toke no maner kepe, & pouȝt of no þing aftir,
[leaf 212]
set fire to his
barn.
I gave up my in- What perel ther' myȝte fal: ne more did I iwis,
That wold forsake myne honour/, for þe vnkynd[e]nes
heritance because
of Rame's un-
kindness.
More fool I!
And perhaps I
shall now lose
my life for this
knife that was
found on me!'
2352
2356
Of Rame þat was my stepmodir; for, yf I shal nat ly,
They [stepmothirs] beth 2soure: wherfor the more wisely
I shuld have wrouȝt, had I had wit, & suffrid for a tyme,
And aftir com to purpose wel I-nowȝe of myne.
But evil avengit he [h]is deol, þat, for a litil mode
And angir to his neyȝbour, sellith a-wey his good,
And goith hym-selff a begging aftir in breff tyme ;
He mut be countid a lewd man, in al[le] maner ryme :
So have I wrouȝt, & wers; for I dout of my lyve,
How þat it shall stond, for plukking of my scleve,
The knyffe þat was me take, as yee have herd to-fore :
And ȝit it grevith myne hert also much more
Of myne own pepil, þat no disese a-servid:3
2364
2368
I wote wele, aftir pleding, riȝt nouȝt wol be reservid 2372
To sustene hir' lyvis ;-I trow ryȝt nouȝt or lyte ;—
And paraventur ligtly stond in wors[e] plyȝte:
Of me it is no force, þouȝe I be þus arayed,
1 Read 'raftir.'
2 MS seure.
3 'deserved.'

73
133
But it is dole & pete, þat they shul be be-trayid
That hath nouȝt a-servid, but for my gilt aloon."
2376
2384
long groan,
he sees a Cripple
coming to him,
so he turns, and
runs.
2389
[leaf 212, back]
And when þat Beryn in this wise had I-made his mone, After Beryn'
¶ A Crepil he saw comyng with grete spede & hast,
Oppon a stilt vndir his kne [i]bound[en] wondir fast, 2380
And a crouch vndir his armys; with hondis al for-skramyd.
"Allas!" quod this Beryn, "shall I be more examenyd?"
And gan to turn a-side, on-to þe see stronde,
And the cripil aftir, & wan oppon hym londe.
Tho be-gan Beryn to drede inwardlich[e] sore,
And þouȝt thus in his hert: "shal I be comberid more ?
And It were goddis wil, my sorowe for to cese!
Me pinkith I have I nowe!" the cripit be-gan to preche,
And had I-rauȝt nere hond Beryn by the scleve.
Beryn turnyḍ, as an hare, & gan to ren[ne] blyve;
But the cripil knew bettir the pathis smale & grete,
Then Beryn; so to-fore hym he was, & gan hym mete.
When Beryn saw it vaylid nouȝt to renne, ne to lepe;
What for dole & anguyssh, o word [ne] myȝt he speke,
But stode stil a-masid,, & starid fast a-boute.
The cripit be-gan to speke: "sir, to drede or to dout
Of me, wold ye riȝte liȝt, & ye
knewe myne hert :
So, where yee like evil¹ or il, fro me shul ye nat parte
TyH I have tretid with ȝew, & yee with me also,
Of al yeur soden happis, yeur myscheff, & yeur/ woo;
ffor by the tyme þat I have knowlech of yeur/ case, 2401
Yeur/ rennyng & yeur/ trotting', in-to an esy pase
2397
2404
I shall turn or þat wee twyn, so yee aftir my scole ²
Wol do, & as I rede ȝew; for yee were a fole
When yee cam first a londe. [wolde] yee had met with me,
ffor I wold have ensensid ȝewe al the iniquite
Of these fals[e] marchandis, þat dwellin in þis town),
And outid all yeur/ chaffare without[en] gruch or groun :
ffor, had ye dwellid within yeur/ shippis, & nat go hem
But the Cripple
catches him up,
and says Beryn
wouldn't be afraid
if he knew
how the Cripple
will help him,
and could have
told him before-
hand of the
wickedness of the
Falsetown mer-
chants.
a-mong',
2409
1
Urry reads well.'
2
schooling, teaching. 'stole,' Urry.

Beryn asks
the Cripple
only to stop
""
2412
Then had yee been vndaungerid, & quyt of al hir wrong
On ȝewe þat been surmysid, þurh fals suggestioune."
Beryn gan to sigh; vnneth he myȝt[e] soune,
Saff o word or tweyn ; & " mercy was the first,
Preying with all his hert, þat he myȝt have his rest,
And be no more enpledit, but pas[sen] fro hym quyte.
"Good sir/," quod Beryn, “doith me no more dispitę;
And suffir me to pas, & have on me [som] routhe;
And I suyr/ȝew feithfully, have [ȝe] here my trowith,
and he'll reward To morowe when I have pledit, & any þing' be lafft
Of Shipp or marchandise, a-fore the Ship, or bafft,
I woll shewe ȝew al I-fere, & opyn euery chest,
And put it in yeur/ grace, to do what[so] yee lest."
And in the meen[e] while þat Beryn gan to clapp,
bothering him,
him to-morrow,
if he has any-
thing left.
mantle, to get rid
of the Cripple,
[leaf 213]
2417
2420
The Crypi nyȝhid hym nere & nere, & hent hym by þe
lap.
2424
2428
Beryn lets go his And, as sone as Beryn knew þat he was in honde,
He vnlacyd his mantel, for drede of som comand,
And pryueliche ovir his shuldris lete hym downe glyde,
And had levir lese his mantel then a-byde.
The Cripit all perceyvid, and hent hym by the scleve
Of his nethir surcote. "alas! nowe mut y stryve,"
Þouȝte Beryn by hym-selff; "nowe I am I-hent,
Ther' helpith nauȝte save strengith: " pere-with the scleve
then tears him-
self lose,
2432
to-rent;
and bolts.
Beryn gan to stappe, he sparid for no cost.
"Alas!" pouȝt this cripil, "þis man wol be [i]lost,
And be vndo for evir, but he counsel have.
I-wis, þouȝe he be lewde, my contremen to save,
ȝit will I my besynes do, And peyn[e] þat I may,
Sith he is of Room, for þat is my contray."
2436
ful of age,
On this, though
the Cripple,
Geffrey, is 100
years old,
This cripit was an hundrit
ȝere
With a longe thik[ke] berd; and a trewe visage
He had, & a manly, And Iuly was he;
And Geffery was his name, I-knowe in þat contre.
2440
"Allas!" pouȝt this Gefferey, "this man hath grete drede

75
Of me, þat by my power wold help hym in his nede. 2444
I-wis, þouȝe he be nyce, vntauȝt, & vnwise,
""
I wol nat, for his foly, leue myne enpryse;
And lept [þo] aftir Beryn, And þat in riȝt good spede.
2448
he rushes after
Beryn,
follows him close,
2452
and comes up
with him.
Beryn was so sore agast, he toke no maner hede
To look onys bakward, till he to þe watir cam;
Then lokid he be-hynd, & saw sir Clekam
Comannd wondir fast, with staff & with his stilt.
"Alas!" pouȝt Beryn, "I nowe am I-spilt ;
ffor I may no ferther, without I wold me droune :
I note wich were the bettir,-or go ageyn to toune."
Geffery was so ny [i]com, þat Beryn myȝt nat fle:
"Good sir/," quod this Gefferey, "why do yee void[e] me? Geffrey then
ffor, by heven Quene, þat bare Criste in hir/ barme, 2457
But riȝte as to my selff, I wol ȝewe no more harm.
Sittith down here by me [right] oppon this see stronde,
And yff yee drede[n] any thing, clepe[th] yeur/ men to londe,
And let hem be here with vs all our/ speche-tyme; 2461
ffor I wol nat feyn oon woord, as makers doon to ryme,
But counsel ȝewe as prudently as God woll send me grace:
Take comforte to ȝewe, & herk a litil spase !"
2464
And when that Beryn had I-herd his tale to þe ende,
And how goodly as Geffrey spak, as he were his frende;
Non-obstant his drede, yet part of sapience
Stremyd in-to his hert, for his eloquence,
2468
And seyd; "God me counsayl, for his hiȝe mercy!
ffor I have herd this same day men as sotilly
Speke, & of yeur/ semblant, And in such manere,
And by-hete me ffrendshippe outward by hir/ chere,---
But inward it was contrary hir intelleccione,
Wherfor the blame is les, þouȝe I suspecioune
Have of yeur/ wordis, lest othir be yeur/ entent;
2473
ffor I note I[n] whom to trust, by God omnipotent: 2476
quiets Beryn,
[leaf 213, back]
and promises to
help him.
Beryn is partly
re-assured,
and says
ȝit nethirles, yf yeur/ will is to come in-to þe Shipp with me, he'll trust Geffrey
I wol som-what do by yeur/ rede, how so it evir be."
if he'll come into
the ship.
"Then," quod Geffrey, "yf it be so þat I in yeur/ powere, Geffrey asks

give him if he
turns the tables
on his accusers.
what Beryn will Entir in-to yeur Shippis, & ȝewe help in yeur/ mystere,
That yee ageyn yeur aduersaries shul have þe bettir syde,
And gyve ȝewe such counsel to bate down) hir' pride, 2482
And þat yee wyn in every pleynt, also much or more
As they purpose to have of ȝewe; yf þey be doun) I-bore,
And [yf] yee have amendis for hir' iniquite,
I'll reward you
truly.'
"Then I'll go
with you,' says
Geffrey.
'I've been here
many years,
and tormented
worse than you.
[leaf 214]
The rascals here
have robbed
me of £1000;
and I've been
obliged to dis-
guise myself as a
cripple, to save
my life.'
Geffrey throws
away his crutches.
66
2488
2492
And I ȝewe brynge to þis end; what shal my guerdon be ?”
"In verry soth," quod Beryn; "yf I ȝewe may trust,
I wolle quyte ȝewe trewly; I make ȝewe be-hest."
"In feith then," quod Geffray, "I wolle with ȝewe wende."
"What is yeur/ name," seid Beryn tho, "my ffrend?"
'Gefferey," he seyd; "but in this marchis I was nat bore;
But I have dwellid in this Cete, yeeris here-to-fore
fful many, & [been] turmentid wors[e] þen were yee,
And [have] endurid for my trowith much aduersite:
ffor I wold in no wise suffir hir/ falshedes;
ffor in all the world, so corrupt of hir' dedis
Been noon men a-lyve, I may ryȝte wele a-vowe;
ffor they set al hir/ wittis in wrong, al þat þey mowe;
Wherfor ful many a tyme, the grettest of hem & I
Have stonden in altercacioune, for hir/ trechery.
ffor I had in valowe, in trewe marchandise,
2496
2500
A Mt. pound: al have they take in such [a] maner wise :
So ferforth to save my blood no lengir myȝt I dure;
ffor drede of wors, þus pouȝt I, my selff to disfigure; 2504
And have a-monge hem xij yeer go riȝt in þis pliȝte,
And evir have had in memory howe I myȝt hem quyte;
And so I hope nowȝe, as soti as they be,
With my wit engyne hem, and help[en] ȝewe
My lymes been both hole & sound; me nedith stilt ne
crouch."
& me.
He cast a-syde hem both, and lepe oppon an huche,
And a-down) a-geynes, & walkid too and fro,
2509
Vp & down), with-in the Shippe, & shewid his hondis tho,
Strecching forth his fyngirs, in siȝt ouer al aboute,
Without[en] knot or knor, or eny signe of goute;
2513

77
And clyȝte hem efft ageyns, riȝt disfetirly,
Som to ride eche othir, & som a-weyward wry.
2516
Geffrey was riȝt myȝty, & wele his age did bere,
ffor natur was more substancial, when tho dayis were,
Then [is] nowe in our tyme; for al thing' doith wast,
Saffe vile & cursid lyving; þat growith al to wast.¹ 2520
What shuld I telle more? but Geffrey sat hym down),
And Beryn hym besydis. the Romeyns gan to rown),
And mervellid much in Geffrey, of his disgisenes ;
And Beryn had a-nothir pouȝt, & spak of his distres. 2524
2528
Geffrey, at 100,
is very strong.
(Not like us poor
beggars now!)
'if any one 'll
help me now,
"Now, Geffrey," seid this Beryn, " & I durst trust in ȝewe, Beryn says
That, & yee knewe eny man þat is a-lyve a nowe,
That had of discrecioune so much influence,
To make my party good to-morowe in my defence,
And delyvir me of sorowe, As yee be-hote have,
I wold be-com his legeman, as god my soule save!"
"That were to much," quod Geffrey; "put wol I ȝew re-
lese;
2532
2536
But I desire of othir thing to have yeur promes;
That, & I bryng yeur/ enmyes into such a traunce,
To make for yeur/ wrongis to ȝew riȝte hiȝe fenaunce,
And so declare for ȝewe, þat with ȝew pas such dome,
That yee, oppon yeur feith, brynge me at Room,
Yf God wol send ȝew wedir & grace to repase."
Quod Beryn," but I graunt ȝewe, I wer' lewder þen an asse.
But, or I fullich trust ȝewe,-holdith me excusid,—
I wol go counsel with my men, lest þey it refusid.” 2540
Beryn drewe a-syde, & spak with his meyne;
And expressid every word, in what plist & degre
That he stood, from poynt to poynt, & of his fals arestis.
His meyne were a-stonyd, & starid forth as bestis.
""
2544
'Spekith som word," quod Beryn, "sith I am betrayd;
Yee have I-herd what Geffrey to me hath [i-]sayd."
These Romeyns stood al stil; o word ne cowd þey meve;
And eke it passid hir/ wittis. þen Beryn gan releve,
1 Urry reads 'faste.'
I'll become his
liegeman.'
[leaf 214, back]
Geffrey says
'I'll help you,
if you'll take me
back to Rome.'
Beryn consults
his men about it.

Beryn prays
Geffrey to help
And to Geffrey efft ageyn; & mercy hym be-souȝt.
2549
"Help me, sir," quod Beryn, "for his love þat vs bouȝt,
him, for the love Dying' on the rood!" (& wept ful tendirly ;)
of God.
Geffrey swears
he will,
[leaf 215]
if Beryn will
take him back
to Rome.
They make the
agreement, and
kiss, to confirm
it.
Geffrey then
urges Beryn to
tell him his
whole story.
"ffor but yee help," quod Beryn, "ther/ is no remedy;
ffor comfort nethir counsail, of my men have I noon. 2553
Help me, as God ȝew help, & els I am vndoon!
When Geffrey sawe this Beryn so distract, & wept,
Pite in-to eche veyn of his [goode] hert[e] crept: 2556
"Alas!" quod Geffrey, "I myȝt nat do a more synful dede,
I leve by my trowith, þen fayl ȝew in this nede!
ffail me God in heven, yf þat I ȝewe fail,
That I shall do my besines, my peyn & my travail, 2560
To help ȝew be my power! I may no ferther goo!"
"ȝis, yee be-hete me more," seyd Beryn tho,
"That yee wold help[e] me at att, þat I shuld stond[e] cler":"
Beryn gan to wepe, & make wers[e] chere.
"Stillith ȝewe," quod Geffrey; "for howe so evir yee tire,
More þen my power yee ouȝt[e] nat desire.
2564
ffor, þurh þe grace of God, yee shut be holp[en] wele;
I have ther-of no doute. but trewlich I ȝewe telle, 2568
That yee wol hold me covenaunte, & I wol ȝew also,
To brynge me at Room, when it is al I-do.
In signe of trowith of both sidis of our/ acordement,
Ech of vs kis othir, of our/ comyn assent."
And all was do: & aftirward Beryn comaundit wyne.
They dronk, & þen Geffrey seyd, "sir/ Beryne,
Yee mut declare yeur/ maters to myne intelligence,
That I may the bet perseyve al inconvenience,
Dout, prò, contra, and anbiguite,
2572
2576
Thurh yeur/ declaracioune, & enfourmyd be:
And with the help of our soveren lord celestial,
They shut be behynd, & wee shul have þe bat.
ffor nowe the tyme approchith, for hir/ cursidnes
2580
To be somwhat rewardit; & cause of yeur/ distres
Hath my hert I-seclid¹, & fixid hem a nye,
1ysetlid,' Urry.

79
As trowith wol, & reson, for hir trechery.
2584
ffor many a man, to-fore this day, þey have do out of daw,
Distro[y]id, & turmentid, þurh hir fals[e] lawe.
ffor þey pink litil ellis, & al hir wittis fyve,
'The men of
Falsetown think
Save to have a mannys good, & to be-nym his lyve; 2588 only how to
And hath a cursid custom, al ageyns reson,
That what man they enpeche, þey have noon encheson,
plunder
strangers.
2592
þouȝe it be as fals a thing', as God hym-selff is trewe,
And it touch a straunger, þat is [i]com of newe,
Atte first[e] mocioune þat he begynnyth to meve,
Ther stondith vp an hundrit, hym [tho] to repreve.
The lawes of þe Cete stont in probacy ;
They vsen noon enquestis, þe wrongis for to try.
And yf þow haddist eny wrong, & woldist pleyn[e] the,
And were as trewe a cause as eny myȝte be,
However false a
charge against
one is,
100 will swear it's
true.
Their laws re-
quire only affirm-
2596 ative proof:
they have no
inquests (juries)
to sift a cause.
[leaf 215, back]
So it's no good to
counterplead a
Thow shuldist nat fynd o man, to bere thè witnes,
Þouȝ euery man [then] in the town knew it, more or les,
So burrith they to-gid[er] & holdith with ech othir/; 2601
That, as to countirplede hem, þey yee were my bropere,
I wold gyve ȝeve ȝewe no counsel, ne hir/ enpechement
In no word to deny; for þat were combirment;
ffor þen were þey in the affirmatyff, & wold preve a-noon;
And to ȝew þat were negatyff, þe lawe wold graunte a-noon: as then you're in
So for to plede ageyn hem It wol liti a-vaile;
2604
And it to euery mannys wit it out be grete mervait;
ffor hir/ lawis been so streyt, & peynous ordinaunce 2609
Is stallid for hir falshede; for þis is hir/ fynaunce,
To lese hir/ lyff for lesing, & Isope it may knowe,
That lord is rial of the town), & holdith hem so lowe:
Wherfor they have a custom, a shrewid for þe nonys, 2613
Yf eny of hem sey a thing, they cry[en] al attonys,
And ferm it for a soth, & it bere any charge;
Thus of the daunser' of Isope They kepe hem euer at large.
And therfor wisdom weer, who-so myȝt eschewe,
Nevir to dele with hem; for, were it wrong', or trewe,
2617
charge,
the negative.
(And yet it's odd,
as Isope, their
lord, punishes
lying with death.
So when one lies,
all swear it's true,
to keep out of
Isope's claws.)
1
? daunger.

So we must
answer in some
way that they
can't reply to.
(Tell bigger lies
than they've
told, in fact.)
It shuld liti a-vait a-geyn[se] hir/ falshedes;
ffor they been accursid, & so been [eke] hir/ dedis.
Wherfor wee must, with al our wit sensibil,
Such answers vs purvey, þat þey been insolibil
2620
To morow at our/ apparaunce, & shuff be responsail
2624
Now tell me all
your opponents'
cases, to inform
me.'
Beryn says he
can't help him
at all.
'Well then,'
says Geffrey,
'listen to me.
ffor of wele [?]: & ellis It is thy day fynal."
66
2628
Nowe, soveren lord celestial!" with many sorowful sighis
Seyd Beryn to Geffrey, "ymmemorat of lyes,
Graunt me grace to morowe ! so þat God be plesid,
Make so myne answere; & I somwhat I-esid
By þe þat art my counsail; for opir help is noon!"
"Reherce me then," quod Geffrey, "þe causis of þy ffoon,
ffro poynt to poynt, al in fere, [þat] on þe is surmysid;
Wherpurh I myȝt, to morowe, þe bettir be a-visid."
"Now in soth," quod Beryn, "þouȝe I shuld[e] dy,
I can nat tel the tenyth part of hir/ [fals] trechery
(What for sorow & angir) þat þey to me have wrouȝt;
So stond I clene desperat, but ye con help[en] out." 2636
"Deupardeux," seid Geffrey, " & I the wol nat fail,
Sith I have ensurid the to be of þy counsait;
And [eke] so much the more, þat þow art nat wise,
And canst nat me enfourm of no maner a-vise.
Here therfor a while, and tend wel to my lore :
2632
2640
The Lord of this The lord þat dwellith in þis town, whose name I told to-fore,
town, Isope,
is the wisest man
alive.
Tho' he's been
blind 60 years,
he puts down
every one in the
City
against whom
any ill is proved.
Isope efft rehersid, is so inly wise,
That no man alyve can pas[sen] his devise ;
And is so grow in ȝeris, pa[t] lx yeer ago
He saw[e] nat for age; & ȝit it stondith so,
2644
bat þurh his witt & wisdom, & his governance,
Who makith a fray, or stryvith auȝt, or mel to much, or
praunce,
With-in the same Cyte, þat he nys take a-noon,
2648
And hath his penaunce forth-with; for pardon vsith he noon.
ffor pere nys pore ne riche, ne what [e]state he be,
That he nys vndirfote for his iniquite;
2652
And it be previd on hym, pere shal no gold hym quyte,

81
Riȝt as the forfete axith, [ethir] moch or lite :
ffor geyn[e]s his comaundement is noon so hardy quek,
So hard[e] settith he his fote in euery mannys nek; 2656
ffor, vndir sky & sterris, þis day is noon a-lyve
2660
No one alive is so
clever as Isope:
not the Seven
Sages even.
He knows Latin,
Lombard, &c.,
2664 writes poetry,
knows law,
philosophy,
That coude a-mend hym in o poynt, al thing to discryve.
The .vij. sages of Rome, þouȝ al ageyn hym were,
Thé shuld be insufficient to make[n] his answere;
ffor he can al langagis, Grew, Ebrewe, & latyne,
Caldey, ffrenssh, & lombard, yee knowe[n]¹ wel fyne ;
And alle maner [doctrine] þat men in bokis write;
In poyse, and philosophe, also he can endite.
Sevile [law], & Canoun, & [eke] al maner lawis ;
Seneca, & Sydrak, & Salamonys sawis;
And the .vij. sciencis, & eke lawe of Armys,
Experimentis, & pompery, & al maner charmys,
As yee shut here[n] aftir, er þat I depart,
Of his Imaginaciouns, & of his soti art.
ffor he is of age ccc2 yeer/ & more;
Wherfor of alle sciencis he hath þe more lore.
In denmark he was goten, & I-bore also,
And in grece I-norisshid, til he coud speke & go:
Ther was he putto scole, & lernyd wondir fast;
ffor such was [tho] his grace, þat al othir he past.
But first, in his begynnyng', litil good he had,
But lernyd evir passyngly, & was wise & sad.
Of stature & of feture, þer was noon hym like
2668 pumping?,
charms, &c.
2672
2676
[leaf 216, back]
He was born
in Denmark,
brought-up in
Greece,
þurh the londe of grece, þou; men wold hym seke.
2680
“A kyng þere was in tho ȝeris, þat had noon heire male, and the king
of Greece
Saff a douȝter, þat he lovid [right] as his owne saal.
Isope was his seruaunt, & did hym such plesaunce,
That he made hym his heir, & did hym so avaunce, 2684
To wedd his douȝter, and aftir hym to bere crown),
Thurh prowes; & [of] his port so low he was, & boun).
So as fortun wold, þat was Isopis frend,
This worthy kyng þat same yere made his carnel ende 2688
1 ? he knoweth.
2 three hundred. MS ēēē.
6
wedded his
daughter to him.

'140 years has
Isope reigned,
and his wisdom
has maintained
him till now.
a hard cause tries
to get Isope to
decide it.
Tha[t] vij xx¹ yeer is passid þat Isope þus hath regned,
And ȝit [ne] was þer' nevir, for wrong' on hym compleyned,
ffor no Iugement þat he gaff; ȝit som ageyn hym wyled
A grete part of his pepit, & wold have hym exiled; 2692
But his grete wisdom, & his manfulnes,
His governaunce, with his bounte, & his riȝtfulnes,
Hath evir ȝit meyntenyd 2 hym vnto [t]his ilch[e] day;
And wolf, whils þat he lyvith, for auȝt þat men can say.
4
2697
2700
Any one who has ffor who hath eny quare, or cause for to wonde,
Within this same Cete, quiklich wol he fonde-
And it be sotit mater,-to Isope for to fare,
ffro gynnyng to be end, his quarel to declare.
And eve a-fore, as custom is, þe ple³ shal be on þe morowe;
But who-so ly, he scapith nat without[e] shame or sorow.
"Beryn, þow must go thidir, wher thyn enpechement
Shut be I-mevid; & perfor pas nat thens,
TyH þow have herd hem al; & [tho] report hem wele
To me, þat am thy counsel; & repeir [here] snele. [leaf 217]
"But so rial mancioune as Isope dwellith In,
Now, Beryn,
you must go to
Isope,
and then return
to me.
I'll describe
Isope's house to
2704
Ther is noon in the world, ne [noon] so queynt of gyn: 2708
you, and tell you Wherfor be wel avisid, how I enfourm[e] the
Of he wondir weyis, & of the pryuyte,
how to get to it.
Don't go in at
the broad gate
of the castle,
2712
That been within his paleyse, þat þow must pas[sen] by :
And when þow approchist, & art þe castel nyȝ,
Blench[e] fro þe brode gate, & entir þow nat there;
ffor pere been men to kepe it: ȝit have þow no fere;
but by a window Pas doun on the riȝt hond by þe castel wall,
on the right.
Go in (you'll see
a portcullis) to a
beautiful hall,
Tyl þow fynd a wyndowe; & what-so the by-fal, 2716
Entir ther, yf þow may, & be no thing agast;
But walk forth in þat entre: þen shalt þow see in hast
A port-Colyse the to-fore. pas in boldly
TyH þow com to an hall, þe feyrest vndir sky:
The wallis been of marbil, I-ioyned & I-closid;
And the pilours cristal, grete & wele purposid;
1
7 score. Urry prints 27.'
3
Urry prints 'peple' for 'þe ple.'
2720
2 Urry prints' preserved.'
4 MS Both.'

83
The keueryng of-bove, is of selondyn;
And the pament be-neth, of gold & asure fyne.
ceiled with
selondyne, paved
2724 with gold,
But who-so passith þurh þis half, hath nede to ren[ne] blyve,
Or els he myȝt[e] be disware of his owne lyve;
ffor perewithin lijth a stoon, þat is so hote of kynde,
That what thing com forby, a-noon it wolf a-tend,'
As bryst as any candel leem, & consume a-noon :
And so wold the hat also, ner coldnes of a stoon
That is I-clepid 'dyonyse,' þat set is hym ageyn
So, & þow lepe liȝtly, þow shalt have no peyn);
ffor ethir stone, in kynde proporcioned they be ;
Of hete, & eke of coldnes, of oon equalite.
"how must pas þurh þe half; but tary nat, I rede ;
ffor þou shalt fynd a dur, vp riȝt a-fore þyn hede.
When þow art entrid ther', & þe dor a-past;
containing one
stone, that burns-
2728 up whatever
comes near it,
and another stone,
'Dyonyse,' of
equal coldness.
2732
Pass thro' the
hall to a door;
2736
go in at it, and
you'll see 2
leopards.
If you're afraid
of either, blow
Whatso þow se ligg or stond, be þow nat agast;
And yf þow drede any thing, do no more save blowe :
But ȝit I rede the, be ware þat it be somwhat lowe: 2740 on it,
Ther' been to libardis, loos and [eke] vntyed;
[leaf 217, back]
indeed.
If that thy blowing' of þat othir in eny thing be spyed,
Anoon he rakith on the, to sese the by thy pate;
ffor there nys thing in erth þat he so much doith hate,
As breth of mannys mowith: wherfor refreyn[e] the, 2745 but very gently
And blowe but fair & sofft, & when that nede be.
When thow art passid this hal, anoon þen shalt þowe
In-to the fayrest gardyn þat is in cristendom) :
The wich, þurh his clergy, is made of such devise
That a man shall ween he is in paradise,
com
Then you'll come
to the loveliest
2748
garden in the
world, like
Paradise,
At his first comyng in, for melody & song,
And othir glorious thingis, & delectabil a-mong';
The wich Tholomeus, þat som-tyme paynym was,
That of Astronomy knew euery poynt & case,
Did it so devise, þurh his hiȝe connyng,
2752
made by
Tholomeus,
That there nys best in erth, ne bird þat doith syng, 2756 with birds of
That he nys ther' in figur/, in gold & sylvir fyne,
1 light, set fire to.
gold that move
as if alive.

And mowe as they were quyk, knawe þe soti engyne.
In this garden
is the fairest tree
under the sky.
In mydward of this gardyn stant a feire tre,
Of alle maner levis þat vndir sky [there] be,
I-forgit & I-fourmyd, eche in his degre,
2760
2764
Of sylvir, & of gold[e] fyne, þat lusty been to see.
This gardeyn is evir green, & ful of may[e] flouris,
Of rede, white, & blewe, & othir fressh colouris,
The wich[e] been so redolent, & sentyn so a-boute,
¶ That he must be ryȝte lewd, [þat] perin shuld[e] route.
"These monstrefulle thingis, I devise to the,
Be-cause þow shuldist nat of hem a-basshid be
2768
When that þowe comyst ther'. so þow be strong in þouȝt,
And do be my counsel, drede the riȝt nouȝt;
Eight Necroman- ffor ther' beth viij tregetours þat þis gardyn kepith;
cers guard this
garden,
2772
ffour of hem doith waak, whils the foure sclepith;
The wich[e] been so perfite of Nygramance,
And of þe arte of apparene, and of tregetrie,
and they look
like loathly
worms, enough
to frighten the
bravest men.
Also, there's a
White Lion,
who's eaten 500
men.
That they make semen (as to a mannys sight)
Abominabit wormys, þat sore ouȝt be a-friȝte
The hertiest man on erth, but he warnyd were
Of the grisly siȝtis þat he shuld see there.
Among al othir, ther/ is a lyon white,
2776
[leaf 218]
That, & he se a straungir, he raumpith for to bite; 2780
And hath, to-fore this tyme, .v.C men & mo
Devourid & I-ete, þat therforth have I-goo.
ȝit shalt þowe pas suyrly, so þow do as I tel.
But if you touch The tre I told to-fore, þat round as any bel
a branch of the
fair Tree, you'll
be quite safe.
On the further
side is a passage
Berith bowe & braunce, traylyng to be ground,
And þow touch oon of hem, þow art saff & sound ;
The tre hath such vertu, ther' shall no þing þe dere:
Loke þat be þe first, when þow comyst there.
"Then shalt þowe se an entre, by the ferther syde;
Þouȝe it be streyt to-fore, Inner large & wyde
It growith more & more, & as a dentour wriythe ;
that 'll bring you it woll that wey the bryng pere þat Isope lijth,
Into the feyrest Chambir þat evir man sawe with eye.
to Isope's room.
2784
2788
2792

85
When thow art ther-with-in, govern) þe wisely;
ffor, ther shalt thow here[n] al thyn enpechement
Opynly declarid, in Isopis present.
Report hem wele, & kepe hem in thy mynde;
And aftir thy relacioune, wee shall so turn & wend,
Thurh help of God a-bove, such help for to make,
That they shut be a-combrit, & we ryȝt wel to scape."
There you shall
hear your im-
2796 peachment
stated.
Then tell it me,
2799
and we'll settle
our defence.'
"Now in soth," quod Beryn, "a mannys hertis may grise Beryn declines
Of such wondir weyis! for al my marchandise
I had levir lese, then oppon me take
66
Such a wey to pas." 'then, sir/, for yeur/ sake
I wolf my selff," quod Geffrey: "sith I am ensuryd
To help the with my power, þowe shalt be a-myrid
As ferforth as I may; þat I woll do my peyn
To bryng ȝewe plesaunt tyding', & retourn ageyn,
ȝit or þe Cok crowe ; & therfor let me se,
Whils I am out, how mery yee can be."
to go to Isope.
2804 So Geffrey says
he'll go,
2808 and be back by
cockcrow.
Geffrey starts;
and Beryn and
2812 his men begin to
2816
Geffrey tok his leve: but who was sory tho,
But Beryn, & his company? for, when he was go,
Thé had no maner ioy; but dout, & hevynes;
ffor of his repeyryng they had no sikirnes.
So every man to othir made his compleynt,
And wisshid þat of felony they had been atteynt;
And so hem þouȝt [it] bettir, to end[en] hevynes,
Then every day to lak[ke] brede atte first[e] mes:
"ffor when our/ good is go, what shall fal of vs?
Evir to be hir/ thrallis, & paraventure wers,
To lese our/ lyff[es] aftir, yf wee displese hem ouȝt:"
Aftir Geffrey went, this was al hir/ þouȝt
Thurhout þe nyȝte, til Cokkis gan to syng'.
But then encresid anguyssh; hir/ hondis gan to wryng';
And cursid wind¹ & watir þat hem brouȝt[e] ther';
And wisshid many tymes that [t]he[y]2 had been in bere,
And were a-passid, & entrid in-to [grete] dispeyr.
In as much as Geffrey did nat [sone] repeir',
1 MS 'wyne.'
mope and groan:
[leaf 218, back]
The men 'll
take our goods
2820 and then make
2825
2828
2 AS. hi they.
slaves of us.
Curse the wind
and water that
brought us here!

Eche man seyd to othir, 'it myȝt nat be I-nayid,
But Geffrey had vttirlich falsly hem betrayed :'
Thurh-out all the long nyȝte [this was hir compleynt,]
They wisshid þat of felony they had been atteynt.
We'll sail off
home.'
Tho went they to counsel, a liti tofore þe day,
And were at accordit for to say a-way;
2832
They get ready
And so hem pouȝt[e] bettir, & leve hir good[is] ther',
Then a-byde ther-oppon, & have more fere.
They made hir/ takelyng' redy, & wend þe saitt a-cros,
2836
to start, and turn
the masts.
Just then comes
Geffrey to the
shore.
their sails across ffor to save hir/ lyvis, & set nat of hir/ los,
So sore they were a-drad to be in servitute,
And hopid God above wold send hem som refute
By som othir costis, ther' wynd hem wold[e] bryng.
And ther-withal cam Geffrey, on his stilt lepeing',
And cried wondir fast by the watir syde.
2840
a boat for him.
Beryn sends out When Beryn herd Geffrey, he bad his men a-byde,
And to launch out a bote, & brynge Geffrey in;
2844
"ffor he may more a-vait me now þen al my kyn,
And he be trewe & trusty, as myne hope is."
2848
The Romans
fetch him in,
tho' they believe
he'll betray 'em.
[leaf 219]
Geffrey is wroth,
throws his
crutches away,
and reproaches
Beryn for being
so low-spirited
for nothing.
'I'll upset your
opponents, and
But ȝit ther-of had Beryn) no ful sikirnes.
These Romeyns fet in Geffrey with an hevy cher';
ffor they had levir saille forth, þen put[ten] hem in were,
Both lyve & goodis ; & evit suspecioune
:
They had of þis Geffrey wherfor þey gon roune,
Talking to eche othir, "þis man woll vs be-tray.”
Geffrey wist wel I-nowȝe he was nat to hir pay ;
And for verry angir he threw in-to be see
Both stilt & eke his cruch, þat made were of tre,
And gan hem to comfort, & seid in this manere:
"Benedicite, Beryn! why make yee such chere?
ffor, & yee wexe hevy, what shut yeur men do
2852
2856
But take ensaumpit of ȝewe? & have no cause to; 2860
ffor ȝit, or it be eve, yeur aduersarijs alle
I shat make hem spurn, & have a sore falle;
get damages out And yee go quyte, & al yeur/ good, & have[n] of hirs too;
of 'em too.
And þey to be ryȝt feyn, for to scape so,
2864

87
Without[en] more daunger, & yeur/ wille be.
ffor of the lawis her, such is the equyte,
That who pursu[ith] othir, & his pleynt be wrong,
He shall make a-mendis, be he nevir so strong:
Riȝt as shuld þe todir, yf he condempnyd were,
Riȝt so shall þe pleyntyff, riȝt as I ȝew lere ;
For if a
plaintiff loses,
he must pay the
defendant the
2868 same money that
And þat shal [I sone] preve by hem, have yee no doute,
ȝit or it be eve, riȝt low to ȝew to loute,
2872
2876
2880
And submit hem to ȝew, & put hem in yeur/ grace,
By þat tyme I have I-made al my wanlase.
And in hope to spede wele, let shape vs for to dyne."
Geffrey axid watir, & sith[then] brede & wyne ;
And seit, "it is holsom to breke our fast be-tyme;
ffor þe Steward wol to þe court atte hour/ of pryme."
The sonne gan to shyne, & shope a feir[e] day;
But, for auȝt þat Geffrey coud[e] do or say,
These Romeyns spekyn fast, al the dyner while,
'That Geffrey with his sotil wordis wold hem [al] begile.'
So when they had I-dyned, þey rysen vp echoon,
And drew hem [þo] to counsel, what was best to doon.
Som seyd, "the best[e] rede þat wee do may,
To throwe Geffrey ovir þe bord, & seylle forth our' way.'
But, for drede of Beryn, som [ne] wold nat so;
ȝit the more party assentid wele ther-to.
2883
2888
Geffrey, & Beryn, & worthy Romeyns tweyn),
Stood a-part with-in the shipp, to Geffrey gan to seyn;
"Beryn, beth avisid! yeur/ men beth in distaunce;
Sith yee been her soveren, put hem in governaunce; 2892
ffor me thinkith they holdith, contrary opynyoun);
And grace faylith comynlych, wher' is dyvisioun."
In the meen[e] while þat they gan thus to stryve,
Hanybald was vp, & I-com as blyve
2896
To the brigg of þe town, ther' the Shippis rood,
And herd [hem make] much noyse; but litil while he bood,
ffor when he sawe the saylis stond[en] al a-cros,
"Alas!" quod this hanybald, "her growith a smert los
he brought his
action for.
I'll bring your
opponents on
to their knees.
Let's have some
dinner.'
They dine before
prime (9 A.M.).
Beryn's shipmen
distrust Geffrey,
and some propose
to throw him
overboard.
[leaf 219, back]
Meantime, Hany
bald sees that
Beryn's ships
have their sails
across, ready to
start.

So he calls the
citizens (1000 of
'em) to arms
to stop Beryn
going.
Beryn sees 'em,
and puts himself
altogether in
Geffrey's hands.
Geffrey bids the
men clip off his
beard and hair.
They do, and
make him look
like a regular
Fool.
Geffrey begins
to joke:
'Look at these
Falsetown fellows
in arms.
2901
2904
To me, þat am prouost; & have in charge & hest
Al these fyve Shippis vndir myne arest ;”.
And ran in-to the toun), & made an hidouse cry,
And chargit al the Cetezins to armys for to hy,
ffrom o strete til a-nothir, & rerid vp al þe town);
And made the trompis blowe vp, & [made] þe bellis soun);
And seyd[e] 'þat þe Romeyns were in poynt to pas;'
Til ther' were a powsand-rathir mo þen les-
Men I-armyd cleen, walking to þe Strond.
2908
2912
2916
When Beryn hem a-spied: "now, Geffrey! in thy honde
Stont lyff & goodis! doth with vs what the list;
ffor all our hope is on the, comfort, help, & trist.
ffor we must bide aventur, such as God wol shape
ffor nowe I am in certen we mow no wise scape."
"Have no dout," quod Geffrey, "beth mery; let me a-loon:
Getith a peir sisours, sherith my berd a-noon;
And aftirward lete top my hede; hast[i]lych & blyve!"
Som went to with sesours, som [to] with a knyfe;
So what for sorowe & hast, & for lewd[e] tole,
Ther' was no man a-lyve, bet like to a fole,
Then Geffrey was. by þat tyme þey had al I-do,
Hany bald clepid out Beryn, to motehall for to go;
And stood oppon the brigg, with an huge route.
Geffrey was the first, to hanybald gan to loute,
And lokid out a fore Shipp: "God bles ȝew, sir!" quod he.
"Wher art þow now, Beryn? com nere! be-hold & se!
Her is an huge pepi I-rayd & in-dight;
2920
2924
[leaf 220]
Al these been my children, þat been in armys bryȝte;
ȝistirday I gate hem : [is it] nat mervaið
2929
They're going
to help us!
Bless ye, my
children!'
Geffrey dances.
That þey been hidir I-com, to be of our counsait,
And to stond[en] by vs, & help vs in our ple.
A! myne owne childryn, blessid mut ye be !".
Quod Geffrey, with an hiȝe voise, & had a nyce visage,
And
gan to daunce for Ioy, in the fore stage.
Hanybald lokid on Geffrey, as he were a-masid,
And be-held his contenaunce, & howe he was I-rasid;
2932

89
But evir more he pouȝt[e], þat he was a fole
Nature of kynde, & had noon othir tool,
As semed by his wordis & his visage both;
2937 Hanybald takes
Geffrey for a
real Fool,
And pouȝt it had been foly to wex[e] with hym wroth;
And gan to bord ageyn, & axid hym in game,
"Sith þow art our ffadir, who is then our dame?
And howe, & in what plase, were wee be-gete?"
'ȝistirday," quod geffrey, "pleying in the strete
66
Atta gentil game þat clepid is the 'quek,'
A longe peny halter was cast about my nekk,
2941
and asks him
who got all his
children.
2944 Yesterday,
And I-knet [ful] fast with a ryding' knot,
And cast ovir a perche & hale a-long my throte."
2948
"Was þat a game," quod hanybald, "for to hang by selve?"
"So þey seyd a-bout me, a M† ech by hym selff.”
"How scapiddist þow," quod hanybald, "þat þow wer' nat
dede?"
"Ther-to can I answere, without[en] eny rede:
I bare thre disë, in myne owne purs,—-
ffor I go nevir without, fare I bettir or wors,—
I kist hem forth al thre, & too fil amys ase.
2952
But here now what fit aftir! riȝt a mervolouse case! 2956
Ther' cam a mows lepe forth, & ete þe pird[e] boon,
That puffid out hir skyn, as grete as she myȝt goon;
And in this maner wise, of þe mouse & me
Al yee be I-com, my children fair' & fre.
And ȝit, or it be eve, fall wol such a chaunce,
To stond[en] in my power/ ȝew alle to Avaunce;
as I was going
to be hung,
I threw my 3 dice;
2 fell double aces;
a mouse eat-up
the third, which
puft her up,
and out of her
and me came all
yon 1000
2960 children!'
[leaf 220, back]
2964 The Falsetowners
ffor, & wee plede wele to day, we shut be riche I-nowȝe."
Hanybald [þo] of his wordis hert[i]lich[e] louȝe ;
And so did al þat herd hym, as þey myȝte wele,
And had[de] grete Ioy, with hym for to telle;
ffor þey knewe[n] hym noon othir but a fole of kynde:
And al was his discrecioune; & þat previd þe ende.
Thus whils Geffrey Iapid, to make hir' hertis liȝte,
Beryn & his company wer rayid & I-diȝte,
And londit hem in botis, fereful howe to spede;
2968
laugh heartily.
Beryn and his
men land.

the Court.
ffor att hir/ pouȝtis in balance stode, be-twene hope & drede;
But ȝit they did hir/ peyn to make liȝtsom chere,
As Geffrey hem had enfourmed, of port & al manere
Of hir governaunce, al the longe day,
2973
They go towards TyH hir/ plee wer' endit. so went they forth hir wey,
To the court with hanybald. then Beryn gan to sey, 2977
"What nedith this, sir hanybald, to make such aray?
'Why all these
armed men?'
says Beryn.
'Because you
were going to
bolt.
And if you'd
done it, you'd
have lost your
lives.'
Bolt! Pooh!'
says Geffrey.
"You know
nothing about
ships!'
'Don't I?'
says Hany bald.
Why did you set
your sails across
the mast?
To
tallow the ship.'
[leaf 221]
'Why did you
close your port-
holes?"
'To wake the
master.'
2981
2984
Sith wee been þese-marchantis, & vse no spoliacioune.”
"ffor soth[e] sir," quod hanybald, "to me was made relacioun)
Yee were in poynt to void; & yef ye had do so,
Yee had[de] lost yeur lyvis, with-out[e] wordis mo."
Beryn held hym stil. Geffrey spak a-noon;
"No les wed þen lyvis! whi so, good sir Iohn)?
That were som-what to much, as it semeith me;
But ye be ovir-wise, þat dwelt in this Cete;
ffor yee have be-gonne a thing' makith ȝewe riȝte bold;
And ȝit, or it be eve, as folis shul ye be hold.
And eke yee devyne [nat] for-in¹ Shipmannys crafft,
And wotith liti what longith to, a-fore þe Shipp, & bafft,
And namelich in the dawnyng, when shipmen first arise.”
'My good ffrend," quod hanybald, in a scornyng wise,
"Ye must onys enfourm) me, þurh yeur/ discrecioun); 2993
But first ye must answer to a questioun):
66
2988
'Why make men cros-sail in myddis of þe mast'?"
[Gef.] "ffor to talowe þe shipp, & fech[e] more last." 2996
[Han.] "Why goon the ȝemen to bote, Ankirs to hale?"
[Gef.] "ffor to make hem redy to walk to þe Ale."
[Han.] "Why hale they vp stonys by the crane lyne ?"
[Gef.] "To make the tempest sese, & the sonne shyne."
[Han.] "Why close they the port with the see bord?"
[Gef.] "ffor the mastir shuld a-wake atte first[e] word."
[Han.] "Thow art a redy reve," quod hanybald, "in fay.”
[Gef.] "Yee sir/ trewly, for sothe is þat yee sey."
So Geffrey chaffs Geffrey evir clappid, as doith a watir myl,
Hanybald.
3004
And made hanybald to lauȝe al his hert[e] fel.
1 MS 'in,' blotted out (? divine not foreign shipmen's craft)

91
"Beryn," quod this Geffrey, "retourn thy men ageyn);
What shut they do with the at court? no man on hem
pleyn.
Plede thy case thy selve, riȝt as þow hast I-wrouȝt;
3008
Geffrey chaffs
Beryn too,
To bide with the Shippis my purpos is, & þouȝt."
"Nay for-soth," quod hanybald, "þow shalt a-byde on lond;
Wee have no folis but the," & toke hym by þe hond, 3012
"ffor thow art wise in lawe to plede[n] al the case."
"That can I bettir," quod Geffrey, "þen eny man in this and then Hany.
plase!
What seyst þow therto, Beryn? shal I tell thy tale?"
Hanybald likid his wordis wele, & forward gan hym hale.
Beryn made hym angry, & siȝhid wondir sore,
bald.
3017 Beryn gets angry,
ffor Geffrey hym had enfourmyd of euery poynt to-fore,
How he hym shuld govern all the longe day.
Geffrey chasid hym ageyn): "sey me ȝe or nay! 3020
Maystowe nat I-here speke som maner word?"
"Leve thy blab, lewd fole ! me likith nat thy bord!
and calls Geffrey
a stupid fool.
I have a-nothir þouȝt," quod Beryn), "wherof þowe carist
lite."
"Clepeist þow me a fole?" quod Geffrey; "al þat I may Fool, indeed!
þe wite!
But first, when wee out of Rome saillid both in fere,
Tho I was thy felawe & thy partynere ;
3024
3029
I used to be your
partner; tho'
you've now bag'd
all the goods.'
ffor tho the marchandise was more þen halff[e] myne;
And sith þat þowe com hidir, þowe takeist al for thyne.
But ȝit or it be eve, I woll make oon be-hest;
But þowe have my help, thy part shal be [the] lest."
Thyn help!" quod Beryn; "lewde fole, þow art more þen Fool! get back
66
masid!
to the ship!'
says Beryn.
" 3033
Dres the to þe Shippis ward, with thy crown) I-rasid;
ffor I myȝt nevir spare the bet! trus! & be a-goo!
"I wol go with the," quod Geffrey, "wher þow wolt or no; [leaf 221, back]
And lern to plede lawe, to wyn both house & londe."
"So þow shalt," quod hanybald, & led hym by the honde, I'll plead and
And leyd his hond oppon his nek: but, & he had I-knowe
'No, I won't,'
says Geffrey;
win for you.'

Hany bald is
glad.
But he's sorry
ere eve.
Hany bald asks
Geffrey his name.
'Gylhochet.'
'Where were
you born?'
'I don't know.'
3040
Whom he had led, in sikirnes he had wel levir in snowe
Have walkid xl myle, & rathir then fait more;
ffor he wisshid that Geffrey had I-be vnbore
fful offt-tyme in that day, or the ple were do;
And so did al þat wrouȝt[e] Beryn shame & woo.
Now, yee þat list a-bide, & here of sotilte,
Mow knowe how þat Beryn sped [there] in his ple, 3044
And [eke] in what aray, [un]to the court he went;
And howe hanybald led Geffrey, disware of his entent.
But ȝit he axid of Geffrey, "what is þy name, I prey?"
"Gylhochet," quod Geffrey, "men clepid me ȝistirday.'
"And wher' weer þow I-bore?" "I note, I make a-vowe,”
Seyd Geffrey to this hanybald, "I axe þat of ȝewe;
ffor I can tell no more, but her I stond [as] nowe.
Hanybald of his wordis hert[i]lich[e] lowȝe,
So they chaff on. And held hym for a passing fole to serve[n] eny lord.
Thus þey romyd Ianglyng in-to þe court ward;
But, or they com ther, the Steward was I-set,
They find the
Steward in court,
and the plaintiffs And the grettest of þe town), a company I-met,
striving as to
who's to have
Beryn's goods.
Beryn and his
men, in dyed
woollen robes,
sit down.
He says he has
come to answer
the charges
against him.
[leaf 222]
And
gon to stryve fast, who shuld have þe good
That com[en] was with Beryn ovir þe salt flood.
Som seyd oon, & som seyde a-nothir';
3052
3056
Som wold have the Shippis, þe parel, & þe rothir; 3060
Som his eyen, som his lyff wold have, & no les ;
3064
Or els he shuld[e] for hem fyne, or [that] he did pas.
And in the mene whils they wer' in this afray,
Beryn & these romeyns were com in good aray
As myȝt be made of wol, and of colour greynyd:
They toke a syde bench þat for hem was ordeyned.
¶ When al was husst & stil, Beryn rose a-noon,
And stode in the myddis of þe hal to-fore hem everychon);
And seyd, "sir/ Steward, in me shall be no let:
I am I-com to answer, as my day is set;
3069
Do me ryȝte & reson! I axe jewe no more."
"So shal [I]," quod the Steward, "for perto I am swore."

93
¶ "He shall have ryȝt," quod Geffrey, "wher' þow wolt or no. Geffrey chaffs
ffor, & þow mys onys thy Iugement on-do,
3076
I wol [un]to be Emperour of Rome, my cosyn);
ffor of o cup he & I ful offt have dronk þe wyne,
And ȝit wee shut her-aftir, as offt[en] as wee mete,
ffor he is long the gladder, when I send hym to grete."
Thus Geffrey stode oppon a fourm), for he wold be sey
Above all othir, the shuldris, & [therto have] the cry;
And starid al a-boute, with his lewd[e] berd,
And was I-hold a verry fole of ech man [þat] hym herd.
The Steward, & þe officers, & þe burgeyssis alle,
3081
the judge
Evander.
Lauzhid at hym hert[i]lich; the criour' gan to calle 3084 The Crier calls
The Burgeys þat had pleyd with Beryn atte ches;
And he aros [ful] quiklich, & gan hym for to dres
A-fore the Steward atte barr, as þe maner is.
He gan to tell his tale with grete redynes;
"Here me, sir Steward! þis day is me set,
3088
To have ryght & reson-I ax[e] ȝewe no bet,—
Of Beryn, þat here stondith; þat with me ȝistirday
the first plaintiff,
the Burgess
Syrophane,
and he states that
Beryn agreed,
Made a certen covenaunt, & atte ches we did pley; 3092 if he were mated
'That who-so were I-matid of vs both[e] too,
Shuld do the todirs byddyng'; & yf he wold nat so,
He must drynke al the watir þat salt wer' in the se';
Thus I to hym [en]surid, and he also to me.
To preve my tale trewe, I am nat al aloon.”
Vp rose .x. Burgeysis [ful] quyklich a-noon,
And affermyd evir[y] word of his tale soth;
And made[n] hem al redy for to do hir' othe.
3096
3100
Evandir the Steward, "Beryn, now," quod he,
"Thow must answere nede; it wol noon othir be;
Take thy counsel to the spede on! have I doon." 1
Beryn held hym stil: Geffrey spak a-noon :
"Now be my trowith," quod Geffrey, "I mervel much
of gewe
3104
¹ After this comes in the MS a repetition of the last line :
"Thow must answere nede it may noon othir be."
at chess, to do as
his victor bade
him, or drink all
the salt water
in the sea.
10 Burgesses
swear it's true.
Evander calls on
Beryn to answer.
[leaf 222, back]

Geffrey says,
'I'm quite ready
to answer,
but I want to
hear all the
plaintiffs first.
I'm wiser than
you think.'
They laugh at
Geffrey;
To bid vs go to counsel! & knowith me wise I-nowȝ,
And evir ful avisid, In twynkelyng of an eye
To make a short answer, but yf my mowith be dry. 3108
Shuld wee go to counsel for o word or tweyn)?
Be my trowith we nyl! let se mo that pleyn !
And but he be I-answerd, & þat riȝt a-noon,
I ȝeve ȝewe leve to rise, & walk out every-choon,
And a-spy[en] redely yf ye fynd me ther'.
In the meen[e] whils, I wol a-bide here.
Nay, I telle trewly, I am wiser þen yee ween;
3112
but Beryn too
asks for another
plaintiff to come
on.
ffor pere nys noon of ȝewe woot redely what I meen."
Every man gan lawȝe al his hert[e] fit,
3117
Of Geffrey & his wordis; but Beryn held hym stil,
And was cleen astonyd,—but ȝit, ner þe lattir,
He held it nat al foly þat Geffrey did[e] clatir,
3120
But wisely hym governyd, as Geffrey hym tauȝte,
ffor parcel of his wisdom, to-fore he had[de] smaught.
"Sir Steward," quod Beryn, "I vndirstond [right] wele
The tale of þis Burgeyse; now let a-nothir tel,
3124
That I may take counsel, & answer al attonys."
"I graunt[e]," quod the Steward, thyn axing for þe nonys,
"Sith bow wolt be rewlid by by folis rede,
ffor he is ryȝte a wise man to help the in thy nede." 3128
Vp a-rose the accusours queynt[e]lich a-noon;
So, 2. Hanybald Hanybald was the first of hem evirichon),
states his case:
were put into
my charge,
And gan to tell his tale with a proud[e] chere:
"ȝistirday, [my] soverens, when [þat] I was here,
Beryn & thes Burgeyse gon to plede fast'
ffor pleying atte ches; so ferforth atte last,
Beryn's 5 ships Thurh vertu of myne office, þat I had in charge
Beryns fyve Shippis, for to go at large,
And to be in answere here þis same day :
[leaf 223]
and we agreed
that I should
have his cargoes,
3132
3136
So, walkyng to the Strondward, wee bargeynyd by the
wey
That I shuld have the marchaundise þat Beryn with hym
brouzte,

95
(Wherof I am sesid, as ful sold and bouȝte,)
In covenaunt that I shuld his shippis fit ageyn)
Of my marchaundise, such as he to-fore had seyn
In myne owne plase, howsis to or thre,
fful of marchandise as they myȝt[e] be.
And I am evir redy! when-so-evir he wol
Let hym go, or sende, & charge his Shippis fut
Of such[e] marchandise as he fyndith there :
ffor, in such[e] wordis, wee accordit were."
Vp rose .x. burgeysis, not tho þat rose to-fore,
But opir,& made hem redy to have swore
3140 and he have 5
3144
3148
That every word of hanybald, from þe begynnyng to be ende,
Was soth & eke trewe; & with a hir/ mende
3152
fful prest they were to preve; & seyd þey were present
Atte covenaunte makeing', by God omnipotent.
loads of such of
my goods as he'd
seen in my
stores.
Let him then
take what he can
find.'
Ten Burgesses
swear it's all true.
¶ "It shaft [nat] nede," quod Geffrey, "whils þat I here Geffrey chaffs,
stonde;
3155
ffor I woll preve[n] it my self with my [own] riȝt honde.
ffor I have been in foure batellis herto-fore,
And this shall be the ffifft; & therfor I am swore ;
Be-holdith, & seith!" & turnyd hym aboute.
The Steward & þe Burgeyse gamyd al aboute,
The Romens held hem stil, & lawuȝid but a lite.
3160
With that cam the blynd man, his tale to endite,
That God hym graunte wynnyng', riȝte as he hath a-servid.
Beryn & his company stood [en] al a-stryvid
Be-twene hope & drede, riȝte in hiȝe distres;
ffor of wele or of woo þey had no sikirnes.
3164
3. Comes the
Blind Man,
3168
"Beryn," quod this blynd, "þouȝe I may nat se,
Stond nere ȝit' the barr, my comyng is for the,
That wrongfullich[e] þowe witholdist my both to eyen,
The wich I toke the for a tyme. & quyklich to me hyen,
And take hem me ageyn, as our covenant was.
Beryn! I take no reward of othir mennys case,
But oonlich of myne own), that' stont me most an hond.
Nowe blessid be God in heven, þat brouȝt þe to this lond!
3172
and says,
'Beryn, you're
keeping my two
eyes that I lent
you only for a
time.
[leaf 225, back]

You were once
my partner,
and a true one
till you stole my
eyes that I lent
you to see the
jugglers' tricks.
ffor sith our/ laste parting, many bittir teris
Have I lete for thy love, þat som tyme partineris 3176
Of wynnyng & of lesing were, ȝeris fele;
And evir I fond the trewe; til at the last þow didist stele
A-wey with my too eyen, that I toke to the,
To se the tregitour[i]s pley, & [al] hir/ sotilte ; 3180
As ȝistirday, here in this same plase,
To-fore ȝewe, sir/ Steward, rehersid as it was.
fful trewe is that byword, 'a man to seruesabil,
Ledith offt[e] beyard from his owne stabil.'
3184
I didn't change
eyes with you.'
Four Burgesses
swear it's all true.
Geffrey chaffs
the blind man :
'Lucky for you
that you haven't
your eyes;
for you keep
honest now.
If you had your
eyes, you'd be
always thieving.'
The people
laugh.
4. Comes the
Deserted Wife,
with her child.
[leaf 224]
3188
Beryn! by the, I meen, þouȝe þowe make it straunge;
ffor þow knowist trewly þat I made no chaunge
Of my good eyen, for thyne þat badder were."
Ther-with stood vp burgeys four/, witnes to bere.
Beryn held hym stil, & Geffrey spak a-noon :
"Nowe of þy lewde compleynt, & thy masid moon,
By my trowith," quod Geffrey, "I have grete mervait.
ffor þouȝe þow haddist eyen-sight, [y]it shuld it litil avait ;
Thow shuldist nevir fare þe bet, but þe wors in fay; 3193
ffor al thing may be stil [i]nowe for the in house & way;
And yf thow haddist þyn eyen, þowe woldist no counsel
hele ;
I knowe wele by thy fisnamy, thy kynd [it] were to stele;
And eke it is thy profite, and thyne ese also,
To be blynd as þowe art. for nowe, wher-so þow go,
Thow hast thy lyvlode, whils þow art alyve;
3197
And yf þowe myȝtist see, þow shuldist nevir thryve." 3200
Al the house þurh-out, save Beryn & his feris,
Lawzid [þo] of Geffrey, þat watir on hir' leris
Ran downe from hir/ eyen, for his masid wit.
3203
¶ With that cam þe vomman,—hir/tunge was nat sclytt,—
With xv burgeysis, & vommen also fele,
Hir queret for to preve, & Beryn to A-pele,
With a feire knave child I-loke within hir armys;
And gan to tell hir/ tale of wrongis & of Armys,
1 MS al.
3208

97
And cke of [grete] vnkyndnes, vntrowith & falshede,
That Beryn had I-wrouȝt to hir; þat queyntlich from hir The Deserted
ȝede
Anoon oppon hir' wedding, when he his will had doon,
Wife swears that
Beryn is her hus-
band, and that
he deserted her
directly he'd got
And brouȝt [had] hir/ with child, & lete her sit aloon 3212 her with child.
Without[en] help & comfort from þat day; “& nowȝe
He proferid me nat' to kis[sen] onys with his mowith ;—
As ȝistirday, sir Steward, afore ȝewe eche word
Was [full] rehersid here; my pleynt is of record ;— 3216
And this day is me set, for to have reson:
Let hym make a-mendis, or els tel encheson)
Why hym out nat fynd[e] me, as man ouȝt his wyffe."
These fifftene Burgeysis, quyklich also blyve,
And as fele vymmen as stode by hir' ther',
3220 Fifteen Burgesses
swear it's true.
[1 MS vommen]
Seyd that they were present when they weddit were ;
And that every word þat þe vomman¹ seyde
Was trewe, & eke [þat] Beryn had hir' so be-trayd.
"Benedicite!" quod Geffrey, "Beryn! hast þowe a wyff? Geffrey chaffs
3224
3228
Now have God my trowith, the dayis of my lyff
I shall trust the þe las! þow toldist me nat to-fore
As wele of thy wedding, & of thy sone I-bore.
Go to, & kis hem both, thy wyff & eke thyn heir'!
Be þow nat a-shamyd, for þey both be feyr!
This wedding was riȝt pryvy; but I shal make it couthe:
Be-hold thy sone! it semeth crope out of þy mowith; 3232
And eke of thy condicioune both sofft & some.
Now am I glad þyne heir shal [wend] with vs to Rome;
And I shall tech hym, as I can, whils þat he is ȝong
Every day by the strete to gadir houndis doung;
Tyl it be abil of prentyse to crafft of tan[e]ry²;
And aftir I shall teche hym for to cache a fly,
And to mend[e] mytens, when they been to-tore,
And aftir to cloute shoon, when he is elder more:
ȝit, for his parentyne, to pipe, as doith a mowse,
Beryn about his
wife and heir,
tells him to
kiss 'em,
take his boy to
Rome,
and Geffrey 'll
teach him to be
3236 a tanner,
glover,
3240 cobbler,
2 Tannery. Urry prints Taverner [underlined in the MS for
omission] taury.'
7

[leaf 224, back] I wol hym tech, & for to pike a snay out of his house;
and to bark,
And to berk, as doith an hound, & sey 'baw bawe!' 3243
And turne round a-boute, as a Cat doith with a strawe;
bleat, neigh, low, And to blete as doith a shepe, & ney as doith an hors,
And to lowe as doith a Cowe; & as myne owne corps
&c.
Geffrey tries to
get hold of the
child; but the
mother won't let
him.
Geffrey tells her
she's mad.
The Steward
chaffs him.
Beryn and his
men fear
and sorrow.
Geffrey says,
'What the devil's
the matter?
Haven't I told
you how I'll help
you?'
3248
I woll cherissh hym every day, for his modirs sake;"
And gan to stapp[e] nere, the child to have I-take,
As semyd by his contenaunce, al-þouȝe he þouȝt nat¹ so.
Butte modir was evir ware, & blenchid to & fro,
And leyd hir hond be-twene, & lokid som-what wroth;
And Geffrey in pure wrath beshrewid hem al bothe; 3252
"ffor by my trowith," quod Geffrey, "wel masid is thy
pan!
ffor I wol teche thy sone the craftis þat I can,
That he in tyme to com myȝt wyn[nen] his lyvlood.
To wex[en] therfor angry, þow art verry wood!
Of husbond, wyff, & sone, by the Trynyte
3256
3260
I note wich is the wisest of hem al[le] thre!"
"No, sothly," quod the Steward, "it lijth al in þy not,
Both[e] wit & wisdom), & previth by by pott."
ffor al be [it] that Geffrey wordit sotilly,
The Steward & þe burgeysis held it for foly,
Al that evir he seyd, & toke it for good game,
And had ful litil knowlech he was Geffrey þe lame. 3264
Beryn & his company stode stil as Stone,
Be-twene hope & drede, disware how it shuld goon;
Saff Beryn trist in party þat Geffrey wold hym help;
But ȝit in-to þat hour' he had no cause to ȝelpe,
Wherfor þey made much sorow, þat dole was, & pete.
Geffrey herd hym size sore; "what devil is gewe?"
quod he;
"What nede ȝew be sory, whil[e]s I stonde here?
3268
Have I nat enfourmyd ȝewe, how & in what manere 3272
That I ȝew wold[e] help, & bryng' hem in the snare?
Yf yee coude plede as wele as I, ful litil wold yee care.
1 MS nat nat

99
Pluke vp thy hert!" quod Geffrey; "Beryn! I speke to Pluck up your
the!"
"Leve by blab[ir] leude!" quod Beryn to hym a-ye, 3276
“It doith no thing a-vai! þat sorowe com on thy hede!
It is nat worth a fly, al þat þowe hast seyde!
Have wee nat els nowe for to thynk oppon,
Saff her to IangiH?" machyn rose a-noon,
And wentto the barr, & gan to tell his tale:
heart, Beryn!'
[leaf 225]
3280 5. Macaigne
He was as fals as Iudas, þat set[te] Criste at sale.
"Sir/ Steward," quod this machyn, "& þe burgeysis al,
Knowith wele howe melan, with purpil & with pal, 3284 charges Beryn
And othir marchandise, seven ȝere ago
Went toward[is] Rome; & howe þat I also
Have enquerid sith, as reson wol, & kynde,
Syth he was my ffadir, to knowe[n] of his ende.
ffor ȝit sith his departyng, til it was ȝistirday,
Met I nevir creature þat me coude wissh or say
Reedynes of my ffadir, dede othir a-lyve.
3288
But, blessid be God in heven! in this thevis sclyve 3292
The knyff I gaff my ffadir was ȝistir-day I-found!
Sith I hym a-pele, let hym be fast I-bound!
The knyff I knowe wel I-nowe; also þe man stont her,
And dwellith in this town), & is a Cotelere,
That made þe same knyff with his too hondis,
with having
murdered his
(Macaigne's)
father Melan.
"The knife I
gave my father
was found in
Beryn's sleeve.
Here is the
Cutler who
3296 made the knife.'
That wele I woot pere is noon like, to sech al cristen
londis;
ffor .iij preciouse stonys been within the hafft
Perfitlych I-couchid, & sotillich by crafft
Endendit in the hafft, & þat riȝt coriously,
A Saphir, & a salidone, & a rich ruby."
The Coteler' cam lepeing forth with a bold[e] chere,
3300
The Cutler
swears that
And seyd[e] to the Steward: "pat¹ machyn told now here, Macaigne spooks
Every word is trew; so beth the stonys sett;
I made þe knyff my selff;—who myȝt know it bet ?—
And toke the knyff to Machyn, & he me pay[i]d wele,
1 What, that which.
truth
3305
7819

So is this felon gilty; ther' is no more to tel."
Many burgesses Vp arose burgeysis, by to, by iij., by .iiij,
swear they saw
Macaigne
3308
And seyd[e] 'þey were present, þe same tyme and hour,
[leaf 225, back] When Machone wept sore, & brouȝt his ffadirs gownd,
give his father
that knife.
'Any more
plaints ?'
says Geffrey.
Beryn goes out
for a consulta-
tion.
Geffrey stays in
court, and says
he'll make the
plaintiffs smart.
They're in the
wrong,
and he'll make
'em glad to slink
away.
They chaff
Geffrey.
Macaigne says
'Stop fooling.
And gaff hym þe same knyff oppon the see stronde.' 3312
"Bethe ther' eny mo pleyntis of record ?”
3316
Quod Geffrey to the Steward. & he ageynward :
"How semeth the, Gylhoget? beth þer nat Inowȝe?
Make thyne answer, Beryn, case þat þow mowe ;
ffor oon or othir þow must sey, al-þouȝe it nat a-vaill ;
And but þowe lese or þowe go, me pinkith grete mervait.”
Beryn goith to counsel, & his company;
And Geffrey bode be-hynde, to here more, & se,
And to shewe the Burgeyse som what of his hert,
And seyd, "but I make the pleyntyfs for to smert,
And al þat hem meyntenyth, for auȝt þat is I-seyd,
I woll graunte ȝewe to kut þe eris fro my hede.
My mastir is at counsel, but counsel hath he noon;
ffor, but I hym help, he is cleen vndoon.
3320
3324
3328
But I wol help hym al þat I can, & meynten hym also
By my power & connyng, so I am bound ther' to.
ffor I durst wage bate with ȝewe, þouȝe yee be stronge,
That my mastir is in the trowith, & yee be in the wrong':
ffor, & wee have lawe, I ne hold ȝew but distroyed
In your owne falshede, so be ye now a-spied.
Wherfor ȝit or eve I shall abate yeur pride;
That som of ȝew shall be riȝt feyn) to sclynk a-wey & hyde."
The Burgeysis gon to lawȝe, & scornyd hym ther'-to.
"Gylochet,” quod Evander, " & þow cowdist so
Bryng it þus about, it were a redy way."
"He is a good fool," quod hanybald, "in fay,
3332
3336
To put hym-selff a-loon in strengith, & eke in witt,
Ageyn[e]s al the Burgeysis þat on þis bench[e] sit." 3340
"What clatir is this," quod machyn, "al day with a fole?
Tyme is nowe to worch[en] with som othir tole.
ffor I am certeyn of hir/ answer' þat they wolle fail;

101
And lyf for lyf of my ffadir, what may þat a-vail ?
Wherfor beth avisid, for I am in no doute,
The goodis been sufficient to part[en] al aboute;
So may euery party pleyntyff have his part."
3344 I don't want
3347
Beryn's life.
Let's share his
goods!'
[leaf 226]
the Blind man.
"That is reson," quod the blynd, "a trew[e] man þow art; 'Agreed,' says
And eke it were vntrowith, & eke grete syn,
But ech of vs þat pleynyth myȝt[e] som-what wyn.”
Hanybald bote his lyppis, & herd hem both[e] wele;
"Towching the marchandise, o tale I shal ȝew tel, 3352
And eke make a-vowe, & hold[en] my behest,
That of the marchandise yeur/ part shall be [the] lest;
ffor I have made a bargeyn, þat may nat be vndo;
3360
3363
I wol hold his covenaunt, & he shal myne also." 3356
Vp roos quyklich the Burgeyse Syrophanes :
"Hanybald," quod he, "the lawe goith by no lanys,¹
But hold[ith] forth the streyt wey, even as doith a lyne ;
ffor ȝistirday when Beryn with me did dyne,
I was the first persone þat put hym in a-rest;
And, for he wold go large, þow haddist in charge & hest
To sese both Shipp & goodis, til I were answerid ;
Then must I first be servid: þis knowith al men I-lerid."
The vomman stode besidis, & cried wondir fast;
"fful soth is þat byword, 'to pot, who comyth last!'
He worst is servid; & so it farith by me :
ȝit nethirles, sir Steward, I trust to yeur/ leute,
That knowith best my cause, & my trew entent;
I ax[e] ȝewe no more but riȝtful Iugement.
Let me have part with othir, sith he my husbond is :
Good sirs, beth avisid! I axe ȝew nat a-mys."
Thus they gon to stryve, & wer' of hiȝe mode,
ffor to depart a-mong' hem othir mennys good,
Wher they to-fore had nevir properte,
3368
'Steady,' says
Hanybald;
'Beryn's goods
are all mine.'
'No such thing,'
says Syrophanes,
'I first put him in
arrest; you had
his goods in
charge for me.'
The Deserted
Wife says, it's
"To pot with the
last comer! eh ?
But yet, as
Beryn's my
husband, I must
share in the
3372 plunder.'
Ne nevir shuld pere-aftir, by doom of equyte,
But they had othir cause þen þey had tho.
3376
In the MS line 3352 is repeated here by mistake: "Towching
the marchandise o tale I shalle ȝewe telle."

Beryn and his
men think
Geffrey has
betrayed 'em.
We're in the
mire, and he let's
us lie there!'
They weep and
wail.
Beryn was at counsel; his hert[e] was ful woo,
And his meyny sory, distrakt, & al a-mayide ;
3379
ffor tho they levid noon othir, but Geffrey had hem trayde:
Be-cause he was so long, they coude no maner rede ;
3384
3388
3392
[leaf 226, back] But everich[on] by hym-selff wisshid he had be dede:
"O myȝtful God!" þey seyd, "I trow, to-fore this day
Was nevir gretter treson), fere, ne affray,
I-wrouȝt on-to mankynde, þen now is to vs here;
And namelich by this Geffrey with his sotil cher !
So feithfulle he made it he wold vs help echone ;
And nowe we be I-myryd, he letith vs sit aloon!"
"Of Geffrey," quod Beryn, "be as it be may :
Wee mut answere nede; ther is noon opir way;
And therfor let me know yeur/ wit, & yeur/ counsaille."
They wept, & wrong hir hondis, & gan to waille
The tyme þat they wer bore ; & shortly, of þe lyve
In comes Geffrey The[y] wisshid þat þey were. with þat cam Geffrey blyve,
Passing hem towardis, & be-gan to smyle.
Beryn axid Geffrey, 'wher he had be al the while?' 3396
66 Have mercy oppon vs! & help vs as þowe hiȝte!"
"I woll help ȝew riȝt wele, þurh grace of goddis myȝte;
ling how to share And I can tel ȝew tyding of hir/ governaunce :
They stond in altircacioune & stryff in poynt to praunce
To depart yeur' goodis, & levith verryly
That it were impossibil ȝewe to remedy.
But hir' hiȝe pryde & hir/ presumpcioune
smiling,
promises help:
'they're quarrel-
your goods,
but I'll floor
their pride,
and make 'em
pay for it.'
The Romans say
they'll trust to
Beryn wholly,
and not deny a
word he says.
Shal be, ȝit' or eve, hir/ confusioune;
And to make a-mendis, ech man for his pleynt.
3399
3404
Let se therfor yeur/ good a-vise, howe þey myȝt be ateynt."
The Romeyns stode stil, as who had shor' hir' hed.
"In feith," quod Beryn,
66
wee con no maner rede;
But in God, & ȝewe, we submit vs að,
Body, lyffe, & goodis, to stond [en] or to fal;
And nevir for to travers o word þat þow seyst:
Help vs, good Geffrey, as wele as þow maist!
"Depardeux," quod Geffrey, " & I wol do me peyn
""
3408
3412

103
Geffrey comes
back into court,
3416 playing like a
To help ȝewe, as my connyng wol strech & a-teyn."
The Romeyns wentto barr, & Geffrey al to-fore
With a nyce contenaunce, barefote, & to-tore,
Pleyng with a ȝerd, he bare in his honde ;
And was evir wistlyng att euery pase comyng.1
The Steward & the Burgeysis had[de] game I-nowȝe
Of Geffreyis nyce comyng, & hert[i]lich[e] lowȝe ;
And eche man seyd, "Gylhochet, com nere !
Thowe art ryȝt welcom, for þowe makist vs cher."
"The same welcom," quod Geffrey, "þat yee wol vs,
ffal oppon yeur/ hedis, I prey to God, & wers!"
3420
3424
Fool.
[leaf 227]
The Falsetown
men laugh at
him, chaff him,
and think him a
fool.
makes fools of
They held hym for a verry fole, but he held hem² wel more: But he soon
And so he made hem in breff tyme, al-þou; þey wer nat them.
shore.
¶ "Styntith nowe," quod Geffrey, "& let make þese!
Of myrthis & of Iapis tyme is now to cese,
3428
'Now stop
your jokes,'
says Geffrey.
And speke of othir mater þat wee have to doon :
ffor & wee hewe a-mys eny maner spone,
We knowe wele in certeyn what pardon wee shut have :
The more is [then] our/ nede vs to defend & save.
3432
My mastir hath bee at counsel, & ful avisid is
'I'm going to
answer for Beryn,
That I shall have the wordis,-speke I wele or mys.
Wherfor, [now] sir Steward, & yee burgeysis all,
Sittith vp-ryȝt, & wrijth nat, for auntris þat may fal. 3436
ffor, & yee deme vntrewly, or do vs eny wrong',
3440
Yee shul be refourmyd, be ye nevir so strong,
Of euery poynt and Iniury, & þat in grete hast,
ffor he is nat vnknowe to vs, þat may ȝewe chast.
Hold[ith] forthe the riȝt wey, & [go] by no side lanys!
"And as towching the first pleyntyfe Syrophanes,
That pleyde with my mastir ȝistir-day atte ches,
And made a certen covenaunte, 'who þat had þe wers
In the last game, (al þouȝe I wer' nat ther',)
Shuld do the todirs bidding, what-so-evir it were,
Or drynk[en] al the watir þat salt were in the see;'
1 Read 'hande-comande,' for the rymes.
3445
2 MS hyn.
and if you don't
judge fairly,
Isope will be
down on you.
First, then, as to
Syrophanes.
The loser's to
drink all the
water that's salt
in the sea.

Isn't that the
plea ?'
(Evander and
his fellows
begin to think
Geffrey is no
fool.)
Thus, I trowe, sir Steward, ye woll record þe ple:
And yf I have Imyssid, in lettir, or in word,
The lawe, wol I be rewlid aftir yeur' record;
ffor we be ful avisid in this wise to answere.'
Evander þe Steward, & al men þat were there,
Had mervil much of Geffrey, þat spak so redely,
Whose wordis ther[to]for semyd al foly,
And were a-stonyed cleen, & gan [tho] for to drede:
3448
3452
3456
[leaf 227, back] And euery man til othir lenyd with his hede,
And seyd, "he reportid the tale riȝt formally;
He was no fool in certen, but wise, ware, & scly;
ffor he hath but I-Iapid vs, & scornyd her-to-fore;
And wee have hold [en] hym a fole, but wee be wel more."
Thus they stodied on Geffrey, & lauȝid þo riȝt nauȝt.
'Yes, your
silence admits it.
3459
3463
When Geffrey had a-spied they were in such[e] þouȝt,
And hir hertis trobelid, pensyff, & a-noyed,
Hym list to dryv in bet þe nay, til they wer fully cloyid:
"Soveren sirs!" he seyd, "sith þat it so is,
That in reportyng' of our ple yee fynd nothing a-mys,
As previth wele yeur/ scilence; eke yee withseyith not
O word of our tale, but [fynde it] clene without[en] spot;
Then to our answer I prey ȝewe take hede;
3469
Well, it is
true that Beryn
lost the wager.
But on purpose;
for no one here
ffor wee wol sey[en] al the trowith, riȝt as it is in dede.
ffor this is soth & certeyn, it may nat be withseyd,
That Beryn, þat here stondith, was þus ovir-pleid
In the last game, when wagir was opon:
3472
But þat was his sufferaunce, as ye shul here a-noon.
can play chess so ffor in al this Cete ther nys no maner man
well as he.
3476
Can pley[en] bettir atte ches þen my mastir can;
Ne bet þen I, þouȝe I it sey, can nat half so much.
Ne how he lost it be his wil, the cause I wol teche:
ffor ye wend, & ween, þat ye had hym engyned;
But yee shul fele in every veyn þat ye be vndirmyned,
And I-broust at ground, & eke ovir-musid.
3481
But, when we
were at sea,
"And a-ȝenst the first þat Beryn is acusid,
Herith nowe entyntyflich: when wee w'r on the see,

105
3484 a terrible
tempest over.
took us,
Such a tempest on vs fil, þat noon myȝt othir se,
Of pundir, wynd, & liȝtenyng, & stormys ther a-mong;
XV dayis duryng the tempest was so strong,
That ech[e] man til othir began hym for to shryve,
And made hir a-vowis, yf þey myȝte have þe lyve,
Som to se the sepulkir, & som to opir plase,
3488
To sech[en] holy seyntis, for help & [eke] for grace ;
Som to fast, & do penaunce, & som do almys-dede; 3491
Tyl atte last, as God wold, a voise to vs seyde,
In our/ most turment, & desperate of mynde,
[leaf 228] and at last a
voice said,
"If you want to
be saved, your
Master must vow
to drink all the
3496 salt water in the
sea, without any
fresh in it."
And the voice
'That yf we wold be savid, my mastir must hym bynde,
Be feith & eke by vowe, when he cam to londe,
To drynke al the salt watir within the se stronde ;
Without drynkyng any sope of þe fressh watir ;'
And tauȝt hym al the sotilte, how & in what manere
That he shuld wirch[en] by engyne, & by a sotil charm), to do this.
To drynk[en] al the salt watir, & have hym-selff no harm);
But stop the ffressh[e] Ryvers by euery cost[is] side, 3501
That they entir nat in the se þurh þe world[e] wyde.
The voyse we herd, but nauȝt wee sawe; so wer our/ wit-
tis ravid:
ffor this was [the] end fynally, yf we lust be savid. 3504
Wherfor mastir Beryn, when he cam to this port,
my
To his avowe & promys he made his first resort,
Er that he wold[e] Bergeyn any marchandise.
And riȝt so doith these marchandis in the same wise, 3508
That maken hir/ a-vowis in saving of hir' lyvis ;
They completyn hir' pilgremagis or þey se hir wyvis.
So mowe ye vndirstond, þat my mastir Beryn
Of fre will was I-matid, as he þat was a pilgrym,
And myȝt[e] nat perfourm) by many powsand part
His avowe & his hest, without riȝt sotil art,
Without[en] help & strengith of many mennys myȝte.
told Beryn how
So Beryn came
here to perform
his vow,
and let Syro-
phanes check-
3512 mate him,
because he
hadn't money
enough to pay
for separating
from the fresh.
Sir Steward, & sir Burgeyse, yf we shul have riȝte, 3516 the salt water
Sirophanes must do [the] cost & aventur,
IMS the the.
Let Syrophanes
do this,

and Beryn will
drink the salt
water.
to drink any
To stopp al the ffressh Ryvers in-to þe see þat entir.
ffor Beryn is [ful] redy in al thing' hym to quyte;
So ho be in defaute, must pay[en] for the wite.
3520
He never agreed Sith yee been wise [men] al, what nede is much clatir?
Ther' was no covenaunte hem be-twen to drynk fressh water."
fresh.'
At this,
Syrophanes
When Sirophanes had I-herd al Geffreyis tale,
turns pale.
He stode al abasshid, with colour wan & pale,
And lokid oppon the Steward with a rewful cher'
And on othir frendshipp & Neyȝbours he had ther';
3524
[leaf 228, back] And preyd[e] hem of counsel, the answere to reply. 3527
"These Romeyns," quod the Steward, "been wondir scly,
And eke riȝt ynmagytyff,¹ & of [such] sotil art,
Evander warns
him that he'll
have to pay
damages and
costs.
So Syrophanes
offers to let
Beryn go free.
But Geffrey
won't have it,
and calls for
judgment.
'But how can
you stop all the
fresh water?'
'Easily enough
if you've money
enough,' says
Geffrey.
"But let Syro-
phanes pay us
heavy damages,
That I am in grete dowte howe yee shul depart
With-out harm in oon side. our/ lawis, wel þowe wost,
Is to pay damagis, and eke also the cost
Of euery party plentyff þat fallith in his pleynt.
3532
Let hym go quyte, I counsel, yf it may so be queynt."
"I merveil," quod Syrophanes, " of hir/ sotilte;
But sith þat it so stondith, & may noon othir be, 3536
I do wohl be counsel;" & grauntid Beryn quyte.
But Geffrey pouȝt anothir, & without respite,
66
3540
Sirs," he seyd, "wee wetith wele þat yee wol do vs riȝte,
And so ye must[e] nedis, & so yee have vs hiȝte;
And ther-for, sir Steward, ye occupy our/ plase;
And yee knowe wele, what law woll in this case:
My mastir is [al] redy to perfourm) his avowe."
""
Geffrey,"2 quod the Steward, "I can nat wete howe 3544
To stop at the ffressh watir wer' possibilite."
"ȝis, in soth,” quod Geffrey, "who had of gold plente
As man coude wissh, & it myȝt wel be do.
But, þat is nat our/ defaute, he hath no tresour/ to. 3548
Let hym go to in hast, or fynd vs suerte
To make a-mendis to Beryn) for his iniquite,
Wrong, & harm, & trespas, & vndewe wexacioun),
Loss of sale of marchandise, disese & tribulacioun), 3552
1 So in MS.
2
Urry prints "But natheles."
3 MS Lost.

107
3556 or we'll appeal
to Isope,
3560 and he'll settle
That wee have sustenyd þurh his iniquite.
What vaylith it to tary vs? for pouȝt [ye] sotil pry,
Wee shul have reson, wher yee wol or no.
So wol wee þat ye knowe what þat wee wol do :
In certen, [we be] ful avisid to Isope for to pase,
And declare[n] euery poynt, þe more & eke the lase,
That of yeur/opyn errours hath pleyn correccioune,
And ageyns his Iugement is noon proteccioune :
He is yeur/ lord rial, & soveren Iugg, & lele;
That, & ye work in eny poynt, to hym lijth our' a-pele."
So when the Steward had I-herd, & þe Burgeysis all,
Howe Geffrey had I-steryd, þat went so nyȝe the gatt;
What for shame, & drede of more harm) & repreff,
They made Syrophanes, weer hym looth or leffe,
To take Beryn gage, and plegg[e] fynd also,
3565
To byde þe ward & Iugement of þat he had mys-do. 3568
¶ "Nowe ferthermore," quod Geffrey, "sith þat it so is,
That of the first pleyntyff wee have sikirnes ;
Nowe to the Marchant wee must nedis answere,
That Bargayned with Beryn, 'al þat his Shippis bere, 3572
In covenaunte þat he shuld his Shippis fit ageyn)
Of othir marchandise, þat he to-fore had seyn
In hanybaldis plase, howsis too or thre,
fful of marchandise, as they myȝt[e] be.'
Let vs pas [sen] thidir, yf eny thing be ther
At our/ lust & likeing, as they accordit were."
3576
"I graunt[e] wele," quod hanybald, "þow axist but riȝte."
Vp arose these Burgeysis,-"þowe axist but riȝte:"- 3580
The Steward & his comperis entrid first þe house,
And sawe no thing within, Strawe, ne leffe, ne mowse,
Save tymbir, & þe tyle-stonys, & þe wallis white.
"I trowe," quod the Steward," the wynnyng wolf be but
lite
That Beryn wol nowe gete in hanybaldis pleynte;
ffor I can se noon othir but they wol be atteynt
99
3584
it.'
[leaf 229]
So they make
Syrophanes find
pledges to pay
damages.
2. 'As to
Hany bald.
Let us go and
look at the goods
in his house.'
The Steward, &c.,
go, and see
nothing there
but the bare roof
and walls.

Beryn and his
men can find
nothing either.
Evander thinks
Hanybald must
win.
The Blind man
swears he'll make
Beryn pay.
And clepid hem in, echone, & went out hym selve.
As soon as they were entrid, they sawe no maner selve,
ffor soris of hir/ hert; but, as to-fore is seyd,
3589
The house was cleen I-swept. þen Geffrey feir þey preyde
To help [hem] yf he coude. "let me a-loon!" quod he,
"ȝit shut they have the wors, as sotit as þey bee." 3592
Evander the Steward, in the mene while,
3596
Spak to the Burgeyse, & be-gan to smyle :
"Þouȝe Syrophanes by I-hold these romeyns for to curs,
ȝit I trow þat hanybald woll put hym to be wers;
ffor I am suyr & certeyn, within they shul nat fynde.”
"What sey yee be my pleynt, sirs?" quod the blynde,
"ffor I make a-vowe I wol nevir cese
[leaf 229, back] Tyl Sirophanes have of Beryn a pleyn relese,
And to make hym quyte of his submyssioune ;
3600
Els wohl I have no pete of his contricioune;
But folow hym also fersly as I can or may,
Tyl I have his eyen both[e] to away."
3604
Macaigne says so
too.
"Now in feith," quod machyn, " & I wol have his lyffe !
ffor þouȝe he scape ȝewe al, with me wol he nat stryffe;
But be riȝt feyn in hert, al his good for-sake,
ffor to scape with his lyff, & to me it take."
Beryn & his feleshipp wer within the house,
3608
But Geffrey has
brought 2 white
butterflies;
he lets 'em fly,
and they stick to
the wall.
Then he calls in
the Falsetown
folk,
and says he'll
trouble
Hanybald
And speken of hir/ answer, & made but litil rouse ;
But evir preyd[e] Geffrey, to help yf he coude ouȝt. 3611
"I wohl nat fait," quod Geffrey, & was to-fore be-þouȝt
Of too botirflijs, as white as eny snowe:
He lete hem flee within the house, þat aftir on the wowe
They clevid wondir fast, as hir kynde woll,
Aftir they had flowe, to rest a-nothir pult.
3616
When Geffrey sawe the botirflijs cleving on þe wal,
The Steward & þe Burgeys In he gan [to] caft:
"Lo! Sirs," he seyde, "who-so evir repent,
Wee have chose marchandise most to our talent,
That wee fynd here-In. be-hold, sir hanybal,
The ȝondir bottirflyis þat clevith on þe wall:
3620

109
Of such[e], yee must fille oure Shippis al[le] fyve.
'for 5 ship-loads
of white butter-
Pluk vp thy hert, Beryn, for þow must nedis thryve! 3624 flies.
ffor when wee out' of Rome, In marchantfare went,
To purchase buttirflyes was our/ most entent.
ȝit woll I tell the cause especial & why:
Ther' is a leche in Room, þat hath I-made a cry
They're just what
we want to buy,
for a Roman
doctor to make a
3628 cure-all out of.'
To make an oyntement to cure al tho been blynde,
And att maner infirmytees, þat growith in man-kynde.
The day is short, the work is long sir hanyball, ye
mut hy!"
:
When hanybald herd this tale, he seyd pryuely
3632
In counsel to the Steward: "in soth I have þe wors:
ffor I am sikir by þis pleynt þat I shal litil purs."
"So me semeth," quod the Steward, "for in þe world[e]
rounde
So many botirflyis wold[e] nat be founde,
I trowe, o Shipp to charge. wherfor me pinkith best,
Lete hym have his good a-geyn, & be in þese & rest.
And ȝit [it] is an auntir and þowe scape so,
Thy covenaunt to relese with-out[en] more a-do."
The Burgeysis everichon, þat were of þat Cete,
Were anoyid sore, when they herd of þis plee.
Geffrey with his wisdom held hem hard & streyte,
Hany bald sees
he's done-for,
3636
and, by
Evander's advice,
3640
That they were accombrit in hir own disceyte.
3644
When hany bald with his ffrendis had spoke of þis mater,
They drowe hem toward Beryn, & seid in þis maner':
"Oonly for botirflyes ye com fro yeur/ contrey;
And wee ȝewe tell in sikirnes, & opon our fey,
offers to give
Beryn back
3648
That so many botirflyes wee shul nevir gete:
Wherfor we be avisid, othir wise to trete;
That hanybald shall relese his covenaunt þat is makid,
And delyvir the good a-geyn, þat from ȝewe was ransakid; his cargoes,
And wexe ȝewe no more, but let ȝew go in þese."
"Nay, for-soth," quod Geffrey, "vs nedith no relese!
Yee shul hold our covenaunt, & wee shul yeurs also;
ffor wee shut have
wol or no,
ye
wher
reson,
and let him go.
3653
'No, no,' says
Geffrey, 'you
keep your
agreement,
3656 we've kept ours.

Isope 'll do us
justice.'
Whils Isope is a-lyve, I am no thing a-ferd;
ffor I can wipe[n] al this ple cleen[e] from yeur/ berd,
And ye blench[en] onys out of the hy wey."
Hany bald at once Thé proferid hym plegg & gage, without more deley. 3660
gives sureties for
payment.
3. As to the
Blind man,
it's true that he
and Beryn
changed eyes.
But why?
"Now ferthirmore," quod Geffrey, "vs ouȝt to procede :
ffor to the blynd mannys poynt we must answer nede,
That, for to tel[le] trowith, he lyvith al to long;
ffor his owne fawte, & his owne wrong,
On beryn he hath surmysid, as previth by his ple;
And þat yee shulle[n] opynlich knowe wele & se.
ffor, as I vndirstod hym, he seyd þat 'fele ȝeris,
Beryn, þat here stondith, & he, wer' pertyneris
Of wynnyng & of lesyng, as men it vse & doith;
And that þey chaungit eyen'; & ȝit þis is sothe:
But the cause of chaunging ȝit is to ȝewe on-know;
Wherfor I wol declare it, both to hiȝe & lowe:
[leaf 230, back] In that same tyme þat þis Burgeys blynde,
The two were
merchants.
3664
3668
3672
And my mastir Beryn, as fast as feith myȝt bynde,
Were marchaundis in comyn of al þat þey myȝt wyn,
Saff of lyffe & lym), & of dedely synne,
3676
Came a dearth
their land, all
joy was gone.
Then God sent
them plenty,
Ther fill in tho marchis, of al thing such a derth,
That Ioy, comfort & solas, & [eke] al maner myrth
Was exilid cleen; saff oonly molestacioune,
That abood contenuet, and also dispiracioune.
So when þat the pepit were in most myscheff,
God þat is a-bove, þat al thing doith releve,
Sent hem such plente of mony, fruyte, & corn),
Wich turned al to Ioy hir' mournyng al to-form.
3680
3684
and they rejoiced. Then gaff they hem to myrth, [to] revel, pley, & song';
And pankid God above, evir more a-mong,
3689
Of hir relevacioun) from woo in-to gladnes:
6
ffor aftir sour, when swete is com, it is a plesant mes.'
So in the meen[e] while of this prosperite,
Also a wondrous Ther cam [tho] such a pleyer in-to þe same contre,
player came
there,
That nevir ther-to-fore was seyn such a-nothir;

111
That wele was the creatur þat born was of his modir, 3692
That myȝt[e] se the mirthis of this Iogelour';
ffor of the world[e] wyde tho dayis he bare þe floure.
ffor ther nas man ne vomman in þat Regioune,
a juggler or
conjuror,
whom all folk
went to see.
That set of hym selff the store of a boton,
Yf he had nat sey his myrthis & his game.
3696
"So oppon a tyme, this pleyer/ did proclame
3700
3704
'That alle maner of pepit [þat] his pleyis wold se,
Shuld com oppon a certen day to þe grete Cete.'
Then, a-mong othir, my mastir her, Beryn,
And this same blynd þat pledith now with hym,
Made a certen covenaunt, þat þey wold[e] see
The mervellis of this pleyer, & his sotilte :
So, what for hete of Somyr, age, & febilnes,
And eke also þe long way, this blynde for werynes
ffil flat adown to the erth; o foot ne myȝt he go.
Wherfor my mastir Beryn in hert[e] was ful woo,
And seyd, 'my ffrend, how nowe? mowe ye no ferper
pas?'
'No,' he seyd, 'by hym þat first made mas !
3708
Beryn and the
Blind man set-
out to see
him too,
but on the way
the Blind man
fell ill.
[leaf 231]
He refused to go.
home,
And ȝit I had[de] levir, as God my soule save,
Se these wondir pleyis, þen al the good I have.'
'I can nat els,' quod Beryn, 'but yf it may nat be,
But þat yee & I mut retourn a-ȝe,
Afftir yee be refresshid of yeur/ werynes;
3712
ffor, to leve ȝewe in this plyte, it were no gentilnes.' 3716
¶ Then seyd this blynd, I am a-visid bet :
Beryn, yee shul wend[en] thidir with-out[en] eny let;
but askt Beryn
to take his eyes
to see the player,
while he had
And have myne eyen with ȝewe, þat they þe pley mowe se, Beryn's.
And I wol have yeurs tyl ye com a-ȝe.'
3720
Thus was hir/ covenaunt made, as I to ȝewe report,
ffor ese of this blynd, & most for his comfort.
But wotith wele the hole science of al surgery
Was vnyd, or the chaunge was made of both [hir] eye,
So they changed
eyes, and
With many soti enchauntours, & eke nygramancers, 3725 Beryn saw
That sent were for the nonys, mastris & scoleris ;

the player with
the Blind man's
eyes, and then
came back to
him.
But the Blind
man had lost
Beryn's eyes,
and has never
given 'em back
to him.
Beryn's eyes
were the better
ones; let the
Blind man give
'em back to him,
[leaf 281, back]
and he'll return
the Blind man's.'
So when al was complete, my mastir went his way
With this mannys eyen, & sawe al the pley;
And hast[i]ly retourned into that plase a-ye;
And fond this blynd seching, on hondis & on kne
Grasping al aboute to fynd þat he had lore,-
Beryn his both eyen, þat he had to-fore.—
But as sone as Beryn had[de] pleyn knowleche
That his eyen were I-lost, vnneth he myȝt areche
O word, for pure anguyssh þat he toke sodenly,
And from þat day til nowȝe ne myȝt he nevir spy
This man in no plase, ther' lawe was I-mevid;
But nowe in his presence the soth is ful I-previd,
That he shall make a-mendis or he hen[ny]s pas ;
Riȝte as the lawe wol deme, ethir more or les.
ffor my mastris eyen were bettir & more clere
Then these þat he hath nowe, to se both fer & nere ;
So wold he have his own), þat propir were of kynde,
ffor he is evir redy, to take to the blynde
The eyen þat he had of hym, As covenaunt was,
So he woll do the same. nowe, soverens! in this cas
3728
3732
3736
3740
3744
The Blind man
offers to withdraw
his suit.
But Geffrey says
he must find
sureties for
damages;
and the Blind
man does so,
Ye mut take hede for to deme riȝte;
ffor it were no reson) my mastir shuld lese his site,
ffor his trew hert & his [grete] gentilnes."
3748
'Beryn," quod the blynd tho, "I wol the relese,
3751
66
My quarel, & my cause, & fal[len] fro my pleynt.”
"Thow mut nede," quod Geffrey, "for þow art atteynt !
So mut þow profir gage, & borowis fynd also,
ffor to make a-mendis, as othir have I-do.
Sir Steward! do vs lawe! sith wee desir' but riȝte :
As wee been þese marchandis, vs longith nat to fiȝte; 3756
But pleyn vs to the lawe, yf so wee be agrevid."
Anoon oppon that Geffrey þese wordis had I-mevid,
The blynd man fond borowis for al his maletalent,
And were I-entrid in the court to byde þe Iugement; 3760
ffor þouȝe þat he blynd were, ȝit had he good plente,
And more wold have wonne, þurh his iniquite.

113
"Nowe herith, sirs," quod Geffrey, "the pleyntyfs been 4. As to the
assurid :
And as a-nenst þe ferth, this vomman hath arerid,
That pleynyth her on Beryn, & seyith she is his wyff,
And þat she hath many a day led a peynous lyff,
And much sorowe endurid, his child [for]to sustene.
And al is soth & trewe. nowe riȝtfullich to deme,
'Whethir of hem both shal othir obey,
3764
3768
3772
And folow wil & lustis,' sir Steward, ye mut sey."
And perewith Geffrey lokid · A seyd¹ on this vomman,
Howe she chaungit colours, pale, & eke wan:
"Al for nouȝt," quod Geffrey, "for yee mut with vs go,
And endur with yeur/ husbond both[e] wele & woo;
And wold have take hir by þe hond; but she a-wey did breyde,
And with a grete sighing, þese wordis she seyd:
"That ageyns Beryn she wold plede no more:
But gagid with too borowis, as othir had do to-fore.
""
The Steward sat as stil, as who had shor' his hede;
And specially the pleyntifs were in much[e] drede.
Geffrey set his wordis in such manere wise,
3776
3780
That wele they wist þé myȝt[e] nat scape[n] in no wise
With-out[en] los of goodis, for damage & for cost;
ffor such[e] were hir/lawis, wher' pleyntis wer' I-lost. 3784
Geffrey had ful perseyte of hir encombirment;
And eke he was in certen þat the Iugement
Shuld pas with his mastir; wherfor he a-noon,
Deserted-Wife:
what she says
is true.
But, sir Steward,
isn't the wife to
obey her
husband?
Yes. Then,
woman, come
along with us.'
The sham Wife
says No, she'll
give-up, and find-
sureties to pay.
[leaf 232]
"Soveren sirs!" he seyd, "ȝit must wee ferper goon, 3788 5. As to
And answere to this Machyn, þat seith þe knyff is his
That found was on Beryn: ther'-of he seith nat a-mys.
And for more pryvy 2 he seith in this manere,
'That here stondith present the same Cotelere
That be knyffe made, & þe precious stonys thre
3792
1 Urry prints aside.' 'He saw', or 'and saw', is no doubt the
meaning.
2 Urry prints 'prefe.' See 'pryue', 1. 3797.
Macaigne,' says
Geffrey, 'his
knife was found
on Beryn;

But how did
Beryn get the
knife ?
I'll tell you.
Seven years ago,
on Tuesday, in
Passion-Week,
Beryn's father
meant to go to
church,
Within the hafft been couchid, þat in cristyanite,
Þouȝe men wold of purpose, make serch, & siche,
3795
Men shuld nat fynd in al thing' a knyff þat were it lich :'
And more opyn pryue þan¹ mannys owne knowlech,
1
Men of lawe ne clerkis con nat te ne teche.
Now sith wee be in this manere thus ferforth ago,
3799
Then were spedful for to knowe howe Beryn cam first to
To have possessioune of the knyff þat machyn seith is his:*
To ȝewe vnknowe, I shall enfourm) þe trowith as it is.
"Nowe .vij. yeer & passid, oppon a tuysday
In the passion-woke, when men leven pley,
And vse more devosioune, fastyng & preyer,
Then in othir tyme, or seson of þe ȝeer,
This Beryns ffadir erlich wold a-rise,
3804
And barefote go to chirch, to [don] goddis service,
3808
and therefore lay And lay hym-selff aloon, from his owne wyff,
In reverence of þe tyme, & mending of his lyff.
alone, apart from
his wife.
So on the same tuysday, þat I to-fore nempt',
This Beryn rose, & rayd hym, & to þe chirch[e] went, 3812
And mervelid in his hert his ffadir was nat ther:
But Beryn found And homward went ageyn, with drede & eke fere.
him dead on
the straw,
In-to his ffadirs Chambir, sodenlich he rakid,
[leaf 232, back]
3815
And fond hym ligg, standede,2 oppon the strawe al nakid,
And the clothis halyd from the bed a-way.
with this knife
of Macaigne's
in his heart.
Beryn drew
it out.
I saw him,
'Out alas!' quod Beryn, 'that evir I sawe this day!
The meyne herd the noyse, how Beryn cried Allas!
And cam in-to the Chambir, al þat ther/in was.
But the dole & the sorowe, & anguyssh þat was there,
It vaylith nat at this tyme to declare it here;
But Beryn had[de] most of al, have ye no doute.
And a-noon they serchid the body al aboute,
And fond this same knyff, þe poynt riȝt at his hert
Of Beryns ffadir, whose teris gan out-stert
3820
3824
When he drowȝ out the knyff of his ffadirs wound:
Then, standede 2 I sawe hym fal doun to þe ground, 3828
2 stone-dead.
'MS'þat.' Urry prints 'than.'

115
and so did our
men here.
In siȝte of the most part þat beth with hym nowe here.”
(And they affermyd it for sothe, as Geffrey did hem lere :)
"And ȝit had Inevir suspecioun, from þat day [un]til noweth, But we never
Who did þat cursid dede; til machyn with his mowith
Afore ȝewe hath knowlechid þat the knyff is his :
So mut he nedis answer for his deth I-wis."
¶ When Machyn had I-herd al Geffreyis tale,
3833
knew who did
the murder,
till Macaigne
owned the knife.'
He rose of bench[e] sodynly, with colour wan & pale, 3836 Macaigne at once
And seyd [tho] on-to Beryn: "sir/, ageyn[es] the
I wolle plete no more; for it were gret pete
3841
3844
To combir ȝewe with accions, þat' beth of nobil kynde."
"Graunte mercy, sir!" quod Geffrey, "but ȝit yee shulle fynde
Borowis, or yee pas, amendis for to make
ffor our/ vndewe vexacioun); & gage also vs take
In signe of submissioun for yeur/ Iniury,
As lawe wol & reson; for wee woll vttirly
Procede tyl wee have Iugement final.
And therfor [now], sir Steward, what þat evir fall,
Delay [ith] vs no lenger, but gyve us Iugement!
ffor tristith ye noon othir, but we be fullich bent
To Isope for to wend, & in his hiȝe presence
Reherce[n] all our plees, & have[n] his sentence;
Then shul yee make ffynys, & hizlich be agrevid."
And as sone as the Steward herd these wordis mevid,
"Reson, ryȝte, & lawe," seyd the Steward tho,
3848
3851.
offers to give-up
his plaint.
'Very well;
find sureties
for damages,
then,' says
Geffrey.
'Sir Steward!
give judgment,
or we'll go to
Isope.'
The Steward
[leaf 233]
1
"Yee mut nedis have, wher I woll or no.
And to preve my full will, or wee ferper goon,"
Quiklich he comaundit, & sparid nevir oon,
xxiiij Burgeysis in lawe best I-lerid,
Rehersyng hem the plees, & how Geffrey answerid;
'And on lyffe & lym, & forfetur/ of good,
3856 calls out 24
burgesses, learned
in the law,
sums-up the
cases, and
And as they wold nat lese the ball within hir' hood,¹ 3860 charges them
To drawe a-part to-gidir, & by hir al assent
Spare no man on lyve, to gyve trewe Iugement.'
And when these xxiiij burgeysis had I-herd
their heads, lives.
to give a true
verdict.
1

The Jurors
find for Beryn:
plaintiffs to pay
a large fine.
So Beryn doubles
his property, and
goes to his ship
rejoicing.
Hanybald says
the plaintiffs 'll
feel their losses
all their lives.
They won't
meddle with
Romans again.
The charge of the Steward; riȝt sore þey wer' aferd 3864
To lese hir owne lyvis, but they demyd trowith;
And eke of hir neyzbours þey had grete rowith;
ffor they perseyvid clerelich, in þe plee þurh-oute,
3867
Hir' ffrendis had þe wors[e] side; þerof¹ þey had no doute :
"And yff wee deme trewly, þey wol be sore anoyid ;
ȝit it is bettir, then wee be shamyd & distroyed."
And a-noon þey were accordit, & seyd[en] with Beryn,
And demed euery pleyntyff to make a grete fyne
With Beryn, & hym submyt hoolich to his grace,
Body, good, & catel, for wrong & hir trespase,
So ferforth, til atte last It was so boute I-bore,
3872
That Beryn had the dobil good, þat he had to-fore; 3876
And with Ioy & myrth, with al his company,
3880
He drouȝe hym to his Shippis ward, with song & melody.
The Steward & þe Burgeyse from þe court[e] bent,
In-to hir/ owne placis ; & evir as they went,
They talkid of þe Romeyns, howe sotil [þat] the[y] were,
To aray hym like a fole, þat for hem shuld answere.
"What vaylith it,” quod hanybald, "to angir or to curs?
And ȝit I am in certen, I shal fare the wers
Al the dayis of my lyff for þis dayis pleding';
3884
And so shah al the remnaunt, & hir hondis wryng',
Both Serophanus, & þe blynde, þe vomman, & machayn),
And be bet a-visid er they efft-sonys pleyn);
[leaf 233, back] And all othir personys with-in this [ilk] Cete,
Mel the les with Romeyns, whil[e]s þey here be.
ffor such a-nothir fole was nevir ȝit I-born) !
ffor he did nauȝt ellis, but evir with vs scorn)
Tyl he had vs cauȝt, even by the shyn,
With his sotil wittis, in our/ owne gren."
Beryn and his
3888
3892
Nowe wol I retourne to Beryn ageyn),
men chuckle over
their gains.
That of his grete lukir, in hert[e] was riȝte feyn);
And so was at his meyne, as hem ouȝte wele,
3896
1 MS þerof therof.

117
3900
That they were so delyverid from turment like to hell,
And graciusly relevid out of hir grete myscheff,
And [were] I-set above in comforte & boncheff.
"Now, in soth," quod Beryn, "It may nat be denyed;
Nad Geffrey & his wit [i]be, wee had be distroyed!
I-thankid be almyȝty God omnipotent,
Beryn declares
3904
he'll give Geffrey
That, for our consolacioune, Geffrey to vs sent!
And in protest opynly, here a-mong ȝewe all,
Halff my good, whils þat I lyve, what-euer me be-fall,
I graunt it here to Geffrey, to gyve[n] or to sel,
And nevir to part from me, yf it were his wil;
And fare as wele as I, amorowe & eke on eve,
And nevir, for man on lyve, his company for to leve."
3908
"Graunt mercy, sir!" quod Geffrey, "yeur/profiris feir&grete;
3912
But I desir no more, but as yee me behete,
To brynge me at Room, for þis is covenaunte."
"It shall be do," [quod] Beryn, "and al the rem[e]naunte.
Depardeux," quod Geffrey, "therof wee shul wele do:"
He rayid hym [tho] othir-wise; & without wordis mo,
They went[en] to¹ þe dyner, the hole company,
With pipis & with trompis, & othir melody.
3917
And in the myddis of hir mete, gentil vommen fyve,
Maydyns fressh atirid, as myȝt[e] be on lyve,
Com from þe duke Isope, lord of þat Regioune,
Everich with a present, & þat of grete renown) :
The first, [she] bare a cup of gold, & of asure fyne,
So corouse & so nobil, þat I can nat devyne.
The second brouȝt a swerd I-shethid, with seynture
I-fretid al with perelis orient & pure.
The pird[e] had a mantel of lusty fressh coloure;
The vttir part of purpil, I-furrid with peloure.
The ferth, a cloth of gold, a worthy & a riche,
That nevir man to-fore sawe cloith it liche.
The ffifft bare a palme, þat stode to-fore the deyse,
I[n] tokyn & in 2 signe of trowith & [of] þese :
1 MS wentto.
2 MS'of.'
half his goods, and
never leave him.
Geffrey says he
only wants to be
taken to Rome..
They all go to
dinner.
Five maidens
come with 5
3920 presents to Beryn
3924
from Duke
Isope:

1. A cup of gold.
   [leaf 234] 2. A fine sword.
2. A purple
   mantle.
   3928
3. A cloth of gold.
   3932
4. A palm.

Isope's maidens
kneel,
to Beryn,
and his invitation
(Isope) next day.
to visit him
3936
ffor þat was þe custom, þurh al the contray.
The message was the levir, & more plesant to pay;
The Cup was vncoverid, þe swerd was out I-brayid,
The mantel was vnfold, þe cloth a-long a-leyid;
They knelid a-down) echeon, riȝt to-fore Beryn;
The first did the message, þat tauȝt was wel a fyne:
present his gifts" Isope," she seyd, "sir Beryn, þat is our/ lord rial,
And gretith ȝewe, & sendith ȝewe these presentis al; 3940
And Ioy hath of yeur/ wisdom), & of yeur/ governaunce,
And preyith¹ ȝewe to com, & have with hym plesaunce
To morowe, & se his palyse, & to sport ȝewe ther',
Yee & all yeur company." Beryn made noon answer,
But sat still, and beheld þe vommen, & þe sondys;
Beryn first takes- And aftirward avisely the swerd[e] first he hondis,
And comaundit ther-with-al þe vymmen wassh & sitt,
And pryvelich chargit officers, þat with al hir witt
To serve hem of the best, & make hem hertly cher';
Resseyving al the presentis in worshipful manere.
I can nat wele expres the Ioy[e] þat þey had-
up the sword,
and then feasts
the maidens.
All the Romans
rejoice at their
escape.
Geffrey tells
Beryn what
answer to send to
Isope.
3943
3948
3951
But I suppose, to-fore þat day, pþat þey were nat so glad,—
That they were so a-scapid fortune & myscheff;
And ponkid God above, þat al thing doith releff;
6
ffor aftir mysty cloudis pere comyth a cler' sonne;'
6
So aftir bale comyth bote,' who-so bydë conne.
3956
The Ioy & nobley þat they had, whils they were at mete,
It vaylith nat at this tyme, ther-of long to trete.
But Geffrey sat wit B[eryn], as he had servid wele;
[leaf 234, back] Hir/ hedis they leyd to-gidir, & begon to tel
In what maner the vymmen shuld be answerid.
Geffrey evir avisid Beryn: ther-of he leryd,
And of othir thingis, howe he hym shuld govern;
Beryn saverid wele ther'-on, & fast he gan to lern).
Beryn sends
3960
3964
When all were vp, the vymmen cam to take hir' leve:
Beryn, as sat hym wele of blode, hem toward gan releve,
And preyd hem hertly hym to recomende
MS preyd.

119
for his gifts,
and says, 'I'll
visit Isope to-
morrow if he'll
give me a "safe-
3972 conduct"; for
Vnto be worthy lordshipp of Isope; (þat ȝewe sende 3968 thanks to Isope
To me that am vnworthy, save of his grete nobley ;)
And thank hym of his gyfftis, as ye can best, & sey,
"To-morow I wol be redy, his hest to fulfil,
With this I have save condit, I may com hym til,
ffor me, & al my feleshippe, saff to com & go;
Trustyng in his discrecioune, þat þouȝe I ax[e] so,
He wol nat be displesid for in my contray
:
It hath evir be the custom), & is in-to this day,
3976
that's the
custom in my
country.'
That yf a lord rial desirith for to see
Eny maner persone, þat is of las degre;
3980
Isope's maidens
give him Beryn's
3984 answer.
Ere he approche his presence, he wol have in his honde
A saff condit' enselid, or els som othir bonde,
That he may com & pas without[en] disturbaunce:
Thurh-oute all our/ marchis it is the observaunce."
This wymmen toke hir leve without[en] wordis mo,
Repeyryng on-to Isope; & al at¹ it was do
They rehersid redely (& faylid nevir a word,)
To Isope with his baronage, þere he sat at his borde,
Talkyng fast of Romayns, & of hir hiȝe prudence,
That in so many daungers made so wise defence.
But as sone as Isope had pleynlich I-herd
Of Beryns governaunce, þat first sesid þe swerd,
Afore all othir presentis, he demed in his minde,
That Beryn was I-com[en] of som nobil kynde.
The nyȝt was past, þe morowe cam; Isope had nat for- He sends 12
ȝete:
He chargit Barons twelff, with Beryn for to mete,
3988
3992
To cond his2 saff, & his meyne; & al perfourmyd was.
Isope is pleased
with Beryn's
taking his sword
first.
Barons for Beryn
to bring him safe.
[leaf 235]
Thre dayis there they sportid hym³ in myrth & [in] solas; Beryn stays 3
That þurh the wise instruccioune of Geffrey, nyȝt & day,
Beryn plesid Isope with wordis al to pay;
And had hym so in port, & [eke] in governaunce,
Of alle honest myrthis, & witty daliaunce,
1 ? for 'as', or 'at
that.
2 ? him.
4000
'al at' are written over an erasure.
3 for 'hem'.
days with Isope,

and gets such
friends with him
that Isope can't
be happy without
him.
Isope weds his
fair daughter
to Beryn,
and he and
Geffrey tame the
bad Falsetown
folk.
So Geffrey made
Beryn triumph.
That Isope cast his chere to Beryn so groundly,
That atte last there was no man with Isope so pryvy:
Resorting to his Shippis, comyng to & fro,
Thurh þe wit of Geffrey, þat ech day it fil so,¹
4004
4011
That Isope coude no chere when Beryn was absent;
So [þat] Beryn must nedis ech day be aftir sent:
And chefe he was of counsel, with-in the first[e] ȝere;
Thurh þe wit of Geffrey, þat ech day did hym lere. 4008
This Isope had a douȝtir, be-twen hym & his wyffe,
That was as feir/ a creature as myȝt[e] bere lyff;
Wise, & eke bountevouse, & benyng with-al,
That heir/ shuld be, aftir his day, of his lordshippis al.
So, shortly to conclude, the mariage was made
Be-twene hir & Beryn; many a man to glade,
Saff the Burgeysis of the town), of falshede þat were rote :
But they were evir hold so lowë vndirfoot,
That they [ne] myȝte nat regne, but atte last [were] fawe
To leve[n] hir/ condicioune, & hir/ fals[e] lawe :
Beryn & [eke] Geffrey made[n] hem so tame,
4016
That they amendit ech[e] day, & gate a bettir name. 4020
Thus Geffrey made Beryn his enmyes to ovir-com,
And brouȝt hym [un]to worshipp þurh his [grete] wisdom).
May all of us find Now God vs graunt[e] grace to fynde such a frende,
When wee have nede! And thus I make an ende.
a like friend in
need!
A Canterbury
monk wrote this
Tale.
Nomen Autoris presentis Cronica Rome
Et translatoris / Filius ecclesie Thome.
4024
[In the MS, on the back of leaf 235, follows the continu-
ation of the Sompnour's Tale, which was left-off at the foot

The Merchant and the Rogues

French Original and Three Asiatic Versions of the Tale of Beryn

By W. A. Clouston.

Foolish as this story may be considered by some of those who lay the flattering unction to their souls that they are, emphatically, "sensible, practical" men, there is yet a method in its foolery-which is sometimes wisdom in masquerade. Suppose-and, "When thought is warm, and fancy flows, What may not argument suppose?" as the poet Cowper asks-let us suppose a land where wrong is right, false is true, and the rest follows quite naturally. Well, young Beryn arrives with his five richly-laden ships at such a land, where he is "entertained" by the inhabitants. Their ways, however, are calculated to make themselves rich but leave the stranger poor indeed. Clearly, as old Geoffrey was well aware, the only means of escaping such an accumulation of serious claims and accusations was to oppose lie to lie, or rather, to tell greater lies in self-defence; and by Geoffrey's so doing on behalf of his "client" the artful folk of Falsetown were caught in their own snares. To practise the sage maxim, "oppose falsehood with truth," would have been, in Beryn's case, utter and irretrievable ruin! The Tale of Beryn is identical with the first part of the old French romance, L'Histoire du Chevalier Berinus, which is a singular compound of two distinct tales, interspersed with necromantic and chivalric incidents. A manuscript of this romance, of the 15th century, is preserved in the National Library, Paris; and there is another in the Imperial Library, Vienna, neither of which has yet been edited. It was printed early in the 16th century under the title of "L'Histoire du noble Chevalier Berinus, et du excellent et tres-chevalereux champion Aigres de l'Aimant son fils; lequel Livre est tant solacieux, qu'il doit etre sur tout autre nomme le vrai Sentier d'Honneur, et l'Exemplaire de toute Chevalerie. Nouvellement réduit de langage inconnu au vulgaire langage François ;" Paris: Jean Bonfons, sans date. An abstract of it, by Nicolas-Bricaire de la Dixmerie (ob. 1791), is found in Mélanges tirés d'une grande bibliothèque, Paris, 1780, tome viii., pp. 225-277. In the short preface to his extrait, M. de la Dixmerie says that this romance "has not been given to us as a known translation. In what language was it first written? We are not told. We are informed that the original author was called Marithiaux; but that tells us nothing. It is supposed that it is a device of the translator to conceal his own name. Let us see if he has made a great sacrifice to his modesty."¹ The following is a free translation of the first part of the extrait; it is much to be regretted that the writer did not furnish some passages from the romance itself:

1 There are two editions of the Histoire de Berinus in the Library of the British Museum, one "Imprime par la Veufue feu Jehan Trepperel," Paris (? 1525), the other, printed by Alain Lotrian, Paris (? 1537), both in 4to. Mr. Frederick John Vipan has kindly favoured me with some extracts from the first of these, of which I avail myself in the course of this paper. The author says he has composed his work at the instance and request of his friend and lord, for whom he would do great service if he had enough wit and ability. He then tells us that at the present day many men of understanding would devote themselves to the art of composition and writing, if they were provided with their living, as in old times, for then kings, princes, and great lords maintained men of talent, and held them in great honour; but now all is changed: men are too much taken up with seeking for means of subsistence to be able to write any profitable work; and even if they should do so, there would be little mention of their productions on account of their low estate, for the higher the rank of the writer the more widely are his works known. "And so there was none but myself, little as I am, to accomplish the command of my lord; and I count it no trouble to fulfil his will, and moreover the matter of which I would speak pleases 'me. And think not the said matter is new, rather is it of very great antiquity, but it is not of less value on that account."-In the second chapter it is stated that this book was written by a "clerc qui s'appellait Marthiaulx;" and in ch. 128: "Or dit l'histoire ainsi comme marteaula le raconte ;" in ch. 34 he is called marteau.

125 Abstract of French Version. [The nos. at the side are those of the lines of the English Poem.] HERE was an emperor of Rome, named Philip, successor of 785 composed of seven suges, two 780 of whom, Cicero and Scipio, were astronomers-that is to say, 822 astrologers, for at that time one had not sufficient knowledge to style himself soothsayer or prophet. During the reign of Philip 828 there dwelt in Rome a very noble and wealthy citizen, named Fawnus, who had long desired the blessing of an heir. His wife, 845 Agea, fervently prayed to Heaven for the same, and at last her supplications were granted. She gave birth to a son, whom they 884 named Berinus. Having waited for him many years, they were anxious that the greatest care should be taken of him, and so he was 900 never thwarted in anything, and had every wish or whim gratified. Berinus was scarcely twelve years old when he was considered by the children as one of the best born and worst educated in the capital. On attaining his fifteenth year he ought to have followed the example of other young Romans, and practised the exercises of the field of Mars, such as wrestling, running, and throwing the javelin, as well as leaping hedges and broad ditches, and swimming across the Tiber. It is well known that the great warriors of Rome were excellent swimmers Cæsar gave a proof of this near Alexandria; but Berinus did not wish to take Cæsar as his model. His affectionate parents and himself considered that the exercises of the circus were of too rough a description, seeing that those who engaged in them often

1 Wright, in his edition of the Canterbury Tales, printed for the Percy Society, vol. xxvi., p. 243, says that "from the manner in which the Seven Sages are introduced at the beginning of the Tale of Beryn [see 11. 789-825], it is evident there must have been some version of that romance [i. e. The History of the Seven Wise Masters of Rome] in Europe differing from the usual one, which does not contain this story." I don't agree with him. The seven sages of the emperor Philip are mentioned but twice afterwards (11. 1099 and 2659), while in the French romance, as we shall see, they figure with little honour-old Geoffrey proves more than a match for their combined "wisdom." It is not uncommon in mediæval stories for a king or emperor to have seven "wise men" for his counsellors, who, unlike those of the romance referred to by Wright, don't relate tales to their royal master.

This returned with bruised limbs and gouged eyes, or had a chance of being drowned in attempting to swim across the Tiber. would be committing to the hazards of a single day the fruit and object of the wishes of many long years.¹ Games of chance (commonly called Tripots) offered to Berinus exercises less fatiguing. He 923 made them his field of Mars; and he had such a predilection for dice and the game of outre-merelle, that he more than once lost all 928 his clothes: the rich heir of Fawnus would come home in his shirt. Agea, his mother, was comforted by the reflection that if Berinus allowed himself to be stripped in this way, it was out of pure compassion for his tailor. Good people laughed heartily at the mishap, for it was not natural to blame such a precious young shoot. But 1008 his mother died,² and when the news was brought to Berinus while playing at cards (and losing, as usual), he was enraged at a maidservant for interrupting him, returned a foolish and heartless answer, and dismissed her with blows. Now Fawnus, although wealthy, was a courtier, and sought every means of pleasing the emperor, who resolved to put his obedience to the test, and proposed that he should marry the most 1112 beautiful lady in Rome. This was the charming Raine, who had been Philip's mistress, though her fidelity to him was more than suspected. After a little consideration Fawnus consented, and the 1132 nuptials were at once celebrated. He soon became strongly attached to his new wife, who was not slow to take advantage of his doting fondness. (The author here conjectures that there must have been witchcraft in all this; but, in truth, Fawnus was old, and Raine was young, beautiful, and skilled in the art of pleasing.) As for Berinus, he changed nothing in his conduct, and would not have objected to his father's marrying ten times, if only he was not thwarted in any of his amusements. But he was not long in finding that Raine was

1 There is not a word of all this passage about athletic exercises in our version, nor in the original romance.

2 In our Tale (probably also in the French original) the dying mother of Beryn begs her husband-and it is one of the best passages in the poem-not to marry again; for they had both helped to make their son what he is by indulging his evil propensities, and a step-mother would make him still worse by unkindness. The story of Beryn's childhood and youth, as told in our version, is true to life-and "a caution to parents!"

127 much less indulgent to him than his mother Agea. She made no attempt to reform him; on the contrary, her grand object was to 1145 cause his ruin and disgrace. His best actions she misrepresented to his father, and converted simple faults into grave crimes. Fawnus, who had so long suffered all these things from his son, found them inexcusable when told to him by Raine. He began by not seeing his son except after long intervals, and then only with pain, and finished by expelling him from his house. The unhappy young man did not venture to seek for aid amongst his own kin, whom he had always neglected, and whose reproaches he feared. He found no comfort from those whom he had considered as his friends, who showed themselves merely evil acquaintances. Misfortune instructs such as it cannot correct. Berinus reflected upon all he had done and experienced, and felt that he had not been too severely punished. He had lost Agea, an affectionate mother, and had not till now realized the extent of his loss. He roamed about the city, despised and rejected by everybody. The capital of the world would not afford him a shelter. "I shall go and conceal myself," cried he, at 1333 length, "and die upon my mother's tomb." For two days he remained in that mournful retreat. His relatives, feeling uneasy at his long absence, had recourse to Fawnus, who yearned for his son. 1337 Raine, fearing lest she should be accused of having caused his death, induced her husband to make a strict search for Berinus, and she accompanied him. After many unsuccessful inquiries, Fawnus, in 1404 his distress, thought of visiting the grave of Agea. A young man, with his face pressed upon the tomb, was fondly embracing it, and bathing it with his tears. He appeared emaciated and feeble, and oblivious of all around him. Fawnus and Raine drew nearer, and 1421 recognized Berinus. Would not the soul of any father be melted at such a spectacle? Fawnus raised up his son and embraced him. Both wept, and even Raine herself was much affected. They took Berinus home and treated him kindly. Filial piety has in itself something so touching that it can move the most heartless stepmother. But Berinus had to struggle against something more powerful in the heart of Rame: she loved a young Roman knight. Fawnus suspected nothing of this intrigue, but Berinus was more

1462 difficult to deceive.¹ At length of his own accord he resolved to quit Rome, and besought his father to provide him with five vessels 1479 laden with rich merchandise. Raine eagerly supported this request, but prevailed upon her husband to demand in return that Berinus 1528 should formally surrender all his rights as successor to his father. The deed was drawn up and signed in presence of the emperor and 1557 his seven sages, and as soon as the five vessels were ready Berinus sailed away, with the design of trading in foreign countries. 1563 After Berinus had been two days 2 at sea, a great storm arose and forced him to seek refuge with his vessels in the chief port of the 1619 kingdom of Blandie. This was close to the capital, the citizens of which were thievish, cunning, and treacherous, for whom the riches of Berinus were a strong temptation. He was not, in any way, robbed, but, which comes to the same thing, they brought against him a great many lawsuits, and in those remote times there was very little chance of his ever seeing the end of them. It was the custom of the hosts of Blandie to be very kind towards strangers 1648 whom they suspected of being rich. That of Berinus 3 welcomed him with distinction and even obsequiousness. A most sumptuous dinner was served up, at which gaiety was joined to good cheer. 1732 The repast over, a chess-board of ivory, inlaid with silver, was 1747 brought out. Berinus reluctantly consented to play, and won three times in succession. The moderate sum staked at first was doubled, and Berinus found himself a gainer of more than he had expended since his arrival at Blandie. His courteous host appeared to be much chagrined at being defeated, and Berinus wished to cease playing, in order to return to the port and see the condition of his ships; but he was assured that they were all in safety, and told that 1759 he ought to allow his opponent another chance. New conditions were imposed, the most severe of which was that the loser must do 1768 whatever his opponent should require of him, or drink up the waters of the sea. For some time the room had been filling with spectators,

1 There is no mention of this intrigue in our version, where she artfully plays with the old man's doting fondness and her supposititious child by him— she'd rather have him dead than grow up like Beryn! (1183-1222)

2 Three days in our version.

3 The burgess, Syrophane, in our version.

129 whose appearance was not the most prepossessing. A new game was begun, and the fortunes of the players were not long in changing. He whom Berinus had so easily defeated now appeared, like Antheus, to have derived fresh strength from falling. The jeers which greeted Berinus from the onlookers distracted him, and his skilful rival was not slow to take advantage of the circumstance, so Berinus was checkmated. The victor then modestly put forward his claim, 1822 which was simply to deprive Berinus of all his possessions. As he would not consent to this, they dragged him before the seneschal,¹ 1852 who, on hearing the case, showed himself as evilly disposed towards the foreigner as he was favourable to his own countrymen. Berinus 1872 requested three days in order to prepare his defence, and was accorded the favour on his providing good surety for his appearance. The provost of the city, called Sir Hannibal, was present and expressed 1878 his opinion that the five ships of Berinus were sufficient bail. He even thought that it might be advisable to unload the vessels and 1893 deposit the cargoes in his warehouse, already well furnished with every kind of merchandise, in much the same way, assuring Berinus that there was still space for his goods. The seneschal approved of this proposal, and Berinus, having no alternative, proceeded with Hannibal to the harbour. The provost went over all the vessels and 1916 carefully examined the cargoes, which he found to consist of the finest and most valuable goods. "I have something to propose to you," said he to Berinus. "Alas!" replied the disconsolate Roman, 'propose and dispose; for here I see it is about the same thing." "I have told you," resumed the provost, "that my warehouse is filled with precious goods, all of the best market value. Let us agree to make an exchange: whatever may be the issue of your case, you will give me all you have here; and if you gain it, you will take for your indemnity all that will suit you in my warehouse, in order 1925 to freight and fill up your five vessels." Then he whispered in his "On this condition, I undertake to arrange your case with the seneschal;" adding aloud, "in short, I shall make use of him more for your advantage than my own." Berinus agreed to everything, perforce; and there was a possibility, though a slight one, that this

1 The steward, Evandir, in our version. 66 ear, arrangement might be to his advantage. As they were beginning to unload the vessels, Berinus returned to the provost's warehouse, to examine the exchange they were compelling him to accept, but there 1948 he found nothing-all had been removed elsewhere; Hannibal, in fact, had cleared his stores to make room for the bales of Berinus. "Behold," said Hannibal, in a sarcastic tone to the Roman, who was very much astounded, "this is the place, according to our agreement: I don't wish to put any impediment in your way." Berinus could only return to the seneschal, who courteously postponed this new suit to the following day. 66 The Roman then retraced his steps towards the ships, cursing the 2001 swindling Blandiens. He at once became the talk of the whole town, and everybody was desirous to have a share in his ruin. A 2008 blind man, having heard the foreigner spoken about and learning that he was approaching, laid hold of Berinus as he was passing, and bawled out lustily, "Murder!-help!" Berinus was once more dragged before the seneschal. Sir," ," said the blind man, "I ask justice of you." "Against whom?" "This man whom I hold." 2045"What is his offence?" "He has my eyes, and refuses to give them back to me." Berinus was struck dumb from sheer astonishment. "What have you to say for yourself?" demanded the seneschal of him in a severe tone. "I know nothing about it," replied Berinus. 2090 "I need advice, and request that this suit be delayed like the others," to which the seneschal consented. "Will this be sufficient?" said Berinus to himself, as he returned to the harbour. "Am I quite free, for to-day, from gamblers, provosts, seneschals, and blind men? Is there not one knave more 2096 preparing for me some other insult?" Just then, a woman, carrying an infant in her arms, accosted him with the air and tones of a Fury, calling him a faithless and treacherous man, after having pledged his troth to her and made her the mother of that child. Here was fresh cause of astonishment for Berinus: another visit to the seneschal and this new suit put off to the following day. It was, as we have seen, to seek advice that Berinus had, at each successive accusation, requested delay. But from whom was he to 2210 seek advice? A passer-by came up to him and said, "Take my

131 advice, stranger-give up a portion of your goods and save the rest. Offer ten talents to the seneschal : he is the man that will not refuse the money; and give him also this valuable knife, which I offer you, and he will favour you in all your cases. I will go with you to him, and you will bless your stars for having taken me as your adviser. In short," added he (and we will here use the author's own words, which he professes to have borrowed from Solomon), one may willingly give up a crusty little loaf, in order to save the whole batch." This counsel seemed good to Berinus, so he returned once more to the seneschal, only to find a new charge brought against him by his obliging counsellor. Martin (such was the man's name)¹ 2268 modestly claimed the five ships of Berinus and their rich cargoes, which all belonged, said he, to his father, who had set out with the ships from Blandie to have them repaired at Rome, as witnesses were ready to prove. Moreover, the knife which Berinus had in his pocket, he added, was a proof that he had murdered his (Martin's) father, to whom it had belonged. This accusation was received like the others, and postponed to be judged along with them. Berinus, whose freedom they granted, seeing that it was hiɛ riches and not his person they wished to possess, had now become suspicious of every human figure,2 and as he was trying once more to

1 The catchpoll, Macaigne, in our version.

2 No mention is made here, as in our Tale-true, this is only an abstract -of poor Beryn's bitter reflections on his former wicked life, which he confesses to himself has brought all these troubles on him. He feels that he is justly, though heavily, punished: "For while I had tyme, wisdom I might have lernyd; But I drough me to foly, and wold rat be governed, But had al myne owne will and of no man a-ferd, For I was nevir chastised: but now myne owne yerd Betith me to sore; the strokis be to hard." (1. 2321 ff.) He curses the day he sold his heritage, for now he is like the man, who, to drive the flies off, set fire to his barn; and, still worse, he may now lose his life, and what will become of his men, who have done no one any injury? (2306-2377)—The old English translator has followed his original pretty closely, as will be seen by comparing the passage with the following from the French romance : "In the meantime Berinus issued from the house, sorrowing and thoughtful, and in great anxiety to have counsel. And he departed raging, and saying such words as these : Alas, wretch that I am! right well have I deserved the evil and sorrow that I have, when my heart will never persevere in well-doing, and I have madly abandoned my country and renounced my great inheritance, to get shame and trouble. Yea, it is quite right that I have return to the port, finally met a man who seized him by the cloak. 2379 "Is this all you want?" cried the Roman; "if so, I shall for once 2426 get off cheaply;" and unloosing his cloak, he abandoned it to the would-be robber and escaped. "Stop!" said the man to him. "It 66 is not your garment I want, it is yourself." But Berinus only ran the more quickly. The man followed and came up with him a short distance from the port. "Listen to me," said he, "I am not surprised at your distrust, but I know very well how to remove it;' 2477 and he offered to accompany Berinus on board one of his ships.¹ Berinus, having taken a long look at the man, smiled at his own fear. He was of little stature, and from his appearance not one to inspire terror;-evidently a kind of Æsop, in body and mind. "My name is Geoffrey," said he to Berinus. "I am an earth-potter, but formerly, in Rome, I practised a more noble calling." "In Rome?" "Yes, I am a Roman, like you." "In that case," said Berinus, " come with me on board of one of my ships." there, each related to the other the events of his life. When it, since I have pursued it; and, alas, I ought now to have been in Rome, with my father and my other friends, and to be in great honour and in great lordship, and to lead forth my hounds and hawks, and go a hunting with the knights and squires of the Roman empire. And I have left it all to seek hard adventures and meddle with that whereof I knew nothing; so that I am like the boor who set fire to his house to rid it of the flies; for I have cast all my honour into disrepute and afar for a little melancholy ;-so do I not heed what Solomon says, that he takes an evil vengeance on himself who lengthens his mourning. Alas, what will my men do that I have brought with me? I have indeed deceived and betrayed them; for they will be poor and wretched through me, and yet they have no fault. But as for me, I have well deserved the evil and shame that I have." The wittol, to whom Beryn likens himself, who burned down his barn to drive off the flies, reappears in the Merry Tales of the Mad Men of Gotham, as follows: "There dwelt a Smith at Gottam, who had a Waspes nest in the strow in the end of his Forge. There did come one of his neighbors to haue his horse shood, and the Waspes were so busie, that the fellow was stung with a Waspe. He, being angry, said: 'Art thou worthy to keepe a forge or no, to haue men stung here with wasps?' O neighbour,' said the Smith, 'be content; I will put them from this nest by and by.' Immediately he tooke a Coulter, and heated it in his Forge glowing hot, and he thrust it into the straw in the end of his Forge, and so he set his Forge a-fire [and] burnt it vp. Then said the Smith: "I told thee I would fire them forth of their nest."" The Gothamite drolleries are, none of them, home-grown: they are found— mutatis mutandis-current from Iceland to Ceylon.

1 In our version it is Beryn who proposes that Geoffrey should come with him into one of his vessels.

133 66 Geoffrey was really born in Rome.¹ He had inherited a large fortune; but soon became more famous for his ready wit than his riches. More than once, although not a counsellor of the emperor, he decided state questions. He frequently answered, and always wisely, questions upon which the seven sages durst not express an opinion. An Eastern prince had submitted several questions which, according to the custom of Orientals, were so many enigmas: strong ⚫ common sense was often concealed under the most familiar images. "I have," said this prince, "a rotten tooth, which causes me ceaseless pain, and gives me rest neither night nor day."2 The second question was: A bee creeps into my room every morning, in spite of the precaution which is taken to carefully shut doors and windows. It fastens on my hand at the moment when I have a great desire to sleep; and if I chance to move my hand in the least, it stings it so as to make it swell." The third question was as follows: "I have in my garden a pear-tree, which surpasses all the others round about it. Its trunk is straight; its top, leafy; and it covers a large space of ground; but nothing can grow beneath its shade, and its fruit is at poison to any one who ventures to taste it." The seven sages regarded these questions as too childish. It was beneath their dignity to consult them on such trifles. "We have," said they, "no balm to cure a diseased tooth; no secret to hinder a bee from creeping into a room; no device to improve the fruit of a tree." "There 66 is no question of improving," cried Geoffrey to them; "what is completely bad can never become good. Listen to the meaning of the riddle; this would be a suitable reply to the Eastern prince: 'Get your rotten tooth pulled, or it will spoil the others; and be sure it is pulled out by the root, so that nothing may remain, for the stump would cause new agonies: as the proverb says, an empty house is better than a bad tenant." Kill the fly, seeing that it has honey in its mouth and poison in its tail; it seeks to pester you in every way. Lastly, up-root the tree whose fruit and shade even are so dangerous. It may be an ornament in your orchard, but it uselessly eats up the

1 The following account of Geoffrey while in Rome does not occur in our version.

2 Presumably the "question "-for this is simply a statement-was: "What will cure this raging molar?"

substance, and kills the useful plants which only require to be allowed to spread out.'" The seven sages were rather astounded at what they had themselves said, and what they had just heard.¹ Geoffrey gave them other lessons, which at once roused their jealousy. He perceived that he could not displease with impunity a council of philosophers, and not being able to parry their malice, he thought his most prudent course was to get beyond their reach. So he sailed away, and a tempest drove him to the Blandiens, who laid a thousand snares to rob him, but he had taken the precaution to have in a portable form the best part of his treasures; besides, he only gave out that he was a humble potter, working for his living. As he had nothing, apparently, to lose, they soon ceased to take any particular notice of him. 2 Geoffrey detailed all these circumstances at great 2808 length to Berinus, adding, "I will set you free. To-morrow I will return at cock-crow; be not discouraged; I undertake to get from them more than they would have taken from you.' "13

1 It is not easy to discover any great sagacity in Geoffrey's replies; and the seven sages must have been so many arrant noodles when, in the first place, they could not prescribe remedies for toothache, a troublesome bee, and a baneful pear-tree, and, afterwards, were astonished at the "prescriptions" of Geoffrey. I suspect the author of this romance had but a confused recollection of the three riddles-for such, doubtless, they were, in their original forms— and "solved" them out of his own profound mind. From remote times it seems to have been a favourite practice at Asiatic courts to propound "hard questions" as well as for eminent sages to deliver, at the desire of a king, good and notable sentences"-that is to say, apothegms, or striking sayings. We learn from the Old Testament that the Queen of Sheba (or Saba, whom the Arabian writers identify with Bilkis, queen of El-Yemen) came to prove the wisdom of Solomon with hard questions, and that he answered them all— "there was not anything hid from the king which he told her not." What were the questions, or riddles, the solution of which by Solomon so much astonished the Queen of Sheba, we are not informed by the sacred historian; but, if we may credit rabbinical and Muslim legends, the result of this celebrated visit of her Sabean Majesty was her marriage with the sage Hebrew king. 66

2 This account of his treatment by the knavish citizens differs very materially from that given in our tale, where he says they robbed him of a thousand pounds' worth of goods, and he was obliged to disguise himself as a cripple to save his life (11. 2497-2505).

3 In our version Geoffrey advises Beryn to go to the palace of the good Duke Isope, "wher thyn empechement shull be i-mevid; " but Beryn, after Geoffrey's account of the monsters which guard the approaches to Isope's chamber, is so terrified that he refuses, even for the value of his five ships; upon which Geoffrey undertakes to go himself. Mr. Vipan informs me that in the original Geoffrey advises Berinus to slink into the hall, slide along the wall, slip into the king's chamber, and hide himself under Isope's couch,

135 Geoffrey rejoined Berinus at the appointed hour, and they went to the house of the seneschal. Geoffrey obtained leave to speak for Berinus, who did not know the customs of the country. This condescension may seem strange, but Geoffrey had on this occasion 2916 assumed the air and manners of a fool, and they did not think that such an advocate would be dangerous, but rather that he would amuse them by his conduct of the case: he was too insignificant for the opponents of Berinus, whom he answered one after another. To the chess-player he said: "You demand that my countryman should give up all he possesses, or drink up all the waters of the sea. He will give up nothing; he will drink: he has made the same vow to 3492 Saint James of Compostella.¹ He will drink all the waters of the sea, but not the rivers which flow into it. Begin, then, by turning aside the course of all these rivers, after which we will do what you require."2 The sharper was somewhat taken aback by this proposition. "When Berinus refuses to go," Mr. Vipan continues, "I suppose Geoffrey adopts the same course himself, though I do not find it expressly stated; he certainly goes there somehow, and gets the information he wants. Probably the English writer made a change because he thought that Isope's receiving all the rogues of the city in his chamber inconsistent with his station and high character." The description of Duke Isope's castle and garden reads like-what it is— a leaf out of an Oriental romance. The ceiling of the great hall is of selondyne, the pavement of gold and azure, in which is one stone that scorches up whatever comes near it, and another of equal coldness. Two leopards guard a door leading into a garden-they can do no harm if blown upon very gently-the finest garden in the world, in which are birds of gold and silver that move about as if they were alive, and in the midst the fairest tree under the sky, the leaves of which are also Of sylvir and of golde fyne, that lusty been to see. As usual, necromancers and a white lion guard this paradise, but by simply touching a branch of the fair tree they are at once subdued. (See note on treasure-trees, Chaucer Analogues, p. 336.) We read of a superb palace in the Arabian romance of Antar, all of marble and carnelian. "In the centre was a fountain filled with rose-water and purest musk; in the middle of it was a column of emerald, and on its summit a hawk of burnished gold, its eyes were topazes and its beak jasper. Around it were [golden] birds, scattering from their bills on all who were present musk and ambergris. The whole edifice was scented with perfumes, and the ceiling glittered with gold and silver. was one of the wonders of the period, and the miracle of the age." It

1 It was a very common practice in the Middle Ages to swear by, as well as make vows to, this saint (James the Greater), because of the celebrity of his relics, supposed to be preserved at Compostella. In Tale xix. of an early English version of the Gesta Romanorum, edited, for the Roxburghe Club, by Sir Frederic Madden, to the question, "How many

He said they were exacting an impossibility. "That is your affair,” said Geoffrey," and it is the only way to ours. You will comply with that condition, or pay a good round sum; and if the seneschal does not give us justice, we will appeal to good King Isope, who will refuse no one." So the sharper was compelled to pay a proportionate sum for the wrong which he had wished to inflict on Berinus. The second accuser was called; it was the provost. your charges against this stranger?" said the seneschal to him. "You know them," replied the provost: "he consented to give me the cargoes of his five vessels, and take in exchange what would be suitable for him in my warehouses." "I found nothing in them," said Berinus in a mournful tone; "there was nothing in them to 3577 load five ships." "Let us see," said Geoffrey to the seneschal; "we "What are must verify the state of matters." Accordingly they go to the ware3582 house of the provost and find it completely empty. There was nothing, as they say, but the bare walls. Two butterflies only were 3612 seen floating about the room. "These are only insects," said Geoffrey, "which prove that the provost has deceived us. He told my client that his warehouse was full of merchandise, in good condition; but his goods have been eaten up by insects. In proof of this we still see the butterflies which are a part of them. Is it to fill his vessels with such insects that Berinus has left Rome, and exposed himself to 3623 the dangers of the deep-of shipwrecks and of lawsuits? If so, let our accuser load with butterflies our five vessels. We shall be very well pleased, and our quarrel will be ended." 1 The provost was utterly confounded. He asked that the original bargain should be declared off. "To that we object," said Geoffrey. "You owe us for merchandise-butterflies or a fine." The provost decided to pay the fine. gallons of salt water are there in the sea?" the reply is, "Let all the passages of fresh water be stopped, and then I'll tell thee." This also occurs in the old German book of the drolleries of Tyl Eulenspiegel, of which an English translation was published about 1550, under the title of A Merry Jest of a Man that was called Howleglas.

1 The writer of the extrait does not say that Geoffrey had previously provided himself with the (white) butterflies, and, still better, that he claimed five ship-loads of them, as they were wanted by a Roman doctor to make an ointment of, which would cure all kinds of diseases.

137 The party then returned to the audience-chamber, where they found the blind man. Said Geoffrey: "This is a man who asserts that he has given my client his eyes. Twenty witnesses depone to the fact. We do not deny it. But twenty others depone that it was an exchange: Berinus gave him his eyes for an equivalent; let 3724 him at once return to Berinus, in good condition, those which he should give back." This proposal was ended by inflicting a fine, which the blind man paid. 66 The woman now came forward, carrying, as on the evening before, a child in her arms. She did not wait till Geoffrey spoke, but, taking possession of the court,1 "Yes," cried she (and it is said she even wept), "yes, the faithless one whom you see forsook me, after marrying me, after making me the mother of this child-perhaps he wishes to say he does not know me." "Not at all," interrupted the advocate of Berinus; we acknowledge you as our wife, and your son as our son. But I ask of the lord seneschal and this honourable 3769 assembly, ought the man to follow the woman, or the woman the man?" It was generally agreed that the woman should follow the man. "It is that which has been refused us," replied Geoffrey in a voice of thunder, striking on the railing which separated the audience. "Well! we are quite ready. I have to say that Berinus is quite 3773 ready to take away this woman, whom he knows to be his wife, and this child, whom he knows to be his son." At these words the boldness of the female accuser disappeared. She begged the seneschal not to pronounce judgment; but the pitiless Geoffrey exacted a fine, which was paid by the real husband, the real father of the child, who was soon found. There remained Martin, the most wicked of all, since his accusation was the most atrocious. He wished rather not to risk it; he hesitated to repeat it. Geoffrey saved him the trouble. The knife, certified, formed the basis of his charge; it became his accuser. It was, 3824 according to Geoffrey, with this knife that the father of his client had

1 Our English version says that "hir tunge was nat sclytt" (1. 3204). There can be little doubt, I think, that a monk wrote this romance. Those old misogynists (albeit notorious lechers, if they are not belied in song and story) seldom let slip the smallest opportunity for girding at women in their sermons and other compositions.

10

3884 been murdered; it was partly to find again the owner of this knife, and consequently the murderer, that Berinus had undertaken his voyage. Martin had confessed that this knife belonged to his father, who had therefore killed the father of Berinus. Martin acknowledged that his father was dead; he had then inherited the knife with his other property; his goods ought therefore to be confiscated and handed over to Berinus, and so forth. The seneschal ordered Martin to pay a fine, like the others. So ended this memorable trial. The Blandiens went home, some utterly astounded, others quite speechless from surprise; while Geoffrey, Berinus, and his followers returned to the port to celebrate 3917 at a feast this five-fold victory which they had just gained. They were still enjoying themselves when the pages of the king were announced. Good King Esope had sent them to congratulate Berinus on his success in all his lawsuits and offer him rich presents. First of all, he was presented with a sabre of the finest quality, and richly adorned with jewels; another offered a gold cup of exquisite workmanship. All those young deputies, to the number of twelve,¹ laid before him, each in turn, some gift worthy of him who had 3939 charged them with the message. Berinus was then invited, in the name of the king, to an audience on the following day. The first question of Esope was to ask of his deputies, as soon as they returned, which of his presents seemed most to please Berinus. They answered that he had given them all into other hands excepting the sabre, 3989 which he had kept for himself. "So much the better," said Esope. "This preference shows a man of courage, and strengthens me in my project." Esope intended to give in marriage to Berinus his 66 66

1 Mr. Vipan says: "In the romance we have 'v. damoiseaux,' in both editions; one of them is afterwards termed 'le varlet."" The number of Esope's emissaries is also five in our Tale (1. 3919), but the translator (who perhaps did not know French perfectly) represents them as maidens. The title of varlet, or valet," says W. Stewart Rose, in his notes to his free metrical rendering of Partenopex de Blois, pp. 33, 34, synonymous with that of damoiseau in French, and knave in English, was given indifferently to the sons of kings and great nobles not yet knighted. In Villehardouin the son of the Emperor of the East is denominated Varlet de Constantinople;' and in an account of the house of Philip the Fair, the children of that monarch, as well as several other princes, are styled varlets. Hence the prince in a pack of cards is by the French still called varlet, and by the English knave." 6

139 niece Cleopatra,¹ and thus have him proclaimed as his successor. Now Esope was himself a stranger in his kingdom, and, as he esteemed not one of his subjects, the Blandiens, and believed that Berinus was a wonderful man, his project was a politic one. Berinus arrived at the court of Esope in a magnificent carriage.2 Geoffrey was one of his followers, and proved not less useful to him on this occasion than he had been necessary at the court of the seneschal. He related to the king, who knew and esteemed him, the adventures 4008 of the lately-arrived stranger, to whom he gave the honour of all that he himself had done in Rome, and of what he had just done for him in Blandie. Esope, moreover, knew of the noble birth of Berinus, and all confirmed him in his plans. The union was proposed: and a sight of Cleopatra made the proposition more precious to Berinus than even the prospect of a crown. He did not, however, foresee the obstacles that were to be encountered. There was a knight named Logres, who loved Cleopatra, and, moreover, had some pretensions to the crown. On learning that a foreigner was about to wrest both from him, Logres sent a challenge to the "Roman merchant," and the tone of his letter of defiance showed the utmost disdain of the person and profession of his rival. Berinus was in love, and at the same time enraged, but he was not a knight. Geoffrey, however, had been distinguished in former years in the noble profession, and he gave Berinus instructions in it, of which he profited so well that, after Geoffrey had dubbed him knight, he

1 His daughter, according to our version.

2 In the romance, when Berinus visits Esope the wonders of his hall are again described (ch. 25, "Des merveilles de la salle du roy isopes "), which leads to an episode relating to the early history of Blandie: Agriano, king of the Isle of Gamel, having a penchant for his own sex, expelled all the women from Gamel; many men joined them, and they settled in the island of Blandie, which was also subject to Agriano. He demanded tribute, which being refused, he invaded Blandie with an army and was defeated and taken prisoner. Then follows a story of an incestuous king, about whose doings the less that is said the better; but I may mention that both the wicked kings perished in the river, which was ever after in a state of great commotion, and their bodies were at times seen floating on the surface of the hideous waters. A bridge over this river conducted to Esope's palace, and Berinus and his companions passed over it in fear and trembling when they went to visit the king. Berinus, however, reaches the audience chamber through a different hall from that described by Geoffrey, which affords the author an opportunity for detailing still more wonders.

encountered Logres, and hurled him from his saddle. Logres, 4009 covered with shame, soon after disappeared. Berinus, as a reward shortly after, Esope Geoffrey, who had up of his victory, was married to Cleopatra, and dying, he succeeded to the crown of Blandie. till now been so useful, resolved to return to Rome. He set out, laden with rich presents, yet only came back to his native country in the humble garb of a potter. He was, however, recognized, and the emperor often consulted him: he had now no cause to complain of the seven sages; and praise from them was praise indeed.¹ Such is the outline of the first part of the French romance from which our Tale of Beryn was derived. But whence did the French author obtain his materials? That is a question not easily answered. No corresponding tale is known to exist in the literature of any other European country; and, although a Greek version of Asiatic extraction had been in existence several centuries previous to the composition of the French romance, yet it is not at all certain that the tale of Berinus and the Blandiens was adapted from that version. The story in question is found in Syntipas, a Greek rendering of a Syriac text of the Book of Sindibád, which was made by one Andreopulos, during the last decade of the 11th century. The Book of Sindibád, the original of which is lost, is believed to have been written in India, but at what period is not known.2 It was probably translated into Pahlaví, the ancient language of Persia, in the 6th century; from Pahlaví it was rendered into Arabic about the middle of the 8th century; from Arabic it was translated into Syriac, under the title of Sindbán; into old Spanish (Castilian), under the title of Libro de los Engannos et los Asayamientos de las Mugeres, or Book of the Deceits and Tricks of Women, in 1253; and into Hebrew, also about the middle of the 1ȝth century, under the title of Mishlé Sandabar, or the Parables of Sandabar. The

1 Abstract of remaining part of the romance, which recounts the chivalric adventures of young Aigres, and his father's subsequent career, will be found in Appendix, p. 160 ff.

2 For an outline of the frame, or leading story, of the Book of Sindibád and its European imitations ('The Seven Wise Masters'), see Chaucer Analogues, p. 322.

141 Arabic version made from the Pahlaví has disappeared, but we may consider it as fairly represented by the Greek text of Andreopulos, and the Syriac and old Spanish texts. A comparatively modern Arabic rechauffé of the work, omitting several of the original tales and substituting others, forms a member of the Book of the Thousand and One Nights, and is commonly known under the titles of "The Malice of Women" and "The Seven Vazírs." There is yet another version, a Persian poem, Sindibád Náma, or Book of Sindibád, of which a unique but imperfect MS. is preserved in the Library of the India Office, and which, though written A.D. 1379, may represent an older form of the work than the Greek and the Syriac texts. In this version our tale is thus related: Persian Version.¹ HERE was once a young man, a merchant, who wandered about TH the world like the zephyr or the north wind, and who, like the sun and moon, was on his travels every month and all the year round. Manifold are the advantages of travel, by which a man of enterprise becomes respected. He who has travelled is awake and intelligent; and when an affair of importance occurs, he is powerful; while he who has sat inactive at home can with difficulty procure a livelihood. Travel is the profit and the capital of man; its hardships are his nurse. Through it the raw and inexperienced at length become adepts; through it the great achieve renown. By travel the new moon perpetually becomes the full. What is travel, but a capital by which a fortune may be amassed.2 By travel this young man became alert and active; and he who is active attains to wealth. He was now in Khatá, now in Khutan; now in Aleppo and now in Yemen. He carried the products of Khurasan to Kh,árazm ; 4 he

1 From my privately-printed edition of the Book of Sindibád. 2 "Capital is multiplied twice or thrice over, by repeatedly buying and selling, by those who have knowledge and travel in other lands."-Pancha Tantra (The Five Sections); a Sanskrit form of the Fables of Bidpai, or Pilpay.

3 Both Khatá and Khutan were kingdoms, or principalities, in Chinese Tartary.

4 Kh,árazm is a region lying along the river Oxus, and extending to the Caspian Sea.

conveyed the stuffs of Ispahán to the emperor of China. As he sold in Bukhara the products of Abyssinia, he necessarily sold them at one for ten.1 Some one having told him that at Káshgar2 sandal-wood was of equal value with gold, and was sold for its weight in that metal, he resolved to proceed thither; and accordingly, having converted all his capital into sandal-wood,3 he set out on his journey. When he arrived near Káshgar, a person of the country, hearing that he had a large supply of sandal-wood (in which he himself dealt), and fearing lest that commodity should be depreciated by its abundance, devised the following stratagem. Going two stages out of the city, he halted at the spot where the foreign merchant was, and having pitched his tent and opened his bales, he lit a fire and piled sandal-wood on it for fuel. When the merchant smelt the odour of the sandal-wood he rushed from his tent in amazement and vexation. The man from the city saluted him, saying: "You are welcome; may God protect you from evil! Say, from what country do you come, and what merchandise bring you?" The merchant informed him. "You have made a sad blunder," remarked the citizen. "Why have you brought cumin-seed to Kirmán ?4 The whole timber of this country is sandal-wood: every casement, roof, and door is composed of it. If one were to bring common wood hither, it would be far better than sandal-wood. Who has been so cruel as to suggest to you this ill-advised scheme? From whose hand proceeds such a blunder as this? Does any one bring the musk-bladder to Chinese Tartary?" 5 "Alas!" said the young man to himself, "I have thrown away my capital! Covetousness is an unblest passion! Alas, for my long journey and the hardships I have endured! What have they availed me? He who is not content with what God allots him never prospers." The man, seeing the merchant now ready for his 1 "Of all goods perfumes are the best: gold is not to be compared to the article which is procured for one, and sold for a thousand."-Pancha Tantra.

2 Káshgar, capital of a province of the same name in Chinese Turkestán.

3 Perfumed woods-spiced woods.-Syntipas.

4 A proverbial expression, equivalent to our "Coals to Newcastle," and the Arabian "Dates to Hajar."

5 See last note. Musk, the perfume so much esteemed by Asiatics, is obtained from the navel of a species of deer found in Tartary and Tibet.

143 purpose, said to him: "The world is never free from profit and loss. Give this sandal-wood to me, and I will give you in return a measure of gold or silver, or whatever else you shall ask."1 The merchant consented; two witnesses were called, and the bargain was struck. The merchant considered that the sum he should receive was so much gain, and was rejoiced to be rid of so worthless an article as he had brought. "In He thence proceeded to the city of Káshgar, and entering that delightful spot, that model of Paradise, took up his lodging in the house of a virtuous old woman. Of her the merchant asked a question, the reply to which brought him grief and trouble. He inquired: "What is the value of sandal-wood in this kingdom?" and she informed him that it was worth its weight in gold.2 this city," said she, "headache is common, and hence it is in demand." At this intelligence the merchant became distracted, for he saw that he had been duped. He related his adventure to the old woman, who cautioned him not to trust the inhabitants of that city, by whose cunning many had been ruined. When morning came, he washed his eyes from sleep, and inquired the way to the market. Thither he bent his course, and wandered through bazaar, street, and field, still solitary and without a friend or companion. The alien has no portion in enjoyment; he is a martyr wherever he dies. I will suppose him to be but second to Kay Kubád,³ and that he has placed on his head the diadem of Farídún. Even were he Joseph of Egypt, yet when he calls to mind his home and country, a palace becomes to him a prison. The young merchant was sad at heart, for his enterprise was sadly at a 1 "On this account then, if you are needy, come and sell your whole business, and what you wish I shall give you upon a full plate.”—Syntipas. "And the man said, I have great grief for thee. Since it is so, I will buy it of thee, and give thee what thou shalt wish. And now get up and give it to me."-Libro de los Engannos, &c.

2 Precisely the same answer is made by the old woman in both the Greek and old Castilian versions: "It is worth its weight in gold."

3 Kay Kubád was the founder of the second, or Kayání, dynasty of ancient Persian kings.

4 Farídún was the sixth of the first, or Píshdádí (Achæmenian), dynasty of ancient kings of Persia. His power and grandeur are frequently referred to in Persian literature, stand. Suddenly he observed a person playing at draughts in the street. He stopped, and said to himself: "I will play with this person to dispel my grief," and sat down beside the player, forgetful of the caution which his landlady had given him. The other agreed to play with him, on the condition that whichever of them should lose should be bound to do whatever the winner desired.¹ The merchant was soon beaten by his crafty opponent, who, upon this, required him to "drink up the waters of the sea," a demand at which the merchant was confounded and perplexed. The report spread through Kashgar, and a crowd soon collected. Another of the gang had but one eye, which was blue, the colour of the merchant's eyes. "You have stolen my eye," said he to the merchant, and he claimed it in the presence of the crowd. A third produced a stone, and said: "Make from this piece of marble a pair of trousers and a shirt." 2 The story soon spread, and all Kashgar was in a bustle. The old woman, hearing of it, hastened from her house, and saw her lodger involved in difficulty. She was surety for him, with ten householders, that she would deliver him, when required, to the court of justice. When they reached home, she reproached him, saying: “When a man listens not to advice, fresh calamities will constantly overtake him. Did I not tell you to have absolutely no dealings with the inhabitants of this city-no intimacy with them?" "It was no fault of yours," replied the young man; “but there is no remedy against the decrees of destiny." He was much dispirited, but she consoled him. "Be not downcast," said she; "for joy succeeds to grief: there can be no cure till there be a complaint. In this city there is a blind old man, with neither power in his feet nor strength in his hands; but he is of great intelligence and acuteness. Those sharpers assemble nightly at his house, and 1 "Or, surrender all his property," must, of course, be understood.-It is a very common practice among the Arabs to play at some kind of game, the loser of which must do what the other asks of him or pay a forfeit; the tasks required by the winner are often impossible and generally ludicrous.

2 The merchant not being represented as having engaged in play with this sharper, there is probably something omitted here by the transcriber of the manuscript.

145 are directed by him how to act.¹ Do you this night dress yourself like them, and repairing to his house sit silent among them. When your adversaries shall enter and relate their adventures of the day, mark his answers and his questions. Be all ear there, like the rose; like the narcissus, be all eye and silent.” The young man did as she desired, and repairing thither at night, quietly seated himself in a corner. The first who entered was the person who had bought the sandal-wood. He related his adventure: "I have bought a quantity of sandal-wood, for which I am to give one measure of whatever the seller may choose." "O simpleton!" exclaimed the old man, "you have thrown yourself into the net. This crafty merchant has over-reached you, my son. For if he should demand of you, neither silver nor gold, but a sá' 2 of male fleas, with silken housings and jewelled bridles, and all linked together with golden chains, say, how will you be able to extricate yourself from this difficulty?" Quoth the sharper : "How could that blockhead ever think of such a trick?" The old man rejoined: "However that may be, I have given you your answer." Next entered the draught-player, and related his adventure: "I have beaten him at draughts," said he, "and have bound him to this condition (and there are witnesses to our agreement), that he shall drink up all the waters of the sea." "You have blundered," replied the old man, "and have involved yourself in difficulty. You think that you have taken him in; in imagination you have caught him in a snare from which there is no escape. But suppose he should say: 'First, pray stop all the streams and rivers which are flowing into the sea, before I drink it dry,' what answer can you possibly return? "How," said the knave, "could he, in his whole life, think such a thought?' "" "" The man with one eye then came in. "That youth," quoth he, 1 "Every Muslim capital (says Sir R. F. Burton) has a Shaykh of Thieves, who holds regular levées, and will restore stolen goods, for a consideration; and this has lasted since the days of Diodorus Siculus."-See also Burton's Pilgrimage to Meccah and El Medinah, vol. i. p. 91.

2 A sá, according to Forbes Falconer, is a measure containing four bushels. Lane says that it is (in Egypt) very nearly equal to six English pints and two-thirds.

66 "has blue eyes, and I said to him: 'This is my eye that you have; it is evident to every one that you have stolen it; restore it, and return my other eye its fellow.'" "O ignorant of the wiles of the age," answered the old man; your fortune is more adverse than that of the others. Suppose he should say: 'Pluck out your one eye, and then I will pluck out mine, that we may put them both in scales and judge by their weight whether you are right.' That man will then have one of his eyes remaining, while you will be quite blind." Quoth the fellow: "He will never think of such a trick as that." Lastly entered the fourth rogue-more shameless than the three others. "I desired him," said he, "to make with his own hands a pair of trousers and a shirt from this slab of stone." The crafty old man replied: "You have managed worse than all; for if your opponent should say: 'Do you first spin me from iron a thread to sew it with,' how will you be able to answer him?" Said this sharper: "The idea will never occur to such a noodle." 1 The young man listened, unobserved, to all that had passed, hastened home, and gave the woman a thousand thanks for having put him on a plan of foiling his adversaries. He passed the night in calmness and tranquillity. Next morning, when the parties appeared before the kází, or judge, the man who had bought the sandal-wood seized the merchant by the collar, saying: "Produce your measure, that I may fill it, and give you what is your due." But when the merchant gave him his reply, he was confounded, and sat down mortified in the presence of the kází. In like manner he made to each of the other rogues the reply which the blind old man had suggested. At length, after a hundred objections, he consented to take back his sandal-wood, and to accept several bags of gold as compensation; and he availed himself of the first opportunity which offered to escape from the power of those worthless people.

1 A jest very similar to this occurs in the Talmud: An Athenian, walking in the streets of Jerusalem one fine day, observed a tailor seated on his shopboard, busily plying his needle, and picking up a broken mortar, he requested him to be so good as put a patch upon it. Willingly," replied the tailor, taking up a handful of sand and offering it to the joker-"most willingly, sir, if you will have the goodness to make me first a few threads of this material." 66

147 It is curious to find the incident of the merchant and the one-eyed man forming the subject of a tradition of no less a personage than the renowned Akbar. According to Knowles' Dictionary of Kashmirí Proverbs (p. 88), Akbar, disguised as a fakír, and accompanied by his prime minister, Bír Bal, was walking about the city one night, when he was accosted by a one-eyed man, who said to him: "You have got my eye, and I must either have it back or 1200 rupís." The emperor was mute from astonishment, but his minister readily answered for him, saying: "What you say is quite true. We have your eye, and if you will come to-morrow you shall have it again." The man consented and went his way. Bír Bal sent to the butchers for some sheep's eyes, and put each one of them in a separate box. When the one-eyed man came in the morning, the minister showed him some of the sheep's eyes, and told him that he must submit to have his other eye taken out and weighed, which was done accordingly, and so the fellow was blinded for life. Here, we see, Akbar takes the place of the sandal-wood merchant, and his minister that of the shaykh of thieves-with a difference! 66 he In the Calcutta and Búlák printed Arabic texts of The Nights, the merchant, after disposing of his sandal-wood, is accosted by the oneeyed man, and obtains a day's grace, after providing surety; his shoe having been torn in the scuffle, he takes it to a cobbler, saying, 'Repair it, and I will give thee what will content thee;" lastly, plays at dice with a fourth sharper, and, losing the game, is required to drink up the sea or surrender all his property. The blind old man tells the cobbler that the merchant might say to him: "The sultan's troops have been victorious, and the number of his children and allies is increased-art thou not content?" to which he would not dare to reply in the negative; and the dice-player might be asked to hold the mouth of the sea and hand it to him, and he would drink. In Syntipas and the Libro de los Engannos, as in the Persian version, the stopping of the rivers is the old man's suggestion, and the incident of the cobbler is not mentioned.-All that remains of the story in the unique Syriac MS., discovered by Rödiger, and printed, with a German translation, by Baethgen, is the opening sentence: "There was once a merchant, who bought a scented wood which is called aloe. When he heard "—and here it breaks off; but the story was probably similar to that in the old Castilian version. The story is orally current in some parts of India, and it may also exist there in a written form-perhaps in the Suka Saptatí, or Seventy Tales of a Parrot. Under the rather vague title of "The Merchant and his Son," Mr. C. Vernieux gives a version of it in a small collection of Indian Tales and Anecdotes appended to his story of The Hermit of Motee Jhurna, or Pearl Spring, printed at Calcutta in 1873. Those tales he professes to have taken down from oral recitation in Urdú, Hindí, and Bengalí;-it would have been more satisfactory, however, had he specified the district where each story was told to him. A Indian Version. WEALTHY merchant, while lying on his bed indisposed by sickness and the infirmities of age, invited his son to his room one day, and spoke to him in these words: "My son, from this sickness I may not recover. Should I die, I fear you will squander all my hard-earned wealth by dissipation and idleness. You know that in my vocation as a merchant I have prospered and enjoyed all the blessings of this life. I fear you will not be able to conduct the business with care and discretion, yet I would recommend your following the profession of your father. In doing so I lay no restraint upon your visiting every land under the sun, but I strongly dissuade you from ever venturing into the Himálya regions." The son was desirous of knowing the reason why his father prohibited him from going with his merchandise, if he ever traded, into the Himalyan mountains. "My son," observed the father, "my long experience of the world, my knowledge of all countries and their denizens, enable me to form a just and accurate estimate of the characters of men. The inhabitants of that region have been found invariably to be very artful and dishonest. They will not only rob a man of his purse, but if they can find an opportunity, or a single

149 excuse, they will without remorse strip him naked and appropriate his clothes. Should you ever forget this my parting advice, and go into that country and fall into any disaster, remember to call on Golab Sing, the chief of the country, who is a friend of mine; mention my name to him, seek redress from his justice, and he will enable you to remain there in the peaceful prosecution of your trade." The merchant died shortly after, as was expected, and the son, whose curiosity was excited by his father's prohibition, resolved upon visiting the lofty hills. To carry out this object, he procured a large stock of valuable goods, and such as were not only in general demand in the country but highly valued by the mountaineers. With this merchandise he loaded fifty camels, and set out on a fine morning on his perilous and uncertain journey. Having arrived in the country after two months' tedious travel through extensive forests and fields, the young merchant thought it to be appropriate to announce his arrival in the usual manner by firing a salute; but instead of wasting his powder in merely making a report, he deemed it more prudent that, while the salute was being fired, he should aim his musket at a heron which he saw seated quietly near the verge of a spacious tank, and thus accomplish two objects at once. Having shot the bird, he went to pick up his game, but in doing so he saw a washerman occupied in scouring clothes, who spoke to him thus: "What have you done? Have you not a grain of common sense? The heron was my father, who had transmigrated into the body of that bird, and he was very useful to me, watching and encouraging me in my operations, and guarding the clothes which are spread out to the sun for bleaching purpose. Now pray resuscitate my father and give him back to me, or lay down four hundred rupís, else you do not go away so easily from hence." While this conversation was being held by the two individuals, another man who had approached the spot, and was silently listening, and who was blind of one eye, thus accosted the young merchant : "Your father, peace be to his spirit, was a just and liberal man, who traded in all kinds of things, and dealt in eyes. He took a fancy to my eyes, and purchased one of them for six hundred rupís, with a promise of paying me that sum on his next visit to this country.

Though I am suffering from the loss of one eye, I have not been paid yet for my pain and loss. I forego the interest on the sum due to me these several years, and, as you are his son, I expect that you will discharge the debt willingly, or we must proceed to court. Give me the money or restore the eye to me." In the course of this altercation there was a third person listening. She was a woman with a child in her arms, and came forward and saluted the young merchant in a bland and soothing manner: "It is my good fortune to meet you in this country, and how happy I am to see you, of whom I have heard so favourably from your father. How well you answer his description; just those eyes and those arched brows, and those soft lineaments. I am his poor wife, and this unhappy boy is his last son by a second marriage. At the time of his going away for a short period, he told me to borrow such sums as would defray our expenses, and that on his return he would refund the money with interest. I trust you will help me to pay off the debts incurred during two years and six months, and, as you are like my own son, that you will support me and take me under your protection, that no disgrace may be cast on the honourable name of your worthy father." The young merchant became so confounded with these novel and unexpected attacks and unceremonious demands, that he regretted he had not listened to the salutary advice of his father, the consequence of which was that he was so soon after his arrival in the country experiencing such annoyance, and was plunged into so much trouble. It occurred to him, however, in this distress of mind, that, in the event of his suffering from any adverse circumstance, his father had advised him to call on Golab Sing, the chief of the country. With this object in view, he told the people, who were pulling him on each side and almost quartering him, to go with him before the rájá, to whose decision he would submit, and be guided by his counsel. Before the merchant could arrive at Golab Sing's residence, these dexterous rogues ran and presented themselves before him to offer their respective complaints, crying out, " Help, Maháráj!” Soon after taking their deposition, the merchant also arrived, and was interrogated by the prince as to the country from whence he had

151 come and what his name was. On discovering that he was the son of his friend the old merchant, the prince was moved by unfeigned grief at the news of his father's death. The rogues, seeing the friendly terms on which the young man stood with the prince, lost all courage, and would have decamped from the court rather than advance the prosecution. But it was too late to recede; they therefore screwed up their resolution to stand the investigation. The prince, well knowing the tricks and stratagems of his subjects, took the merchant aside and advised him what to do in this affair. He said: "When the washerman comes and makes his claim against you, do you make this counter-charge against him: When your father became a heron, my father was a small fish in the river, who, swimming and jumping in the shallow water, was journeying home, up the stream, when your father, the heron, pecked at him, and getting him in his bill, swallowed him. Produce my father first, and then I will restore yours to you.' To the second claimant say: 'My father, it is true, traded in all sorts of things, and also speculated in eyes; but as there are so many eyes in my possession, and I do not know which is yours, give me the other eye, weighing which in the scales, I could ascertain the exact weight and restore the precise eye to you.' To the third say: 'I admit the truth of your allegation, for I have heard my father mention to me frequently that he was married in this country, and had a young son; he told me therefore to bring his wooden sandal, and to give you that to wear and mount the funeral pyre.¹ Do that, and I will believe that you are really his wife.'" Being thus advised and prepared by the prince, those persons, while endeavouring by artful means to substantiate their claims, were defeated and confounded by as cogent counter-statements from the young merchant as those which they tendered. The merchant, having been dismissed with marks of regard by the prince, followed his occupation in the country without any further molestation, while the wicked rogues were sent to prison, there to chew the bitter cud of reflection, and to work on the roads under the weight of heavy chains. རྞྞ་

1 The usual practice when a Hindú died away from his family.

Besides the story of the Sandal-wood Merchant and the Rogues, which occurs in the "Malice of Women," or the "Seven Vazírs," there is a very singular variant of our tale in another group, belonging to what may be termed the sporadic part of the great Sindibád family of romances, which is found in the Arabic text of The Nights printed at Breslau, namely, "King Shah Bakht and his Vazír ErRahwan"-for some account of which see Chaucer Analogues, pp. 352, 353. It is the eighth recital of Er-Rahwan, and, under the title of "The Merchant, the Crone, and the King," has been thus rendered by Sir R. F. Burton : Arabian Variant. HERE was once a family of affluence and distinction, in a city of waan, and of folks used to tha Allah had vouchsafed them. As time went on, their fortune ceased from them and they passed away, till there remained of them but one old woman. When she grew feeble and decrepit, the townsfolk succoured her not with aught, but thrust her forth of the city, saying: "This old woman shall not neighbour with us, for that we do good to her and she requiteth us with evil.”1 So she took shelter in a ruined place, and strangers used to bestow alms upon her, and in this way she tarried a length of time. Now the king of that city had aforetime contended the kingship with his uncle's son, and the people disliked the king; but Allah Almighty decreed that he should overcome his cousin. However, jealousy of him abode in his heart, and he acquainted the Wazir, who hid it not, and sent him money. Furthermore he fell to summoning all strangers who came to the town, man after man, and questioning them of their creed and their goods, and whoso answered him not satisfactorily he took his wealth. Now a certain wealthy man of the Moslems was way-faring, without knowing aught of this, and it befell that he arrived at that city by night, and coming to the ruin, gave the old woman money, and said to her, "No harm upon thee." Whereupon she lifted up

1 They suspected her to be a witch because she was old and poor, as was unhappily the case in our own country and all over Europe in the 17th and the early year of the 18th centuries.

153 her voice and blessed him. So he set down his merchandise by her and abode with her the rest of the night and the next day. Now highwaymen had followed him that they might rob him of his monies, but succeeded not in aught; wherefore he went up to the old woman and kissed her head, and exceeded in bounty to her. Then she warned him of that which awaited strangers entering the town, and said to him : "I like not this for thee, and I fear mischief for thee from those questions that the Wazír hath appointed for addressing the ignorant." And she expounded to him the case according to its conditions; then said to him: "But have no concern. Only carry me with thee to thy lodging, and if he question thee of aught enigmatical whilst I am with thee, I will expound the answers to thee." So he carried the crone with him to the city, and lodged her in his lodging, and entreated her honourably. Presently the Wazir heard of the merchant's coming; so he sent to him and bade bring him to his house, and he talked with him a while of his travels and of whatso had befallen him therein, and the merchant answered his queries. Then said the Wazír: "I will put certain critical questions to thee, which an thou answer me, 'twill be well for thee." And the merchant rose and made him no answer. Quoth the Wazir: "What is the weight of the elephant?" The merchant was perplexed and returned him no answer, giving himself up for lost; however at last he said: "Grant me three days of delay." The minister granted him the time he sought, and he returned to his lodging and related what had passed to the old woman, who said: "When the morrow cometh, go to the Wazir and say to him: Make a ship and launch it on the sea, and put in it the elephant, and when it sinketh in the water, mark the place whereunto the water riseth. Then take out the elephant and cast in stones in its place, till the ship sink to the same mark; whereupon do thou take out the stones and weigh them, and thou wilt presently know the weight of the elephant."" Accordingly, when he arose in the morning, he went to the Wazír and repeated to him that which the old woman had taught him; whereat the minister marvelled, and said to him: "What sayest thou of a man who seeth in his house four holes, and in each hole a viper

11 offering to sally out upon him and slay him, and in his house are four sticks, and each hole may not be stopped but with the ends of two sticks? How, then, shall he stop all the holes and deliver himself from the vipers?" When the merchant heard this, there befell him such concern that it garred him forget the first, and he said to the Wazír: "Grant me delay, so that I may reflect on the reply;" and the minister cried: "Go out, and bring me an answer, or I will seize thy monies." The merchant fared forth and returned to the old woman, who, seeing him changed of complexion, said to him: “What did his hoariness ask thee?" So he acquainted her with the case, and she cried: "Fear not; I will bring thee forth of this strait." Quoth he: "Allah requite thee with weal!" Then quoth she: "To-morrow go to him with a stout heart and say: 'The answer of that whereof thou askest me is this: Put the heads of two sticks into one of the holes; then take the other two sticks and lay them across the middle of the first two, and stop with their two heads the second hole, and with their ferrules the fourth hole; and then take the ferrules of the first two sticks and stop with them the third hole.'" So he repaired to the Wazír and repeated to him the answer; and he marvelled at its justness, and said to him: "Go. By Allah! I will ask thee no more questions, for thou with thy skill marrest my foundation." Then he treated him as a friend, and the merchant acquainted him with the affair of the old woman; whereupon quoth the Wazir: "Needs must the intelligent company with the intelligent." Thus did this weak woman restore to that man his life and his monies on the easiest wise.1 Little more than a vague outline of the original story is preserved in this Arabian variant; but the Tale of Beryn has incidents which the Sindibád and the Indian versions have each exclusively. Thus the young Roman merchant on entering Falsetown discovers a burgess playing at chess with a neighbour (1. 1646); in the Persian

1 Supplemental Nights to the Book of the Thousand Nights and a Night.' With Notes, Anthropological and Explanatory. By [Sir] Richard F. Burton [K.C.M.G.]. Benares MDCCCLXXXVI. Printed for the Kama Shastra Society and for Private Subscribers only. Vol. I., pp. 235-238.

155 (Sindibád) story the sandal-wood merchant, walking in the city of Káshgar, sees a man playing at draughts. In all three versions he is accused of having stolen a man's eye, or eyes. The rascal who bought the sandal-wood is required to fill a measure with male fleas, finely harnessed; in the Tale of Beryn the provost is required to load five ships with butterflies. The task of drinking the waters of the sea does not occur in the Indian story, but it has in common with Beryn the incident of the woman and the child slightly modified, while the accusation made by the catchpoll that his father had been murdered by the father of Beryn has its equivalent in the Indian story, where the washerman charges the young merchant with having shot his father in the form of a heron. In the Persian story the sandal-wood merchant is advised by his landlady to go and listen to what the blind shaykh of thieves says to each of the sharpers; in Berinus, apparently, Geoffrey secretly learns from King Escpe how to defend the Roman merchant (see ante, p. 135, note); in the Arabian variant an old woman instructs him herself; in the Indian version the merchant consults Golab Sing, the prince of the country. It is very evident that the several versions had a common origin, but it is equally clear that the Tale of Beryn was not derived from the Persian or the Indian stories. It seems to me not unlikely that the story was brought to France from a Morisco-Spanish source. 8 According to rabbinical legends, the hospitality of the citizens of Sodom towards the strangers within their gates was of a very peculiar character, and the decisions of their judges bear some resemblance to the "laws" of the folk of Falsetown. When a traveller arrived, each citizen (to preserve their reputation for hospitality) was required to give him a coin with his name written on it, after which the unfortunate wayfarer was refused food, and as soon as he died of hunger each man took back his own money. It may be naturally supposed that travellers acquainted with the peculiar ways of the citizens of Sodom would either avoid entering that city or take care to provide themselves with food. But even this precaution did not avail them against the wiles of those infamous people, as may be seen from the following Hebrew story:

A man from Elam, journeying to a place beyond Sodom, reached the latter city about sunset. He had with him an ass, bearing a valuable saddle, to which was strapped a bale of merchandise. Being refused a lodging by each citizen of whom he asked the favour, the stranger made a virtue of necessity, and resolved to pass the night along with his animal and his goods as best he might in the streets. His preparations with this view were observed by a cunning and treacherous citizen, named Hidud, who came up, and, accosting him courteously, desired to know whence he had come and whither he was bound. The stranger answered that he had come from Hebron, and was journeying to such a place; that, having been refused shelter by all to whom he had applied for it, he was making ready to pass the night in the streets; and that he was provided with bread for his own use, and fodder for his beast. Upon this Hidud invited the stranger to his house, assuring him that his lodging should cost him nothing, while the wants of his beast should not be forgotten. The traveller accepted of Hidud's proffered hospitality, and when they came to the house the citizen relieved the ass of the saddle and merchandise, and carefully placed them for security in his private closet. He then led the ass into his stable and supplied him with fodder; and returning to the house, he set food before his guest, who having supped retired to rest. Early in the morning the stranger arose, intending to resume his journey, but his host first pressed him to partake of breakfast and afterwards persuaded him to remain at his house for two days. On the evening of the third day our traveller would no longer delay his departure, and Hidud therefore brought out his beast, saying kindly to his guest, “Fare thee well.” "Hold!" said the traveller, "where is my beautiful saddle of many colours, and the strings attached thereto, together with my bale of rich merchandise?" "What sayest thou?" exclaimed Hidud in a tone of surprise. The stranger repeated his demand for his saddle and goods. "Ah," said Hidud affably, "I will interpret thy dream : The strings that thou hast dreamt of indicate length of days to thee; and the many-coloured saddle of thy dream signifies that thou shalt become the owner of a beauteous garden of odorous flowers and rich fruit-trees." "Nay," returned the stranger, "I certainly entrusted

157 to thy care a saddle and merchandise, and thou hast concealed them in thy house." "Well," said Hidud, "I have told thee the meaning of thy dream. My usual fee for interpreting a dream is four pieces of silver, but as thou hast been my guest, I will only ask three pieces of thee." On hearing this very unjust demand the stranger was enraged, and he accused Hidud in the court of Sodom of stealing his property. After each had stated his case, the judge decreed that the stranger must pay Hidud's fee, since he was well known as a professional interpreter of dreams. Hidud then said to the stranger : "As thou hast proved thyself such a liar, I must not only be paid my usual fee of four pieces of silver, but also the value of the two days' food with which I provided thee in my house." "I will cheerfully pay thee for the food," rejoined the traveller, " on condition that thou restore my saddle and merchandise." Upon this the litigants began to abuse each other, and were thrust into the street, where the citizens, siding with Hidud, soundly beat the unlucky stranger and then expelled him from the city. Another rabbinical legend is to this effect: Abraham once sent his servant Eleazer to Sodom, with his compliments to Lot and his family, and to inquire concerning their welfare. As Eleazer entered Sodom he saw a citizen beating a stranger whom he had robbed of his property. "Shame upon thee!" exclaimed Eleazer to the citizen; "is this the way you act towards strangers?" To this remonstrance the man replied by picking up a stone and striking Eleazer with it on the forehead with such force as to cause the blood to flow down his face. On seeing the blood the citizen caught hold of Eleazer and demanded to be paid his fee for having freed him of impure blood. "What!" said Eleazer, 66 am I to pay thee for wounding me?" "Such is our law," returned the citizen. Eleazer refused to pay, and the man brought him before the judge, to whom he made his complaint. The judge decreed: "Thou must pay this man his fee since he has let thy blood; such is our law." "There!" said Eleazer, striking the judge with a stone and causing him to bleed, "pay thou my fee to this man, I want it not," and then departed from the court. There are many parallels to this last story, some of which may be cited in conclusion. The 50th of the 'Pleasing Stories' in Gladwin's Persian Moonshee relates how a dervish was charged at a police court with striking a grocer with his slipper, and the kutwal fined him eight annas, whereupon the dervish handed a rupí to the kutwal, and then, striking that official also on the head with his slipper, said: "If such be justice, take thou eight annas and give the other eight to the grocer." In the third volume of Beloe's Miscellanies, which comprises a selection of amusing stories translated from a manuscript procured in Aleppo by Dr. Russel, about 1794, is one to this effect: A young man seeing a half-witted fellow, he cannot resist the temptation of giving him a blow behind his back. The crazy man drags the youth before the kází and makes his complaint. The judge fines the youth twenty small coins, and gives him leave to go and get change. Of course he remains away, and the kází falls asleep. At length the crazy fellow's patience is exhausted, and he gives the kází a blow, telling him that he can wait no longer, and as he had himself fixed the price of a blow, perhaps he would be so good as remain till the youth returned, and keep the fine for himself. Similar stories are found in the old Italian novelists. The second of Sozzini's collection is as follows: Scacazzone, returning one day from Rome, found himself, when within a short distance of Sienna, without cash enough to purchase a dinner. But resolving not to go without one if he could avoid it, he very quietly walked into the nearest inn, and appearing quite a stranger, demanded a room in which to dine alone. He next ordered whatever he considered as most likely to prove agreeable to himself, without in the least sparing his purse, as the good host believed, and ate and drank everything of the best. When he had at length finished his wine and refreshed himself with a short nap for his journey, he rang the bell, and with a very unconcerned air asked the waiter for his bill. This being handed to him, "Waiter," he cried, "can you tell me anything relating to the laws of this place?" "O yes, signor, I dare say," for a waiter is never at a loss. "For instance," continued Scacazzone, "what does a man forfeit by killing another?" "His life, certainly, signor," said the waiter. "But if he only wounds

159 another badly, not mortally, what then?" "Then," returned the waiter, "as it may happen, according to the provocation and the injury." "And lastly," continued the guest, "if you only deal a fellow a sound box on the ear, what do you pay for that?" "For that," echoed the waiter, "it is here about ten livres, no more." "Then send your master to me," cried Scacazzone" be quickbegone!" Upon the good host's appearance, his wily guest conducted himself in such a manner, uttering such accusations against extortion, such threats, and such vile aspersions upon his host's house, that on Scacazzone bringing their heads pretty close together, the landlord, unable longer to bear his taunts, gave him a rather severe cuff. "I am truly obliged to you!" cried the happy Scacazȝone, taking him by the hand; "this is all I wanted with you— truly obliged to you, my good host, and will thank you for the change. Your bill here is eight livres, and the fine for your assault is ten; however, if you will have the goodness to pay the difference to the waiter, as I find I shall reach the city very pleasantly before evening it will be quite right."-But more closely resembling the Eastern versions is the fourth novel of Arienti, in which a learned advocate is fined for striking his opponent in open court, and "takes his change" by repeating the offence. I suspect that not a few of the apologues and tales in the Talmud are comparatively recent interpolations; and the circumstance that that monument of human wisdom and folly was first printed at Venice in the sixteenth century, after most of the Italian novelists had published their collections, renders it at least possible that the talmudists drew some of their narrative material from Italian sources.

Continuation of the Romance of Berinus from p. 140. BERINUS loved his wife, and was beloved by her, but he could never win the affection of his subjects. They regretted Logres, and sought him for twenty years in order to place him on the throne. At length they found him ruler in Corinth. Logres seized the opportunity to avenge himself and rule over Blandie, and came with a large army. Berinus mustered his troops, but they delivered him over to his enemy, together with Cleopatra his wife, Aigres their son, and the beautiful Romaine their daughter. Logres, although not approving of this act of treachery, profited by it. He remembered, however, that Berinus, after conquering him in single combat, spared his life, so he said to the Roman: "Depart, and take with you from this isle all the riches you brought to it. You have no need of pity, since you have still your Cleopatra." Logres then caused all the traitors who had given up Berinus to be put to death. He disdained to ascend the throne which they had offered him, but placed his son Ismandor² in his stead, who, seeing that the mild rule of Berinus had lost it, resolved to follow a quite opposite course, being of opinion that it was necessary for lions to rule wolves. Meanwhile, Berinus was making haste for his departure. He set out as he had come, with five vessels richly laden. Cleopatra had nothing to regret; she followed her husband, who consoled her for the loss of a crown, in their departure from Blandie. They had a pleasant voyage during three days, but on the fourth day they perceived that, in spite of all their efforts, their little fleet was approaching an immense magnetic rock, which was drawing them towards itself. The old sailors declared that as soon as they touched it, no human power could detach them from the rock, and this soon came to pass. Berinus discovered a number of other ships fixed like his own to the rock, which appeared to be inhabited only by corpses. He groaned in spirit when he thought

1 Dunlop, in his History of Fiction, has fallen into error when he says (art. Ser Giovanni): "This romance, of which the manuscript is extremely old, is the original of the Merchant's Second Tale, or Story of Beryn, sometimes published with Chaucer's Canterbury Tales. The first half of the story, however, concerning the treasury, has not been adopted by the English poet, or at least is not in that part of his tale which has been preserved." We have already seen the first part, and shall find the story of the treasury in this, the second, part of the romance.

2 Yspamador in both editions in the British Museum.

161 that hunger would speedily reduce himself, his family, and his ships' crews to the like condition. Giving himself up to these sad forebodings, he was attracted by the appearance of a man, whose extreme thinness might have caused him to be taken for a corpse. This man was silently crawling into one of the Roman vessels to obtain some food. Young Aigres, the son of Berinus, laid hold of him, and led him to his father, in the hope that he would be able to throw some light upon an occurrence which perplexed their minds. The unhappy man informed them that he was himself a victim, adding that there was an inscription on one side of the rock, but he had not read it. Aigres, full of ardour and courage, wished to see the inscription, and after the starveling-whose name was Silvain-had partaken of some food, he led young Aigres to the place, where he read these words: “Whoever may touch this rock can only be freed after he has deposited on it all his wealth, save only what is necessary to finish his voyage; one of the company must then go to the top of this rock and cast into the sea the ring which he shall find there, when the vessel will at once be freed; but it is necessary that the lot determines the one who shall detach the ring, and he must not go in the vessel which he sets free." Berinus and his company resolved to draw lots to know which of them was to sacrifice himself for the safety of all the rest. The lot fell on Aigres, who was pleased at the result he would have the good fortune of giving liberty to his father, mother, and sister, as well as to men who had not hesitated to follow them into exile. It requires little to determine a brave and generous soul. Aigres stole away from the embraces of Berinus, Cleopatra, and Romaine and was soon on the top of the rock. He loosened the ring, and cast it into the water; immediately the rock trembled, the wind arose, and the vessels were thrown into the open sea.¹ Berinus now resumed his voyage, and arrived at a port in Italy. Here he paid off all his servants, and, accompanied by his wife, daughter, and Silvain, whom he had taken off the magnetic rock, repaired to Rome in a very humble equipage. Berinus had left all his wealth on the fatal rock, and he had nothing more to expect in Rome: how could his wife, whom he adcred, and his beauteous daughter, who was worthy of the respect of kings, endure the misery in store for them? In this extremity Silvain said to him: "You have nothing, since the emperor has taken possession of all your fortune; 2 you have no army to demand

1 The myth of a magnetic mountain often occurs in the old romances; and we have a familiar instance in the Arabian story of the Third Calender (or Royal Mendicant), and another in the miraculous legend of the Irish saint Brandanus.

2 In chapter lxxiii. of the edition of the romance printed by the Widow Trepperel (see ante, note, p. 124), we are told that soon after Berinus arrived in Rome he met his old friend Geoffrey, and asked him if he could tell him anything about his father Fawnus, to which Geoffrey replied: "By my faith, sire, Raine his wife killed him with poison for a knight whom she loved, and when he was dead she so wrought with the emperor that all the race of Fawnus, both in the city and round about it, was destroyed and extinguished."-We have here an example of the manner in which Dixmerie dressed up his Extrait: he has transferred the lady's intrigue to satisfaction from him for that injustice. But, without causing any trouble-without exposing yourself to any denial and persecution, which would be the consequence-it is possible to free you from a poverty to which you were not born." Berinus implored to be informed in what way this could be done. "You need run no risk," replied Silvain; "here is the secret: My father was the architect of the tower in which the emperor keeps his treasure. He took care, in the course of its erection, to contrive a secret passage, of which he intended to make use. It is marked by a stone not cemented like the others, but yet joined to them so perfectly that nobody would suspect it is moveable; it is so, however. I know this passage, and have gone into the tower more than once before leaving Rome. For you, I will go back to it, and restore, without the emperor's knowledge, some portion of the wealth he has taken from you." Berinus hesitated long before agreeing to Silvain's plan. But without means in the midst of Rome, obliged even to conceal his name, he saw Cleopatra his wife and Romaine his daughter the former the offspring of a king, the latter born whilst he was himself a king—condemned to perish of hunger! He could not bear the horrible idea. "Bring it," said he to Silvain; "I consent to everything." He took a house close to Philip's treasury, which Silvain visited several times, and thus enabled Berinus to live in comfort. He was prudent enough to make no show of wealth; while Cleopatra and Romaine, knowing he had formerly been rich, were not surprised that he should find means of living in Rome; and they questioned him not on this matter, for his absolute silence showed that he did not wish it talked about. Let us now return to the generous Aigres. The magnetic rock was inhabited by enchanters, who knew well how to annoy the travellers whom they drew to it; but the need of food obliged Aigres to frequently visit the vessels fixed to the rock; and he found in them more wealth than food, a circumstance which seemed to presage for him an awful fate. One day, as he was continuing his searches, he heard the neighing of a horse in the hold of one of the vessels, and going down, he saw a spirited steed, whose food was completely done, and who was now neighing for more. Silvain had taken this precaution before going away.¹ Aigres did not hesitate to take charge of him in his turn. He called him Morel de l'Aimant, both from his black colour and the place where he was found. In the same vessel hung a splendid suit of mail, and a valuable sword, on which were written the words "Pleure Sang."2 Aigres, without thinking of ever using this armour, took the early part of the romance, where there's no mention of such a thing-see ante, p. 127, three lines from foot.

1 This means, apparently, that Silvain had tended the gallant steed while on the rock; yet he was himself starving when he crept on board one of Berinus' ships.

2 The hero of romance is always provided with a wonderful horse and an irresistible blade. Antar, the Bedouin poet-hero, had his horse Abjer and his

163 it down, examined it, put it on, and found it a perfect fit, at which he felt a secret satisfaction, convinced that fate had not bestowed this gift upon him except to make use of it. His chief care, after guarding himself from the snares which the demons of the rock laid for him, was to look out from its top for any approaching vessel. At length he saw one which was yielding to the same power that had attracted his father's ships. Aigres pointed out to the crew the only means for detaching the vessel, and one of them went to the top of the rock, Aigres at the same time going on board, with his beautiful armour and his good steed Morel, ready to set out; the ring was cast into the sea, and the ship was set free. The young knight resolved to proceed to Rome, but fate had destined for him adventures elsewhere-his fame was to precede his arrival in Rome. The ship in which he was embarked arrived at the kingdom of Tantalus, which was ruled over by two brothers, and he took the road to the capital. Going through a forest he was attacked by two robbers, whom he killed, and thereby set free Prince Germain, who had been captured by them. This prince was called Galopin, from his great speed in running. He was, however, so deformed that his father and mother, both handsome and well made, had for a long time refused to recognize him as their son. Aigres made him his squire. Farther on our knight met Maligant, one of the two kings of Tantalus, who was carrying away by force a young lady. Aigres fought with him and killed him. Dannemont, brother of Maligant, wishing to avenge the death of the latter, challenged Aigres, who defeated him, and spared his life on the condition that he would no longer oppress his subjects. After these heroic achievements Aigres, accompanied by his squire Galopin, proceeded to the kingdom of Loquiferne, the king of which was called Holopherne. This prince, to whom the prowess of Aigres de l'Aimant was already known, was very much pleased to have him at his court, for he had just then great need of the strength of his arm. Holopherne was in love with the Princess Melia, daughter of a king named Absalon, who would give her only to the prince who should bring with him two knights prepared to combat with and kill two savage lions, or would attempt this great feat himself. None of the barons of Holopherne offered themselves for such a perilous adventure; but Aigres undertook it without hesitation, and was accompanied by a knight called Açars, into whose hands was committed a casket of jewels, destined for the princess as a marriage present. This knight was fit for no better employment;-it was Aigres who fought with and killed the lions, and the princess was entrusted to him to convey her in safety to King Holopherne. Aigres and the princess, accompanied by Açars, carrying the jewels, set out for their destination. Now sword Dhami. Rustam, the Persian champion, had his horse Raksh. In the Norse sagas we read of the famous blades, Gram and Graysteel; and in other European romances, of Morglay, Excalibar, Balmung, and Durandal.

Açars was born both lily-livered and faithless, and he envied Aigres the glory which he had just achieved. As they were passing a very deep well Açars purposely allowed the box of jewels to fall into it, and affected to be very much concerned at the misfortune. Aigres at once undertook to recover the box. He joined the reins of his horse together, secured one end to the top of the well, and descended by the aid of this improvised rope. When he dived to recover the casket, the treacherous Açars drew up the reins, and then compelled the princess and her maid to follow him. But soon after Abilas, king of Pannonie, a lover of the princess, appeared and rescued her-Açars flying away without making any resistance, although Abilas had only his squire with him. The craven did not fail to return to the court of Holopherne and proclaim that the king of Pannonie, at the head of a great army, had come and snatched out of his hands the Princess Melia, while he was fighting like a lion, and that Aigres de l'Aimant had surrendered himself without striking a blow in her behalf.¹ Let us not leave Aigres de l'Aimant, the true champion of lions, too long at the bottom of a well. He was very much astonished not to find the reins which had helped him to get down. His suspicions immediately rested on Açars, and he thought, "He who has forsaken me, can as easily have betrayed me!" But he cared little for his treachery-only how to render it of no avail. He drew his good sword Pleure Sang, with which he had luckily armed himself, and used it to cut steps in the side of the well, and thus got out, to find his horse and splendid armour where he had left them. Taking the road to Loquiferne and passing through a wood, he came upon two women, whom two unknown persons were carrying away by force; they proved to be the Princess Melia and her maid, King Abilas and his squire. The princess called out for help from Aigres de l'Aimant, who quickly responded to her cries. Challenging the king of Pannonie, he fought and conquered him, and gave him his life on condition that he should surrender the princess. Aigres then proceeded to the court of Holopherne, with Melia and the rich casket he had recovered from the bottom of the well. The cowardly and faithless Açars was unmasked and disgraced. Melia told of all that had passed, and of the glory that Aigres had gained. Açars was banished from the kingdom, and Aigres thought himself sufficiently avenged, since dishonour was worse even than death to a knight. The king bestowed the greatest favours upon the deliverer of Melia, in order to retain him at his court, but the son of Berinus adhered to his resolution of rejoining his father. He sailed away accordingly, and duly arrived in Rome, accompanied by his squire Galopin, who had remained at Loquiferne during his last adventure.

1 It is a very common occurrence in romantic tales for the hero to be thus treated and misrepresented by his rivals in love-generally by his jealous brothers -who take credit to themselves for his gallant achievements; but in the end their cowardice and treachery are invariably made manifest, as we shall see in the case of this carpet-knight Açars.

165 Aigres de l'Aimant soon learned that he must conceal his birth in the native city of his father, whom he discovered with great difficulty, and only by the help of old Geoffrey.¹ Berinus gave a portion of his riches to his son, but did not reveal to him how he obtained them. He was ambitious that Aigres should eclipse the splendour of all the knights of Rome. Aigres readily fell in with his father's views, yet he shone more by his courage and skill in tournaments than by the magnificence of his armour. On such occasions he had the good wishes of the court beauties, especially of the charming Nullie, daughter of the emperor. Now at the Feast of Pentecost the emperor Philip had a full court of his barons, and he purposed making them rich presents before their departure. For this purpose he visited the tower containing his treasures and found them considerably reduced. He accused of the theft his ten treasurers, and caused them all to be put in prison. One of them promised the emperor to discover in what manner and by whom the robbery had been effected, provided the most profound secrecy were observed. Philip determined to accompany him to the tower, where the treasurer lighted a great fire exactly in front of the door and windows, and the smoke was seen to escape through the spaces left by the uncemented stone, which they found could easily be removed and replaced, and they doubted not that it was in this way the robber entered. Concluding that he came only at night, they placed immediately below the loose stone a tub filled with a substance so glutinous that a person once in it had no chance to get out again; and keeping most secret the discovery they had made, they awaited the result. Silvain by this time was dead, and Berinus had not yet himself ventured into the tower; he felt that it was becoming more and more dangerous, but did not consider himself rich enough to dispense with such means. One night he resolved to go thither for once and once only. Accordingly he proceeded to the tower, displaced the stone, and having entered fell into the trap prepared for him. Aigres de l'Aimant, returning from the palace of Philip, was just entering his father's house when he perceived some one displace a stone from the tower wall, and creep through the opening thus made. He ran forward on purpose to seize the thief, and heard from within the tower these words, uttered amidst groans and sighs: "Alas! I am lost to honour and have disgraced my family." "Who are you, miserable being?" cried the young knight. 'Approach, my son," responded the 66

1 Here, in the original, there is a strange inconsistency: When Aigres arrives in Rome, he rides through the city til he comes before the house of a certain citizeness (bourgeoise); he sees her sitting at the door in great state, like one who was a passing rich and honourable lady. He addresses her, and ultimately takes up his lodging in her house. One day she begs him to reveal his name, as he closely resembles her deceased father. On this he asks the name of her father, and she replies that she is the daughter of Fawnus and Agea, and that their children were Berinus and herself.-Now, near the opening of the romance (as in our Tale of Beryn), Fawnus and Agea had been many years married before they were "blessed" with Berinus; and while it is not afterwards expressly stated that he was their only child, the reader is certainly led to conclude that such was the case.

66 66 same voice, for Berinus thought he knew him. "Come and save the honour of your father and of yourself." 'You, my father?" The son of Berinus could say no more; he remained quite powerless and leaned against the tower wall. "My son,” cried the unhappy man, summon up your courage-lose no time, for we need it all." Then Aigres made an attempt to enter through the opening, but his father informed him of the trap into which he had himself fallen, and of the impossibility of his being extricated. Aigres exhausted his strength in fruitless efforts to draw his father out, and more than once he thought of giving himself to death. "It is my duty to die," said Berinus to him. "Listen: I exact of you the most solemn oath that you obey my last behest." "But, father!" "I exact it; hesitate no longer." Aigres, completely bewildered, repeated the oath, feeling a secret horror in so doing. Then Berinus recounted to him the whole particulars of this dire mishap; what Silvain had long done for him, and what he had now unfortunately attempted to do for the first time. Each word of the recital caused the generous young Aigres to tremble. "Now, my son," continued Berinus, by the oath you have taken, I order you to cut off my head." "Who? I, your executioner!" cried the wretched youth-"I, the executioner of my father!" 'Do you not see that a real executioner is seeking my life?" said Berinus. "I shall be the talk and horror of the whole city, and Cleopatra, Romaine, and yourself must share in my disgrace. All is saved by this act of courage; all is lost without it." "No, no!" cried Aigres, "I will never consent to the atrocious murder of my father." "You have become so in not obeying me," replied Berinus in an angry tone, “and moreover you murder your mother and sister. Remember, perhaps in a moment it may be too late-hush! do you not hear a noise? Some one is coming to the tower-the door is openingah, my son, will you kill us all?" Aigres, roused to madness, fancied that he also heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He was no longer himself hesitated no longer-but drawing his sword Pleure Sang, with one blow struck off the head of his father, wrapped it in his cloak, and hastening from the fatal spot, went and buried it in a neighbouring wood. 66 Day had scarcely dawned when the emperor and the treasurer entered the tower. Seeing a body in the vat, they eagerly drew near, but what was their astonishment and chagrin when they found it headless. The emperor was furious. He caused the mutilated body to be borne into a room in the palace. The barons and the sages were called to examine the affair, but it seemed mysterious to one and all. The corpse was then carried to the gibbet outside the city, where it was guarded by forty mounted knights and a large number of men on foot. This great assembly, however, did not terrify Aigres de l'Aimant, who resolved to bear off his father's body from the midst of all the armed guard. In order to effect this, it was essential that he should be unknown; he therefore put on strange armour, a shield without any device, lowered the

167 visor of his helmet, and at dawn attacked the guard with irresistible courage, put them to flight, and carried away the corpse committed to their care. Philip caused strict search to be made to discover the author of such an outrage. The sages were again consulted, but without success. At last one of the guards whom Aigres had forced to flee before him declared to Philip that he had heard the strange knight pronounce, whilst furiously thrusting at them, the name of the Princess Nullie. As the knights of that time always called upon the lady of their love, in order to inspire them to doughty deeds, the emperor merely learned from this that the crime had been committed by one of the lovers of his daughter. And no advantage was derived by one of the sages, when he suggested the following device, which pleased Philip, though it seemed rather strange. He said: "Since the robber of the headless body is in love with the Princess Nullie, I advise that all the barons and lords of high degree be assembled to supper; afterwards order them to lie down in the great hall, each on a bed of his own, and place in the centre that of Princess Nullie. Now he who is not in love will fall asleep, but he who is in love will keep awake, and will not fail to visit the princess, who must take care to mark his forehead with her thumb, previously steeped in a black liquid, which all efforts of the gallant cannot obliterate. Forget not," added the sage counsellor, "that the room must be perfectly dark." The emperor adopted this advice from anger; Nullie yielded to the plan from filial obedience. The barons were astounded that the princess was to sleep in the same room with themselves, and no one approach her under pain of death. All, save Aigres, fell asleep. He drew near the bed of the princess and mutely kissed her hand. Nullie, not knowing that it was Aigres, pressed her thumb upon his brow. The young knight took this imposition of her hand for a favour; he flattered himself that he had been recognized, and showed by the most loving words all his gratitude to the princess. She knew him by his voice and fell in despair. "Alas!" said she, "give me no thanks: I have killed you unawares! I have given you over to death! I will never survive it! How flattering to the amorous knight was Nullie's grief. He thought his life no penalty for this proof of her affection, and he dared to ask for yet another. She could not refuse a lover who was doomed to die, and he obtained Love's gift.¹ Afterwards, profiting by the sleep of the barons, Aigres drew near in succession to each bed, and put on every brow a mark like his own.2 He then returned to his own bed and fell asleep. 1 "Le don d'amoureuse merci" are the words of the writer of the Extrait, who slyly remarks: "We do not know whether the wary sage, if he had foreseen this incident, would have thought it his duty to forewarn the emperor."

2 This device occurs in many tales besides most of the numerous versions of the Robbery of the King's Treasury, and we find something similar in "La Mort de Tong-chao," one of the Nouvelles Chinoises translated by M. Stanislas Julien, 1860.

Great was the astonishment of the emperor when he saw, on entering the hall in the morning, all his barons and knights marked alike on the forehead. He asked his daughter in an angry tone whether they were all guilty, but she stubbornly kept silent and was shut up in her chamber. Cursing the sage who had given him such an absurd advice, he had recourse to the other sages, but they seemed as perplexed as himself. At this juncture, Geoffrey arrived at court from Constantinople, where some special affair had required his presence. He knew nothing of the robbery of the treasury and its results. The emperor told him all,¹ as well as of the trial made by the Princess Nullie. Geoffrey caused all who wore the black mark to assemble, examined them, and said to the emperor that he would point out the guilty one if he would grant him a boon. This Philip solemnly promised, and Geoffrey, pleased to mortify the sages once more, looked at them with a sarcastic smile as he said to the emperor: “The knight who has the smallest mark is the guilty one;-all the marks of his companions have been made by the thumb of a man." It was then found that Aigres alone bore the impress of the thumb of Princess Nullie. The latter was in despair; Aigres expected nothing but death. Geoffrey, however, reminded Philip of his oath, and asked the life of the guilty one. His fault did not appear so great to the barons as to the emperor, and they joined with Geoffrey to obtain his pardon. Philip granted it on condition that Aigres de l'Aimant should leave Rome. He only did so after secretly obtaining the troth of the princess;-the emperor little thought that in exiling the young knight he was banishing his own son-in-law! And when Philip died, Nullie, recalling her own husband, raised him to the throne. His banishment had been nothing but a succession of glories and triumphs; his return to Rome prepared him for new laurels. He re-established his mother on the throne of Blandie; went and conquered Constantinople for Prince Orlas, who was the friend of the good Geoffrey, and who married his sister Romaine. After so many adventures there remained for the son of Berinus only to live in happiness and peace; this double advantage he enjoyed, and it was a source of great felicity to his subjects.3

1 That is to say, all he knew.

2 After conquering Constantinople for Geoffrey's friend, Aigres sails, with more than 20,000 men, for the Holy Land. They remain at Acre 26 weeks, during which period they make divers raids on the Saracens, and by their prowess so beset them that they dare not go out of their fortress. When the gallant Aigres has done his duty against the paynims, he goes to the Holy Sepulchre, where he offers up prayers and orisons, and makes rich presents-all for the purpose of doing penance for having caused his father's death (ch. cliv.).

3 In the last chapter but one of the original, Geoffrey dies in the odour of sanctity, is buried near Berinus, and the emperor Aigres erects a magnificent church over their remains. Mr. Vipan, in concluding the interesting extracts and notes with which he has favoured me, makes the following observations: "There is one great difference between the French and English versions. The latter, though very amusing, is

169 Thus ends the Romance of Berinus, in the second part of which, we have seen, his gallant son is the most conspicuous figure. In the account of the robbery of the treasury there are several important differences between Dixmerie's extrait and the romance in the British Museum (1) According to the extrait, after the death of Silvain, Berinus went but once to the treasury and lost his life; while in the romance (ch. lxxiii.) he goes often and takes as much treasure as he requires, and leads that kind of life for a long time. (2) In the extrait Berinus goes to the tower without the knowledge of his son, and it is only by chance that Aigres comes across him. In the romance, when Berinus hears that the robbery of the treasury is discovered, he determines to go once more, and take his son with him, in order to remove a greater quantity of the treasure than usual, as he fears that precautions will be taken before long to prevent his entrance into the tower. Aigres steadily refuses to go, and tries to dissuade his father from his purpose. However, that night, finding he is gone, he follows and discovers him in the tub of glue. (3) In the extrait, Aigres attempts to enter through the opening; while in the romance he does enter, his father having first given him directions so that he may avoid falling into the tub. (4) In the extrait, Berinus exacts from his son a solemn oath that he will obey his behest. In the romance Berinus says: "Sweetest son, now cease your sorrow, for you can gain nothing thereby. But bethink you of your own safety, and of putting me out of this grief; for if you will do as I counsel, soon will you have relieved me of my trouble. For God's sake, fair son, hasten you, for the night is quickly gone." "Dear father, God-a-mercy, tell me,' " said Aigres, "and I will do it hardly edifying. Beryn is at first utterly worthless; mends a little, but shows no kind of merit; at last, however, he is dismissed to high station and happiness. In the French version, on the contrary, I think the author intended to be highly edifying: Berinus, badly brought up, after a short period of decent behaviour, falls again into error, turns robber, and comes to a wretched end. Aigres, on the other hand, who on many occasions shows a spirit of most generous self-abnegation, after many trials is dismissed to happiness. His two faults, the cutting off the head of Berinus and the affair with Nullie, the author probably thought excused, or partly so, considering the most extraordinary circumstances under which they were committed; besides, he suffers from long persecution on account of them. I think in every case vice is severely punished in the French romance.' "" It seems to me that the author's design in causing Berinus to fall into such a depth of unworthiness was to exhibit the evils that result from ignorance, which Shakspeare terms "the curse of God." The English versifier of the first part of the romance does not appear to have had any particular moral in view, although the Merchant in the prologue (p. 24, 1. 725) says to his fellow-pilgrims that he will tell a tale" in ensaumpill" to them. Beryn, even in his early boyhood, is lewd and dissipated, mischievous and cruel, in consequence of the over-indulgence of his doting parents; and in manhood, when he falls into the toils of the knaves of Falsetown, he shows no force of character-in fact, he is throughout (in the English tale) an arrant poltroon; yet, by no merit or action of his own, he not only comes out of his law troubles a considerable gainer, but is amply compensated for the loss of his heritage by becoming the son-in-law of the good duke Isope. If there be any "moral" in this tale, it must be that the unworthy aud profligate are the favourites of Fortune! We see, however, in the sequel, according to the complete story, that Beryn's prosperity was only temporary, and that at last he perished miserably.

12 most willingly." Berinus then tells him to take enough treasure to keep himself from want all his life. Aigres says he will first set him at liberty. Berinus declares that he will never leave the place until his son has complied with his request. Aigres accordingly takes a large quantity of treasure home and returns. (The author is careful to inform us that Aigres did not do this from covetousness of wealth, but solely to obey his father's command.) On his return to the tower Berinus orders him to cut off his head. Aigres expostulates through a whole chapter (cxix.). At last his father proves to him that much will be gained by his doing it, and nothing will be lost; while if he (Berinus) does not die at once he will perish under frightful tortures. On this Aigres falls on his knees before his father, and begs him to pardon him for causing his death. The father answers that he pardons him, and gives him his blessing. Then Aigres rises and goes to kiss his father, "weeping very copiously." Then Berinus confesses all his sins to God, and prays for God's mercy, recommending to God his soul, his wife, and his daughter. After this he says to Aigres: "Now quickly, my son, despatch thee-promptly end my sorrow; let me languish no longer.” On this Aigres draws his sword and cuts off his head.¹ (5) In the extrait, Aigres recovers his father's body by boldly attacking the guards single-handed and causing them to fly for their lives; while in the romance he paints his horse on one side yellow, on the other blue, he covers his armour with a white robe, one side of which he stains with a vermilion dye, leaving the other of its proper colour, and round his horse's neck he hangs a number of bells-the guards take him for a goblin and make off at full speed. (6) In the extrait the device, to discover the person who stole the body, of causing the knights to sleep in the same chamber with the Princess Nullie, is suggested by one of the seven sages; but in the romance the emperor consults an enchanter, who raises a demon, and it is the demon who devises the stratagem. The demon tells him to order the knights not to approach the bed of Nullie under penalty of "the rope": the one who stole the body is of "such wondrous boldness" that he will disobey the order, and being marked on the forehead will be detected next morning. M. de la Dixmerie, at the end of his extrait, remarks that "this unique, foolish, and ridiculous story of the treasury of the emperor Philip," with almost all the details, is found in the novels of Ser Giovanni Fiorentina, Il Pecorone, Day ix., nov. 1, whence it was taken. He omits to state that the original is given in Herodotus (Euterpe, 121), where it is the treasury of Rhampsinitus, king of Egypt, that is robbed by the two sons of the architect who erected the buildings, and purposely left a stone uncemented. The same story had been current in Europe long before the time of the Italian novelist, being found in the earliest written version

1 M. de la Dixmerie has worked up this incident into a quite "thrilling" scene, albeit in the original it is told very effectively. !

171 of the Seven Wise Masters, a Latin prose work, entitled Dolopathos; sive, de Rege et septem sapientibus, composed in the latter years of the 12th century, and in the French metrical version, Li Romans des Sept Sages, about 1284.1 The author of the romance of Berinus might have adapted his story of the Treasury from Il Pecorone, since the latter dates as far back as 1348; 2 yet both versions may have been independently derived from a common source. Be this as it may, the foregoing story differs considerably from Ser Giovanni's version, of which Dunlop, in his History of Fiction, has given an abstract as follows, which I have compared with the translation of the Italian story given in Painter's Palace of Pleasure (first printed in 1566), vol. i. nov. 48, and found fairly accurate : "The doge of Venice employed an architect, called Bindo, to erect a building which should contain all the treasures of the republic, and should be inaccessible to depredators. This ingenious artist reserved a moveable stone in a part of the wall, in order that he might himself enter when he found it convenient. He and his son [Ricciardo] having soon after fallen into great poverty, they one night obtain access by this secret opening and abstract a golden vase. The loss was some time after remarked by the doge while exhibiting the treasury to a stranger. In order to discover [the perpetrator of] the fraud, he closed the doors, ordered some straw to be burned in the interior of the building, and found out the concealed entrance by the egress of the smoke. Conjecturing that the robber must pass this way, and that he would probably return, he placed at the bottom of this part of the wall a cauldron filled with pitch, which was constantly kept boiling. Bindo and his son were soon forced by poverty to have recourse to their former means of supply. The father fell up to the neck in the cauldron, and finding that death was inevitable, he called to his son to cut off his head and throw it where it could not be found, in order to prevent further discovery.3 Having executed this command, the young man returned home and

1 Under the title of "The Robbery of the King's Treasury," in my work on the migrations and transformations of Popular Tales, vol. ii. p. 115 ff., after citing the narrative as related by Herodotus, I have brought together translations or abstracts of medieval Latin, Italian, Sicilian, modern Greek, Albanian, French, Breton, Gaelic, Dutch, Tirolese, Danish, Russian, Algerian (Kabaïl), Mongolian, Tibetan, Bengalí, Indo-Persian, Indian (Sanskrit), and Singalese versions, and, in Appendix, pp. 486-8, a curious modern Egyptian variant, of this world-wide story, to which the fascinating Arabian tale of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves is near akin.

2 There are two MSS. of the romance of Berinus (not one, as stated at foot of p. 124) in the National Library, Paris, both of which, according to M. Delisle, the Librarian, closely agree with the printed editions. One is a folio volume, written on parchment, and dates about the middle of the 15th century; the other is a quarto written on paper, imperfect at the beginning, of about the end of the 15th ceutury. The date of the Vienna MS. is 1482: "Fait et acomply le dit Romant le vj Jour de Septembre Lan Mil quatre cens quatre vings et deux." This is doubtless not the date when the romance itself was finished, but that of the transcription of the Vienna copy.

3 A man who was "up to the neck" in a cauldron of boiling pitch would hardly be able to give his son such an order: the pain would either deprive him of consciousness or his anguished cries bring in some of the royal guards.

informed his neighbours that his father had gone on a long journey; but he was obliged to communicate the truth to his mother, whose affliction now became the chief cause of embarrassment. For the doge, perceiving that the robber must have had associates, ordered the body to be hung upon a gibbet, in the expectation that it would be claimed. This spectacle being observed from her house by the widow, her cries brought up the guard, and her son was obliged, on hearing them approach, to wound himself in the hand to afford a reasonable pretext for her exclamations. She next insisted that her son should carry off the body from the gibbet. He accordingly purchased twelve habits of black monks, in which he dressed twelve porters whom he had hired for the purpose. Having then disguised himself in a vizard and mounted a horse covered with black cloth, he bore off the body in spite of the guards and spies by whom it was surrounded, and who reported to the doge that it had been carried away by demons. The story then relates other means to which the doge resorted, all of which are defeated by the ingenuity of the young robber. At length the curiosity of the doge is so much excited that he offers the hand of his daughter to any one who will discover the transaction. On this the young man reveals the whole, and receives the promised bride in return." Among the "other means to which the doge resorted" Dunlop passes over the fruitless device of the beds in the great hall: By the advice of a senator, "the most riotous and lecherous young men, such as the doge had in the greatest suspicion, to the number of twenty-five, were summoned to appear before him;" they were made to sleep in separate beds in one of the great chambers, and in their midst was the doge's own daughter. The doge says aloud that should any of them approach her bed she is to mark him on the forehead. This frightens all but Ricciardo. He visits the young lady, who marks him; but, in his turn, he marks the other sleepers, some with two, some with six, some with ten marks, and himself with four, besides the one placed on him by the doge's daughter.--There seems to me little reason to conclude that the story of Berinus and Philip's treasury was adapted from Giovanni's novel, besides the circumstance of the beds ranged around the young lady's bed. We have nothing in Giovanni about the culprit being discovered by the smaller mark on his forehead, and nothing in Berinus about each sleeper having a number of marks. Moreover, in Giovanni the treasury is only once entered, and a golden vase stolen, while in Berinus, as in Herodotus and all other versions, frequent visits are paid to the treasury before the catastrophe. GLASGOW, June 1887.

pp. 125, 126. The remarks about the athletic exercises of the young Romans, and Fawnus' and Agea's aversion from Berinus practising them, do not occur in the romance, and are therefore to be regarded as M. de la Dixmerie's own: he frequently indulges in excursions of this kind in the course of his extrait, which I have for the most part left out. p. 126. Raine, the second wife of Fawnus, is called Rame in the Tale of Beryn, possibly by a clerical error. p. 133. There is no mention of the three questions put to the seven sages in this part of the romance, but there is much later on (chs. xxxix. and xl.), when Geoffrey introduces Berinus to Esope. In order to recommend Berinus to Esope's favour, Geoffrey gives his quondam "client" the credit of having discovered that the aching tooth, the fly, and the peartree were figures of speech, and signified treacherous flatterers of different kinds. Geoffrey goes on to say that the Romans became so jealous of Berinus on account of his sagacity, that they laid plots against his life, and this was the cause of Berinus leaving the country and taking to the occupation of a merchant. It comes out ultimately that the king who sent the messengers to ask the three questions was Esope himself, who wished to test the wisdom of the seven sages. Geoffrey was one of the messengers, and on their return the Blandiens, being envious of the honour done them, murder all but Geoffrey, who escapes by disfiguring and disguising himself. The Eastern origin of the "parables" of the aching tooth, &c. is, I think, apparent from the following passage which occurs in Kalila and Dimna, the Arabian version of the Fables of Bidpaï: "A tooth which is decayed," said Kalíla to the Lion, "will never cease to ache as long as it remains in the mouth; nor is there any other remedy for the disagreeable sensation arising from having eaten unwholesome food than that which will remove it from the stomach, which is the seat of the disorder. The application of these maxims to the case of a dangerous enemy points at once to the necessity of taking away his life." In the Sanskrit version, Hitopadesa, the wily jackal Damanaka cites the sentiment thus: "A pulling up by the root of poisoned food, of a loose tooth, and of a wicked minister, gives ease." p. 135. In the Planudean Life of Esop the fabulist it is related that Xanthus (Esop's master), getting drunk at a symposium, wagered his house and all it contained that he would drink up the sea. Esop gets him out of this scrape by advising him to demand that all the rivers should be stopped, for he did not bargain to drink them too. p. 135; note on Duke Esop's castle. Gibbon, quoting Abú-'l-Feda,

174 1

Additional Notes states that in the palace of the Khalíf Moktader, “ among the other spectacles of rare and stupendous luxury was a tree of gold and silver, spreading into eighteen large branches, on which, and on lesser boughs, sat a variety of birds, made of the same precious metals, as well as the leaves of the tree: while the machinery affected spontaneous motions, the several birds warbled their natural harmony. Through this scene of magnificence the Greek ambassador was led by the vazír to the foot of the Khalíf's throne." p. 136, 1. 16. room. "Two butterflies only were seen floating about the ."—In the romance, as in the Tale of Beryn, Geoffrey had provided himself with two butterflies, but there does not appear to be any reference, as in Beryn (p. 109, 1. 328 ff.), to the doctor in Rome. 66 p. 153, 1. 22 ff. "What is the weight of the elephant?"—Forbes, in his Oriental Memoirs, vol. ii. p. 455, cites, on the authority of Colonel Wilks, the following anecdote of Shahjí, father of Sevají, the founder of the Mahratta empire, "from which," he remarks, some conjecture may be formed of the general state of the arts and sciences in India, in the commencement of the seventeenth century": The minister Jagadeva Row had made a vow to distribute in charity the weight of his elephant in silver; and all the learned men of the court had studied in vain the means of constructing a machine of sufficient power to weigh the animal. Shají's expedient was certainly simple and ingenious to an eminent degree. He led the animal along a stage prepared for the purpose to a flat-bottomed boat, and marking the water-line removed the elephant and caused stones to be placed in the boat sufficient to load it to the same line. The stones, being brought separately to the scales, ascertained the true weight of the elephant, to the astonishment of the court of the wonderful talents of Shahjí.—This is precisely the device suggested by the old woman in our Arabian analogue of the story of the Sandal-wood Merchant. p. 165. In the romance, ch. cxv. ad fin., when the robbery of the treasury is discovered the author breaks out into a long lamentation over the pending fate of Berinus: "Here is an illustration of the peasant's saying, that no one knows when his chance and his hour cometh.' Alas, how unhappy was the birth of Berinus, and how he was born under a stern constellation! For in all his life he had not a single day of peace and quietness; and, moreover, he was never freed from his illfortune; rather did his mischance approach him relentlessly, for Fortune used all her efforts to bring him under.” Here, in accordance with the belief in astrology which prevailed throughout Europe during the middle ages and even much later, as it does still in Asiatic countries, the author ascribes the misfortunes of Berinus, not to his improper up-bringing and defective education, but to the circumstance of his having been born under an unlucky planeta comforting doctrine to sinners of all degrees. W. A. C.

Notes to the Tale of Beryn

[The notes with the letters F. J. F. appended are by Dr. Furnivall, those
with W. W. S. by Professor Skeat, those with S. by W. G. Stone, and
those with no letter appended by F. J. Vipan.]
p. 1, 1. 8. Hurlewaynes meyne.
This meyne is sketcht in the
second book of François de Rues' Roman de Fauvel, A.D. 1314:
.. Puis faisoient une crierie,
Onques tele ne fut oïe:
Li uns montret son cul au vent,
Li autre rompet un auvent;¹
L'un cassoit fenestres et huis,
L'autre getoit le sel ou puis.
L'un getoit le bren au visage,
Trop estoient lés et suavaiges;
Es tetes orent barboeres,
Avoec eus portoient deus bières,
Ou il avoit gent trop avable (?),
Pour chanter la chanson au diable.
Il i avoit un grant jaiant,
Qui aloit trop forment braiant;
P. Paris.
Vestu ert de bon broissequin;
Je croi que c'estoit Hellequin,2
Et tuit li autre, sa mesnie,
Qui le suivent toute enragie.
Montés est sus un roncin haut,
Si tres gras que, par saint Quinaut,
L'en li peut les costes compter. . .
Avec eus avoit Hellequines
Qui avoient cointises fines,
Et ce deduisoient en ce
Lay chanter qui si ce commence:
"En ce dous temps d'esté,
Tout droit ou mois de may," &c.
MSS. François de la Bibliothèque du
Roi, i. 324-5. (Paris, 1836.)-F. J. F.
1 A penthouse of cloth, &c., before a shop window, &c.-Cotgrave.
2 Hurlewayn is also in l. 90, Passus 1, of 'Richard the Redeles'·
66
·
'Oper hobbis ȝe hadden of hurlewaynis kinne,
Reffusynge the reule of realles kynde."
Piers Plowman, Text C, p. 477, ed. Skeat.
66
ib, p. 507, is Mr. Thomas Wright's note on the word : Hurlewaynes meyné
is the Maisnie Hellequin of old French popular superstition; in Latin, familia
Harlequini. The name is spelt in different ways: Hellequin, Herlequin,
Henequin, &c. The legend was, that Charles the Fifth of France, and his
men, who fell all in a great battle, were condemned for their crimes to
wander over the world on horseback, constantly employed in fighting battles.
Some derived the name from that of the Emperor, Charles quint, Charlequin,
Herlequin, Hellequin. Of course this derivation is wrong, and the legend a
fabrication of later date, to explain it. See Grimm's Mythologie, p. 527;
Le Roux de Lincy's Livre des Legendes, p. 148-150, 240-245; and Michel's
Benôit, vol. ii, p. 336, where in a note is given a most extraordinary story
about them. See also Paulin Paris" (as above).

NOTES TO pp. 1-3, ll. 16-56.
See also Tyrwhitt's Chaucer, Gl. s. v. meinie; he refers us to Ordericus
Vitalis, who gives a strange story of the familia Herlechini, also to
Gervase of Tilbury, who speaks of the familia Arturi. As to the
etymology of the word Hurlewayne, see Skeat's Dict., s. v. Harlequin.
p. 1, l. 16. Hope is a hoop: see Larwood's Signboards, p. 488.—
W. W. S.
p. 2, l. 18. Such vitailles as he fonde in town. Here in town = at
hand: cf. Sir Thopas (ed. Skeat), l. 1983 and Note: also Guy of War-
wicke, 1. 5841:
"God let me neuyr dye in londe."
On which Professor Zupitza says: "in londe, used here as often with no
great force"; he then compares with it the expression in toune.
instances are:
66 Hyt befell in the month of June,
Whan the fenell hangeth yn toun,
Other
Grene in semly sales."
Lybeaus Disconus (Ritson), 1. 1225.
"And ich him schal with myn hond teche
Hou Goddes grame com to toune
Ryght amidelward his croun."
The Seuyn Sages (Weber).
"Had she brought some forty pounds to town,
I could be content to make her my wife."
R. Green's George-a-Greene (ed. Dyce), p. 260, col. 2,—
where Dyce's Note on the word "town" is: Qy. dower. The expression
might still be heard in the present century in East Anglia: in my
early youth an old servant by way of informing me that some friends of
ours had an addition to their family, said: “A new Miss
has just
come to town." Cp. also the usage of "in place" and "in the stede."
p. 2, 1. 20.
The Pardoner beheld and aside swervid. ? perhaps
diskennyng agrees with statis, and we may translate: "The Pardoner
saw how the people of good station were served, and how, ignoring
him quietly, they slipped away from him."
p. 2, 1. 40. Benedicite, pronounce ben'cite, or ben'cit; see Skeat's
Gl. to Prioresses Tale, &c.
p. 2, 1. 42.
she gan to fnese. ? snese, as fnese elsewhere means to
blow, as Prof. Skeat has pointed out.
p. 2, 1. 43.
Aha! all hole. In Germany when any one sneezes,
the custom is for the bystanders to cry out pros't (prosit), in Austria
Gesundheit. In France, Belgium, and Italy, they say in their respective
languages, "God bless you": also in some parts of England, for
instance in Suffolk.
It is said that this custom arose at the time of the plague, a sneeze
being supposed to indicate a change for the better in the condition of
the sufferer.
p. 3, 1. 56. þat ye [been] unaservid. The words, I suppose, as
they stand with been inserted, will mean, "but you havn't been served
with your morning-meal"; from 1. 60, however, it appears that the

NOTES TO pp. 3—5, ll. 66—122.
177
Tapster was not aware that the Pardoner was fasting. ? Perhaps the
words that ye unaservid may mean: "you didn't deserve that, viz. to
suffer such extreme sorrow."
p. 3, 1. 66.
croon -
now broke wel thy name.
"panne hym spak the god king:
Wel bruk þu þi nevening;
Horn, þu go wel schulle (shrill)
By dales and bi hulle;
Horn, þu lude soo sune
Bi dales and bi dune."
King Horn, 1. 206. (Specimens by Morris.)
"Dan John, quod he, now well brouke ye your name.”
Lidgate's Prologue to the Tale of Thebes.
66
seyn a
p. 3, 1. 70. trown & feyn this song. ? For trown read crown or
murmur; the scribes frequently interchange t and c: see note
on 1. 822. ? Also for feyn read seyn; in Chaucer we find
song": later in this tale, 1. 2462, we have: "I will not feyn one word,
as makers doon to ryme"; but there the word feyn relates to composi-
tion of verse, not to singing.
p. 4, 1. 99.
"Now certen, quod the tapster, yee have a red ful even,
As wold to God yee couth as wel undo my sweven.”
ared ful even = interpreted rightly, in this passage the Tapster's be-
haviour, but arede is frequently used for to interpret a dream, and we
find it with the word even attached in The Boke of the Dutchesse, 1. 284 :
"Ne nat scarcely Macrobeus
[Coude]
I trow, arede my dremes even."
Rede is so used in modern poetry; as in Campbell's
"Glenara, Glenara, now read me my dream."
Also "read me my riddle" we find several times in Bishop Percy's
Folio.
Undo my sweven.
Cp. Romaunt of the Rose, 1. 7:
"An authour that hight Macrobees
That halteth not dremes false ne lees,
But undoth us the avision
That whilom mette king Cipioun."
p. 5, 1. 109. a lover glad. glad does not suit the context, unless we
take it in the sense of "anxious." See Lancelot of the Laik, 1. 2798,
"gladly desyrit," and 1. 2946.
"*** hone the Tapster made the Pardoner pull
Garlik all the longe nyghte."
p. 5, 1. 122.
? pull
= pill or peel; cp.
"Wyll, Wyll, Wyll, Wyll, Wyll,
He ruleth always still.
Good reason & good skyll,

NOTES TO pp. 5—6, ll. 125–151.
They may garlic pyll,
Cary sackes to the myll,
Or pescoddes they may shyll
Or elles go rost a stone."
Skelton's Why come ye not to Courte, ? 103-109.
Todd in his Dict., s. v. pilled-garlick, says:
66 one whose hair is fallen
off by a disease: A pleasant discourse between the authour & pild-
garlick; wherein is declared the nature of the disease,' 4to, 1619.
999
Sir John Denham, in his Directions to a Painter, p. 21, published in
1667, terms a certain officer "poor Peelgarlick," the reason for this
appellation being that part of his posteriors had been shorn away by
a cannon-ball. We find the term as late as 1770 in Foote's Lame Lover,
ad fin. where Sir Luke says of himself:
"So then it seems poor Pilgarlik is discarded at once."
It is easy to understand why a man whose hair has fallen off, or
part of whose body has been flayed, should be compared in derision to
peeled garlick, but not so easy to see why "to peel garlic" should be
regarded as a degrading occupation, as it apparently is in the passage
before us. Mr. Wedgwood compares the Fr. saying: "Il en pelera la
prune ”—he will smart for it, he will have the worst of it. The question
is also discussed in Notes and Queries, 1st S., i. and ii., and in Latham's
Dict. It may be, however, that the expression was originally
"to
make a man peeled-garlik or pilgarlik," which is intelligible, and was
then corrupted into "to make a man pill garlic."
p. 5, 1. 125. þouȝe she aquyt his while. Cp. Man of Lawes Tale,
584, where Skeat's Note is: "quyte her while, repay her time; i. e. her
pains, trouble; as when we say: 'it is worth while'; wile is not
intended."
p. 6, 11. 137-8.
"Put forth the Prelatis, þe Person & his fere.
A monk that toke the spryngill with a manly chere.”
Substitute a comma for the full-stop after fere. Perhaps also for
A monk we should read The monk; in any case this monk is the monk
of the Canterbury Tales; the words "manly chere" agree with the
description given of him by the Host in the Prologue to the Monk's
Tale.
p. 6, 1. 141.
"The ffrere feynyd fetously the spryngill for to hold,
To spryng upon the remnant."
? For feynyd may we here read feyndyd, from the A.S. fandian, to
attempt, try. In Chaucer the word appears as fonde, and in Gologros
and Gawayn as faynd.
99
p. 6, 1. 151. for the story mourned.
sometimes to
sorrow. Cp.
The word "mourn seems
mean "to be deep in thought," unconnected with
"And in gret thout he was
Wher it was his wyfe, er hyt nas.

NOTES TO pp. 6-11, ll. 160--310.
179
p. 6, l. 160.
p. 7, l. 172.
Alse he sat in mornynge,
Anon he thout upon the rynge."
Seven Sages, 1. 3013 (ed. T. Wright).
"he murned ful swiðe
to habben þat maiden to wiue."
Layumon's Brut. (Specimens by Morris and Skeat), 1. 585.
kynd of brode = native breeding.
out of contrey, out of his own country. Cp. 1. 2294 :
66 county. Var.
"sith he of contre past." Halliwell, s. v. country, says:
Dial.
; this usage is frequent.
"And commandede barouns thre
Her to lede out of cuntré
To the wyldest forest that myght be
وو
Of Crystendome." Octovian Imperator (Weber iii. 285).
"And outte of cuntré wille I wende." Sir Amadas (Weber iii. 35).
"Seth he went out of cuntré." Sir Cleges (Weber i.), 485.
p. 7, 1. 178.
sey = saw.
Save the Sompnour seid somewhat. ? For seid read
p. 7, 1. 188.
þouȝe wee shoul set at sale Al the shrewdnes that I can.
For wee read I, wee being caught from preceding wee. This error is
frequent with our scribe.
p. 7, l. 192. to the dynerward.
A late instance of this construction
occurs in Sidney's Arcadia, lib. ii., p. 98, ed. 1638. "And so went she
from them to the Lodge-ward."—S.
p. 7, 1. 195.
(ed. Skeat):
p. 9, 1. 247.
till girdill gon arise. Cp. Man of Lawes Tale, 1. 789
"He drank and wel his girdel underpyghte."
He was of al factur, aftir fourm of kynde. He was
made for everything by natural formation or constitution.
p. 9, 1. 250-1. Probably some lines between these two are lost.
As the prologue stands, the Sompnour had said nothing to the Frere
since their arrival in Canterbury, though, 1. 186, he says he will do so
on their way home.
p. 10, 1. 284.
Also roo, s.
rowe rest (cp. G. ruhen).—W. W. S. Cp.
"She wolde never rest nor rowe,
Till she came our king unto."—Percy's Folio MS. ii. 548/606.
rest, in Guy & Colebrande.-Jamieson.
Insert there after grewe;
p. 10, 1. 290.
ffor many a herbe grewe.
it is required both
p. 10, 1. 293.
by sense and metre.
And other beddis by & by, one beside the other.
For
by & by, see note by Professor Skeat in N. & Q., 11th S., ix. 37.
he drank without the cupp. Cp. 460: "He shall
p. 11, 1. 306.
drynk for kittis love without cup or pot," i. e. in
p. 11, 1. 310.
And fond hir ligging liry-long.
abundance.
Cp. with this:
"Somme leyde her legges a liri (leri).” Piers Plowman, vi. 123.
66
I venture to suggest that liry-long means at length like a dormouse
(loir)," and a liri after the manner of a dormouse.
Littré (s. v. loir) tells us that the Berry pronunciation of loir is lire;