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Title: The Canterbury pilgrims A comedy Author: Percy MacKaye Release date: April 11, 2023 [eBook #70526] Language: English Original publication: United States: The Macmillan Company Credits: Mary Glenn Krause, Charlene Taylor, Krista Zaleski and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS *** Transcriber’s Notes Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations in hyphenation and accents have been standardised but all other spelling and punctuation remains unchanged. Italics are represented thus _italic_. The Canterbury Pilgrims _A COMEDY_ [Illustration] The Canterbury Pilgrims _A COMEDY_ BY PERCY MACKAYE [Illustration: THE TABARD INN] New York THE MACMILLAN COMPANY LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD. 1909 _All rights reserved_ COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. Set up and electrotyped. Published March, 1903. Reprinted September, 1908; September, 1909. Norwood Press J. S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co. Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. To C. A. Sothern In Friendship “O KINDLY Muse! let not my weak tongue falter In telling of this goodly company, Of their old piety and of their glee; But let a portion of ethereal dew Fall on my head, and presently unmew My soul; that I may dare, in wayfaring, To stammer where old Chaucer used to sing.” [KEATS: _Endymion_.] [Illustration] DRAMATIS PERSONÆ 1. CHARACTERS BASED ON “THE CANTERBURY TALES.” _MEN_ GEOFFREY CHAUCER, Poet at King Richard’s Court, and Knight of the Shire for Kent. The KNIGHT (_Dan Roderigo d’Algezir_). The SQUIRE (_Aubrey_), his son. The YEOMAN, his servant. The MONK. The FRIAR (_Huberd_). The MERCHANT. The CLERK. The MAN-OF-LAW. The FRANKLIN. The HABERDASHER, } The CARPENTER, } The WEAVER, } Members of a Guild. The DYER, } The TAPICER, } The COOK (_Roger Hogge_). The SHIPMAN (_Jack_). The DOCTOR. The PARSON (_Jankin_). The PLOUGHMAN. The MILLER (_Bob_ or _Robin_). The MANCIPLE. The REEVE. The SUMMONER. The PARDONER. The HOST (_Herry Bailey_). The CANON’S YEOMAN. JOANNES, } MARCUS, } The Prioress’s Priests. PAULUS, } _WOMEN_ The WIFE OF BATH (_Alisoun_). The PRIORESS (_Madame Eglantine_). A NUN, her attendant. MISTRESS BAILEY, of the Tabard Inn. II. CHARACTERS NOT BASED ON “THE CANTERBURY TALES.” _MEN_ RICHARD II, King of England. JOHN OF GAUNT, Duke of Lancaster, uncle of the King, brother-in-law of Chaucer, and patron of Wycliffe. The DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, his brother. DE VERE, Duke of Ireland, Richard’s favourite. The ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY. JOHN WYCLIFFE, the religious reformer, founder of the “Lollards.” BOTTLEJOHN, Host of the One Nine-pin inn, at Bob-up-and-down. HIS PRENTICES (_Ned_ and _Dick_). A KITCHEN-BOY. A VENDER OF RELICS. ANOTHER VENDER. A BLACK FRIAR. A GREY FRIAR. A PRIEST OF CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL. HERALDS. CHOIR-BOYS. _WOMEN_ JOHANNA, Marchioness of Kent. CANTERBURY BROOCH-GIRLS. SERVING-MAIDS. NOTE.--Those designated as Alisoun’s “Swains” are the Friar, Cook, Shipman, Miller, Manciple, Summoner, Pardoner. ACT FIRST “BIFEL that, in that seson on a day, In Southwerk at the Tabard as I lay Redy to wenden on my pilgrimage To Caunterbury, with ful devout corage, At night was come into that hostelrye Wel nyne and twenty in a companye Of sondry folk, by aventure y-falle In felawshipe, and pilgrims were they alle, That toward Caunterbury wolden ryde.” ACT I TIME: April 16th, 1387. Late afternoon. SCENE: The Tabard Inn at Southwark, near London. _When the scene opens, about half of the PILGRIMS have arrived; the others come in during the first part of the act. Those already arrived are the MILLER, SHIPMAN, COOK, PARSON, PLOUGHMAN, FRANKLIN, DOCTOR, FRIAR, HABERDASHER, CARPENTER, WEAVER, DYER, TAPICER, CLERK, and CHAUCER._ _At rise of curtain, the HOST is just moving to receive the KNIGHT, SQUIRE, and YEOMAN at the door, back. Chaucer sits with a big volume on his knee in the corner by the fireplace, left; right front, the Miller and the Cook are wrestling, while those near look on._ COOK Now, masters, see a miller eat bran! MILLER Corpus! I’d liever wrastle with a butterfly. SHIPMAN Tackle him aft. FRANKLIN Grip, mon. [_They clutch each other._] A SERVING-MAID [_Aside to Friar._] A diamond pin? FRIAR [_Lisps slightly._] One of thy glances stickéd through my heart! [_Offers her the pin._] SERVING-MAID The Master is not looking now. FRIAR A bargain? [_Maid nods, takes the pin, and hurries off to serve at table. Friar follows._] HOST Welcome, Sir Knight! KNIGHT Is this the Tabard Inn? HOST [_Points through the open door to his swinging sign._] Lo yonder, sir, is Herry Bailey’s shirt Flappeth in the wind; and this is Herry himself. [_Claps his hands for a serving-boy._] Knave! WEAVER [_Pounds on the table with a jug, while Carpenter tosses dice._] Ale, here! Ale! [_A shout from the pilgrims, front._] MILLER [_Throwing the Cook._] Down! SHIPMAN Jolly chuck! COOK [_Getting to his feet with a bloody nose and fisting._] ’Sblood! Thou-- FRANKLIN Hold, Master Cook, sith thou hast licked the platter, Go now and wash the gravy off thy nose. Look to him, doctor. DOCTOR Here! FRANKLIN [_To the Miller._] And thou shalt eat A sop of wine with me. By God, thy hand! PARSON [_To Ploughman, drawing him away._] He sweareth like Sathanas. Come! PLOUGHMAN Toot, brother! A little swearing saveth from the gallows. MILLER [_Laughing at the Cook._] His nose is like a tart. CLERK [_To Chaucer, feasting his eyes on his book._] Grant pardon, sir. In vanitate humanorum rerum, I’ the world’s uproar, ’tis sweet to find a scholar. CHAUCER A book’s a mistress all the world may love And none be jilted. CLERK Then am I in love. What is the book? CHAUCER A medley, like its master, Containing many divers characters, Bound in one hide. Whoso shall read it through He shall behold Troilus and Launcelot Sighing in Cæsar’s face, and Scaramouche Painting with grins the back of Aristotle. CLERK [_Sparkling._] What!--Aristotle? CHAUCER [_Rising, hands him the volume._] I prithee look it through. CLERK Grammercy--somewhat farther from the piping. [_Draws farther away from the Squire, who is beginning to play a few strains on his flute, in front of the fire._] MAN OF LAW [_Entering with_ MERCHANT.] For this recognisance-- MERCHANT The ship was wrecked. MAN OF LAW Depardieux! Then your property is flotsam And liable to salvage. Therefore you Will need me as your man-of-law. KNIGHT [_To Chaucer._] I knew You were a soldier by your bearing, sir. You were at Cressy? CHAUCER Nay, Sir Knight, I played With tin swords then. Though I have often fought At Frenchmen’s heels, I was but six years old When our Black Edward won his spurs. KNIGHT Runs time So swiftly?--One and forty years ago! HOST [_To a serving-maid._] Belive, wench! FRIAR [_Stealing a kiss from her._] In principio-- HOST What’s here? MAID The gentle friar! HOST Gentle flower-de-luce! [_Makes after Friar, who dodges behind_ MISTRESS BAILEY.] MISTRESS BAILEY [_Shrewishly._] Hold; goodman Herry! ’Tis a friend of mine. [_Host retires; Friar mocks him._] KNIGHT I am returning from the Holy Land And go to pay my vows at Canterbury. This is my son. CHAUCER Go you to Canterbury As well, Sir Squire? [_The Squire, putting down his flute, sighs deeply._] KNIGHT My son, the gentleman Accosts thee! SQUIRE Noble gentleman--Ah me! [_He turns away._] CHAUCER [_Follows him._] My dearest heart and best beloved foe, Why liketh you to do me all this woe? What have I done that grieveth you, or said, Save that I love and serve you, high and low? And whilst I live I will do ever so. Wherefore, my sweet, do not that I be dead; For good and fair and gentle as ye be, It were great wonder if but that ye had A thousand thousand servants, good and bad: The most unworthiest servant--I am he! SQUIRE Sir, by my lady’s grace, you are a poet And lover, like myself. We shall be brothers. But pardon, sir, those verses are not yours. Dan Chaucer wrote them. Ah, sir, know you Chaucer? CHAUCER Twelve stone of him! SQUIRE Would _I_ did! Is he not An amorous divinity? Looks he Like pale Leander, or some ancient god? CHAUCER Sooth, he is like old Bacchus round the middle. SQUIRE How acts he when in love? What feathers wears he? Doth he sigh oft? What lady doth he serve? Oh! [_At a smile from Chaucer, he starts back and looks at him in awe; then hurries to the Knight. Chaucer walks among the pilgrims, talking with them severally._] MILLER [_To Franklin._] Ten gallon ale? God’s arms! I take thee. MAN OF LAW What’s The wager? FRANKLIN Yonder door; this miller here Shall break it, at a running, with his head. The door is oak. The stakes ten gallon ale. SHIPMAN Ho, then, I bet the miller shall be drunk. MERCHANT What bet? SHIPMAN Twelve crown upon the miller. MERCHANT Done. [_At the door appears the_ PRIORESS, _accompanied by a_ NUN _and her three_ PRIESTS, _one of whom_, JOANNES, _carries a little pup. The Host hurries up with a reverence._] HOST Welcome, my lady dear. Vouchsafe to enter Poor Herry Bailey’s inn. PRIORESS Merci. HOST [_To a serving-boy._] Knave, show My lady Prioress to the blue chamber Where His Majesty, King Richard, slept. PRIORESS Joannes, Mark, Paulus, stay! have you the little hound Safe? JOANNES Yes, my lady. PRIORESS Carry him before, But carefully. MILLER [_To Yeoman._] Here, nut-head, hold my hood. YEOMAN Wilt try bareheaded? FRIAR ’Mass! FRANKLIN Ho, for a skull! Miller, thou art as tough a knot as e’er The Devil tied. By God, mine ale is spilled. [_The priests and Prioress have just reached the door, left front, which the Miller is preparing to ram._] PLOUGHMAN The door is locked. JOANNES But, sir, the Prioress-- SHIPMAN Heigh! Clear the decks! [_The Miller, with clenched fists, and head doubled over, runs for the door._] YEOMAN Harrow! PARSON Run, Robin. GUILD-MEN [_Rise from their dice._] Ho! [_With a crash, the Miller’s head strikes the door and splits it. At the shock, he rebounds against Joannes, and reaching to save himself from falling, seizes the puppy._] MILLER A twenty devils! GUILD-MEN [_All but the Weaver, clambering over the table._] Come on! PLOUGHMAN [_To the Miller._] What aileth thee? MILLER The priest hath bit my hand. JOANNES Sweet sir, the puppy-- It was the puppy, sir. MILLER Wring me its neck. PRIORESS Alas, Joannes--help! MILLER By Corpus bones! Give me the cur. PRIORESS St. Loy! Will no one help? CHAUCER Madame, what may I do? PRIORESS My little hound-- The churl--My little hound! The churl will hurt it. If you would fetch to me my little hound-- CHAUCER Madame, I’d fetch you Cerberus from hell. MILLER Lo, masters! See a dog’s neck wrung! CHAUCER [_Breaking through the crowd, seizes the Miller by the throat._] Which dog’s? MILLER Leave go!--’Sdeath! Take the whelp, a devil’s name. CHAUCER Kneel! Ask grace of this lady here. MILLER [_Sullenly._] What lady? CHAUCER Of her whom gentles call St. Charity In every place and time.-- [_Turns then towards Prioress._] What other name This lady bears, I have not yet been honoured With knowing.--Kneel! MILLER [_Morosely; kneels._] Lady, I axe your pardon. CHAUCER Madame, your little hound is safe. PRIORESS [_Nestles the little hound with tender effusiveness; then turns shyly to Chaucer._] Merci! My name is Madame Eglantine. [_Hurries out, left._] CHAUCER [_Aside._] Hold, Geoffrey! Yon beastie’s quaking side thumped not as thine Thumps now. And wilt thou ape a little hound? Ah, Madame Eglantine, unless ye be To me, as well as him, St. Charity! FRANKLIN Who is the man? MILLER The Devil, by his eye. They say King Richard hath to court a wrastler Can grip ten men. I guess that he be him. COOK Ho! milksop of a miller! MILLER [_Seizing him._] Say it twice; What? COOK Nay, thou art a bull at bucking doors. FRANKLIN Let ribs be hoops for twenty gallon ale And stop your wind-bags. Come. MILLER [_With a grin, follows the Franklin._] By Corpus bones! SHIPMAN Twelve crown. MERCHANT Twelve, say you? See my man-of-law. WEAVER [_Springs to his feet._] The throw is mine! DYER A lie! When we were away You changed the dice! WEAVER My throw was cinq and three. DYER A lie! Have it in your gullet! [_Draws his knife. They fight._] CARPENTER Part them! TAPICER Back! HOST Harrow! Dick Weaver, hold! Fie, Master Dyer, Here’s not a dyeing stablishment; we want No crimson cloth--Clap hands now: Knave, more ale. CHAUCER [_To the Doctor._] If then, as by hypothesis, this cook Hath broke his nose, it follows first that we Must calculate the ascendent of his image. DOCTOR Precisely! Pray proceed. I am fortunate To have met a fellow-doctor at this inn. CHAUCER Next, treating him by magic natural, Provide him well with old authorities, As Esculapius, Diescorides, Damascien, Constantinus, Averrois, Hippocrates, Serapion, Razis, Bernardus, Galienus, Gilbertinus-- DOCTOR But, sir, the fellow cannot read-- CHAUCER Why, true; Then there remains but one sure remedy, Thus: bid him, fasting, when the moon is wane, And Venus rises in the house of Pisces, To rub it nine times with a herring’s tail. DOCTOR Yea, Pisces is a fish.--I thank you, sir. [_He hurries off to the Cook, whose nose he has patched._] HOST [_To the Reeve, who enters._] God save thee, Osewold! What’s o’clock? Thou look’st As puckered as a pear at Candlemas. REEVE There be too many folk i’ the world; and none Is ripe till he be rotten. [_Sits at table._] Penny’orth ale! SQUIRE My lord, father! KNIGHT Well, son? SQUIRE [_Looking at Chaucer._] Sir, saw you ever So knightly, sweet, and sovereign a man, With eyes so glad and shrewdly innocent? O, when I laid my hand in his, and looked Into his eyes, meseemed I rode on horse Into the April open fields, and heard The larks upsinging in the sun. Sir, have You guessed who ’tis? KNIGHT To judge him by his speech, Some valiant officer. SQUIRE Nay, _I_ have guessed. [_A merry jingling of bells outside. Enter the Monk, holding up a dead swan._] MONK Soft! Handle not the fat swan. Give it me. Bailey, I’ll learn thy cook to turn a spit. [_Exit, right. Enter, left, Joannes._] CHAUCER [_To Ploughman._] Aye, man, but weather is the ploughman’s wife To take for worse or better. If thy loam Be thin, and little snow, which is the best Manure, then thou must dung thy furrows twice ’Twixt Michelmas and March. PLOUGHMAN Aye, but but-- JOANNES Sir Knight, This letter.... CHAUCER What! from whom? PLOUGHMAN Toot! Canst thou read, mon? JOANNES This letter, sir, my Lady Prioress-- CHAUCER From Madame Eglantine? Waits she an answer? JOANNES So please you, sir. CHAUCER Sweet saints! [_Takes the letter and reads, aside._] PLOUGHMAN [_Watches Chaucer curiously._] Aye, ’e can read it. [_Outside, is heard the distant voice of the Wife of Bath_ (ALISOUN), _joined in chorus by the_ PARDONER, MANCIPLE, _and_ SUMMONER, _singing_.] ALISOUN When folk o’ Faerie Are laughing in the laund, And the nix pipes low in the miller’s pond, Come hither, love, to me. [_Chorus._] With doe and with dove, Come back to your love. Come hither, love, to me. CHAUCER [_Reading the Prioress’s letter, as the song outside sounds nearer._] “Monsieur l’inconnu Chevalier-- These greetings shall apprise you that the little hound is convalescent, and now suffereth from nothing save a sore necessity for nourishment. Wherefore, being cast in holy pilgrimage upon this revelous inn, I appeal once more, gentil monsieur, to your honourable chivalry, of which I beseech you this favour, to wit; that you shall see prepared and delivered into the hands of Joannes, my priest, a recipe as follows:-- One ounce of wastel-bread, toasted a pleasant brown; One little cup of fresh milk; Soak the former in the latter, till the sand-glass shall be run half out; Then sprinkle sparingly with sweet root of beet, rubbed fine. Serve neatly. MADAME EGLANTINE.” SHIPMAN [_At the door, to Friar, who is starting to flirt with a third serving-maid._] Hist! Who’s yon jolly Nancy riding here, With them three tapsters tooting up behind? FRIAR By sweet St. Cuthbert! SHIPMAN Ha! ye ken the wench. FRIAR The wench? Oho! Thou sayest well. List, sir; List, gentle Mariner! Thy wench hath been A five times wedded and five hundred woo’d; Hath rode alone to sweet Jerusalem And back more oft than Dick-the-Lion’s-Heart; And in her right ear she is deaf as stone, Because, she saith, that once with her right ear She listened to a lusty Saracen. She was not born a-yesterday, yet, by The merry mass, when she comes in the door, She maketh sweet-sixteen as stale as dough. SHIPMAN She looks a jolly Malkin. What’s her name? FRIAR Dame Alisoun, a cloth-maker of Bath. CHAUCER [_Reading._] “P.S. Let not the under-side be toasted as brown as the upper. P.P.S. The milk should not be skimmed.” [_Laughs to himself._] “A little cup of milk and wastel-bread!” Haha!--A gentle heroine for a tale! My heart is lost. [_To Joannes, who is trembling at the Miller._] What, fellow, art thou scared? Come with me to the kitchen. JOANNES [_Follows timidly._] Ben’cite! [_Exeunt._] [_Outside the song, “Come hither, Love,” bursts into chorus. Enter the_ WIFE OF BATH, _astride a small white ass, which is fancifully caparisoned like a fairy creature. Spurs jingle on the Wife’s boots, and on her head is a great round hat. Followed by the_ SUMMONER, PARDONER, _and_ MANCIPLE, _she rides into the middle of the floor and reins up._] ALISOUN Whoa-oop!--God save this merry company! [_A commotion._] By God, I ween ye ken not what I am: I am the jolly elf-queen, and this is My milk-white doe, whereon I ride as light As Robin Good-boy on a bumble-bee; [_Indicating the ass’s ears._] These be his wings.-- And lo--my retinue! These here be choir-boys from Fairy-land. Come, Pardoner, toot up my praise anon. PARDONER AND ALISOUN [_sing_] When sap runs in the tree, And the huntsman sings “Halloo!” And the greenwood saith: “Peewit! Cuckoo!” Come hither, love, to me. SWAINS AND ALISOUN With turtle and plover, Come back to your lover. Come hither, love, to me. ALISOUN Now, lads, the chorus! [_The Swains and Alisoun, joined by several other pilgrims, repeat chorus._] MILLER Nails and blood! Again! FRIAR Encore! ALISOUN Nay lads, the song hath dried my whistle. The first that fetches me a merry jug Shall kiss my lily-white hand. [_The Swains, with a shout, scramble to get ale of the tapster._] SWAINS Here, ale here! ale! HOST Slow, masters! Turtle wins the rabbit race. MILLER [_Offers his tankard, tipsily._] Give’s thy hand, girl. ALISOUN Thou art drunk! ’Tis empty. MILLER Well, ’tis a jug. Ye said “a merry jug.” ALISOUN Pardee! I’ll keep my word. MILLER [_Grinning, raises his face to her._] A kiss? ALISOUN A smack! [_Flings the tankard at his head._] MILLER [_Dodging it._] Harrow! THE OTHER SWAINS [_Pell-mell._] Here! here! Take mine! FRIAR Drink, sweet Queen Mab! [_Re-enter Chaucer and Joannes. Chaucer carries in his hand a crock._] ALISOUN [_To the Friar._] What, Huberd, are ye there? Ye are too late, All o’ ye! The elf-queen spies her Oberon. [_Wheeling the ass to confront Chaucer._] By God, sir, you’re the figure of a man For me.--Give me thy name. CHAUCER Your Majesty, This is most sudden. Dare I hope you would Have me bestow my humble name upon you? ALISOUN Make it a swap, mon. Mine is Alisoun, And lads they ken me as the Wife of Bath! CHAUCER My name is Geoffrey. When the moon is full, I am an elf and skip upon the green; By my circumference fairy-rings are drawn, And lasses ken me as the Elvish Knight. SQUIRE [_Aside._] Father, ’tis he--the poet laureate! KNIGHT Brother-in-law to John of Gaunt? SQUIRE The same. SHIPMAN [_Offers his mug again._] Take this, old girl. ALISOUN The devil take a tar. [_Snatches the crock from Chaucer’s hand._] I’ll take a swig from Geoffrey’s.--Holy Virgin! What pap is this here? Milk and wastel-bread? CHAUCER Nay, ’tis a kind of brew concocted from The milky way, to nurse unmarried maids. ALISOUN [_Hands it back quickly._] Saints! None o’ that for me. CHAUCER [_Aside to Joannes._] Bear it to your mistress. ALISOUN [_Aside._] Mistress? Aha!--A woman in the case. [_Aloud._] Give us your hand, Sir Knight o’ the Wastel-bread, And help me light adown.-- What! Are ye afeared To take me in your arms? CHAUCER Sweet Alisoun, Thou art a vision of the ruddy Venus Bright pommelled on the unspotted Pegasus, And I am Ganymede, thy stable boy. [_He helps her to alight._] ALISOUN Well swung! What think ye of my jolly heft? CHAUCER Thou art a very dandelion seed And I thy zephyr. MILLER [_To the Swains._] ’Sblood! He steals our wench. SQUIRE [_Approaching Chaucer diffidently, speaks under his breath._] Great Master Chaucer. CHAUCER Hush! Speak not my name. [_Takes the Squire aside._] ALISOUN Halloa! what’s struck this jolly company? Ye’re flat as stale ale. Master Summoner, what’s The matter now? Ye should be glad at heart To wear so merry a bonfire in your face. SUMMONER Was it for this I sang, “Come hither, Love”? COOK Aye, was it for this? ALISOUN What, Roger Hogge, yourself? How long, bird, have you worn a gallows-warrant Upon your nose? [_The others hoot._] COOK As long, Dame Alisoun, As you have had a hogshead for a sweetheart. ALISOUN Geoffrey, ye mean? Ho! Are ye jealous there? [_To the Shipman._] Jack, too, and hast a wife to home at Dartmouth? Hark, lads! This Jealousy is but a ninny; For though there be a nine-and-twenty stars, Yet Jealousy stares only at the moon. Lo! I myself have made a vow ’twixt here And holy Thomas’ shrine to twig a husband; But if I like this fellow Geoffrey, can’t I like ye all? By God, give me your fists; And I will tip ye a secret. [_Mysteriously._] I am deef! Ye ken all great folks have some great defect: Cupid is blind and Alisoun is deef; But Cupid--he can wink the t’other eye, And Alis--she can ope the t’other ear. FRIAR Sweet Alis, which is deaf? ALISOUN I said, the t’other. FRIAR Nay, but which ear, the right or left? ALISOUN Love, if Ye guess the right ye won’t be left: how’s that? So, fellows, ye can knock at either door; And while Tom standeth scraping the front mat, By God then, Dick, go rap at the side porch; The t’other door is locked; I say not which. [_Laughing and boxing their ears as they try, in turn, to whisper to her, she leads them to the ale-barrel, where they drink._] FRIAR Sweet brethren, drink with me to t’other ear! ALISOUN Here’s pot-luck to you all, lads! PARDONER. [_Who has spread out his relics in another part of the room._] Pardons! pardons! Offer your nobles now; spoons, brooches, rings: Radix malorum est cupiditas. CHAUCER [_Aside to Squire._] Pray, speak no word of who I am. I ride To Canterbury now, to bid farewell My kinsman, John of Gaunt. But on the road, I travel here incognito. SQUIRE But, sir, At least, beseech you, let me guard your person; So mean an inn, such raw folk, must offend King Richard’s royal poet. CHAUCER Not so, lad. To live a king with kings, a clod with clods, To be at heart a bird of every feather, A fellow of the finch as well as the lark, The equal of each, brother of every man: _That_ is to be a poet, and to blow Apollo’s pipe with every breath you breathe. Therefore, sweet boy, don’t label me again In this good company. SQUIRE I will not, sir-- [_Aside._] A god! A very god! PARDONER Here’s relics! pardons! Offer your nobles now; spoons, brooches, rings! Lordings, step up! Pardons from Rome all hot. [_A crowd gathers round him._] PARSON [_Lifting a relic._] What’s this? PARDONER That, master, is the shoulder-bone Of a sheep once slaughtered by a holy Jew. Take heed, lordings, take heed! What man is here That hath to home a well? SEVERAL I! I! PARDONER Pay heed! Let any man take this same shoulder-bone And chuck it in his well, and if he own A cow, or calf, or ass, which hath the pox, Take water from that well, and wash its tongue. Presto! It shall be well again. PLOUGHMAN [_To the Parson._] By Mary, I’ll try it on Mol. PARDONER Hark, lordings, what I say! If also the goodman that owns the beasts Shall, fasting, before cock-crow, drink three draughts Of that same well, his store shall multiply. PARSON My word! FRANKLIN Nay, that’s worth while. PARDONER List what I say! Also, if any wife shall boil a broth Of this same bone, it healeth jealousy. ALISOUN Ho! give it me! And every fellow here Shall suck the marrow-bone. PARDONER What will you offer? ALISOUN [_Throws a kiss._] That’s all ye get o’ me. PARSON I’ll give a florin. PARDONER Done, Master Parson. Listen, lordings, list! This is a piece o’ the sail St. Peter had When he walked on the sea; and lo! this cloth-- ALISOUN A pillow-case! PARDONER This is the Virgin’s veil. And in this crystal glass behold-- ALISOUN Pig’s bones! [_Slaps Chaucer on the shoulder._] What, Geoffrey lad! Which will ye liever kiss, A dead saint’s bones, or a live lass--her lips? [_Enter, L., the Prioress._] CHAUCER Why, Alisoun, I say all flesh is grave-clothes, And lips the flowers that blossom o’er our bones; God planted ’em to bloom in laughter’s sunshine And April kissing-showers. [_Laughing, he kisses Alisoun and faces the Prioress._] St. Charity! ALISOUN Haha! That time I had thee on the rump. [_She calls the Friar aside, R._] PRIORESS [_Starting to go._] Je vous demande pardong, Monsieur. CHAUCER Madame, Qu’est ce que je puis faire pour elle? PRIORESS Rien, rien. CHAUCER Madame, mais si vous saviez comme je meurs De vous servir-- PRIORESS You speak patois, Monsieur; _I_ studied French in Stratford-at-the-Bowe. CHAUCER Your accent is adorably--unique. PRIORESS [_Is about to melt, but sees Alisoun._] And you a gentilhomme--at least I thought so Whenas you saved my little hound--Ah, sir! CHAUCER Adam was our first father: I’m her brother. PRIORESS You meant no more? CHAUCER Her brother and your servant, Madame. And for the rest, I ride to Canterbury: I will absolve me at St. Thomas’ shrine. PRIORESS [_Eagerly._] Go you to Canterbury? CHAUCER With the rest. PRIORESS Oh! I am glad--that is, I came to ask you. Know you, Monsieur, where lies upon the way A little thorp men call Bob-up-and-down? CHAUCER Right well--we pass it on the road. PRIORESS We do? Merci. [_Going._] MILLER [_Amid uproar, drinks to Alisoun._] Lend me thy t’other ear. [_Startled, the Prioress returns to Chaucer. Behind them, the Friar, at a sign from Alisoun, listens unobserved._] PRIORESS You see-- I expect to meet my brother on the road. He is returning from the Holy Land; I am to meet him at the One Nine-pin, A tavern at Bob-up-and-down. But-- CHAUCER But? PRIORESS I have not seen him since I was a child. I have forgotten how he looks. CHAUCER He is Returning from the Holy Land? PRIORESS And has His son with him, for squire. He is a knight. CHAUCER [_Aside, looking at the Knight and Squire._] A son--his squire? Good Lord! PRIORESS And so, Monsieur, I’m boldened by your courtesy to ask Your help to find him at Bob-up-and-down, Till which--your kind protection on the road. [_More uproar, R._] CHAUCER But-- PRIORESS Have I asked too much? CHAUCER Madame, I am honoured. [_Hesitatingly._] How, then, am I to recognise your brother? PRIORESS He wears a ring, on which is charactered The letter “A,” and after, writ, in Latin, The same inscription as is fashioned here Upon my brooch. I may not take it off, For I did promise him to wear it always. But look, sir, here’s the motto. Can you read it? [_She extends her hand, from the bracelet of which dangles a brooch. The Friar draws nearer._] CHAUCER I thank you. [_Reads._] “Amor vincit omnia.” [_Looking at her._] “Love conquers all.” PRIORESS C’est juste, Monsieur. Adieu! [_Exit, L._] FRIAR [_Making off to Alisoun._] Hist! “Amor vincit omnia,” Sweet Alis! [_After talking aside with Alisoun he goes to the Knight._] CHAUCER [_Aside, looking at the Knight and Squire._] A morning’s canter to Bob-up-and-down! “Till which--my kind protection on the road.” When last they met, she was a little child; Besides, I will make verses for his son. A morning’s canter--time, the month of April-- Place, Merry England--Why not Lord Protector Geoffrey? Her brother! What’s a suit of armor? Nay! “Amor vincit omnia.” [_Turns away._] FRIAR [_To the Knight, whose finger-ring he examines._] How quaint, sir! A crownèd “A” and underneath a motto. KNIGHT Quite so. FRIAR Merci! [_Returns quickly to Alisoun._] ALISOUN Her brother--the One Nine-pin? FRIAR To-morrow. ALISOUN Good. FRIAR Sweet Alisoun--my pay? ALISOUN Saith holy Brother Huberd? Love’s reward Is service. [_Aside, eyeing Chaucer, who passes her._] Corpus Venus! What a figure! I’ll woo him. Ay; but first to rid me of These other fellows. [_To the Friar._] Hist! In Peggy’s stall-- Peggy’s my milk-white doe--in Peggy’s stall, Thou’lt find another jolly beggar, waits To dun me. FRIAR Ho! A rendezvous? ALISOUN A trysting. Go, for my love, and play the wench for me, And nab him by the ears until I come. FRIAR St. Cupid, I am game. In Peggy’s stall? [_Exit._] [_Alisoun whispers aside individually to the Shipman and Manciple, who exeunt at different doors._] CARPENTER Sack? Sack in the cellarage? WEAVER Come on, let’s tap it. [_Exeunt with a number of others._] SUMMONER [_At table, trying to rise._] Qu--questio quid juris? COOK Now he’s drunk You’ll get no more from him but “hic, hac, hoc.” ALISOUN [_Aside to the Miller._] And hold him till I come. MILLER In Peggy’s stall? His ears shall be an ell long!--Pull his ears! [_Exit._] CLERK [_Dazedly to Chaucer, returning him his book._] I thank you, sir. Is this the Tabard Inn? So then I’m back again. Such mighty voyages The mind sails in a book! [_He walks slowly forth into the air. Chaucer sits again by the fireplace, with the book on his knees._] ALISOUN [_Aside to the Cook._] Hold fast, and wait. COOK In Peggy’s stall? ALISOUN Aye. COOK Ears for nose, Bob Miller. [_Exit._] CHAUCER [_Aside._] In Peggy’s stall, “Love conquers all.” [_Except for the drunken Summoner, Alisoun and Chaucer are now alone._] ALISOUN [_To the Summoner, lifting his head from the table._] Ho, cockerel! Perk up thy bill. SUMMONER Quid juris? ALISOUN Cluck! Cluck! How pretty Red-comb chucketh. Hark! [_Throwing her arms round his neck, she whispers in his ear._] SUMMONER A pax! What did a’ say? A pax upon him. A’ said a’d pull my ears--in Peggy’s stall? By questio! a brimstone-cherub--me! [_Rising._] Quid juris! Blood shall spurt. By quid! His nose Shall have a pax. By nails! A bloody quid! [_Seizing up from the table a round loaf for a shield and a long loaf for a sword, he reels out._] ALISOUN [_Laughing._] So, Peggy, they shall woo thy lily-white hoof, While Alisoun doth keep her rendezvous. [_Comes over to Chaucer._] Ho, candle! Come out from thy bushel. CHAUCER [_Peering over the edge of his book._] Nay, ’Tis a dark world to shine in; I will read. ALISOUN A book! Toot! My fifth husband was a clerk; He catched more learning _on_ his head than in it. What is’t about? CHAUCER The wickedness of woman. ALISOUN A man, then, wrote it. If you men will write, We wives will keep ye busy. Read’s a snack. CHAUCER [_Pretending to read._] “Whoso that builds his mansion all of mallows, Whoso that spurs his blind horse over the fallows, Whoso that lets his wife seek shrines and hallows, Is worthy to be hanged on the gallows.” ALISOUN Chuck that to another dog. My man is dead. CHAUCER [_Imperturbably._] “A lovely woman, chaste, is like a rose; Unchaste, a ring of gold in a sow’s nose.” ALISOUN Lo, what a pretty preaching pardoner! “Offer your nobles now; spoons, brooches, rings!” Cork up thy froth, a devil’s name! Come, play. CHAUCER “Better it is to dwell high on the roof Than down i’ the house where woman wields reproof.” O what a list of ladies! What a world! Hark, Alisoun! and after thou hast heard, Repent, and cease to be a woman. Hark! “Who first obeyed the snake’s advice, to thieve The apple from God’s Eden?--Mother Eve.” ALISOUN That’s Adam’s whopper. He stole it and hid in’s throat: Feel o’ your own; the apple sticks there yet. CHAUCER [_Dramatically._] “Who from great Samson’s brow hath slyly shorn His strength? Delila, answer to thy scorn. O Hercules! What woman-shaped chimaera Gave thee the poisoned cloak? Thy Deianira. O pate of Socrates! Who from the steepy Housetop upset the slop-pail? Thy Xantippe! Yea, speeding her lover through the dark finestra, Who hath her husband slain, but Clytemnestra! Thou, too, O Cleopatra--” ALISOUN [_Tearing a page out of the book, boxes Chaucer on the cheek._] Hold thy gab! A devil fetch thy drasty book! CHAUCER Hold, hold, Dame Alis! gentle Alisoun-- [_Recovers the torn page._] ALISOUN Hoot-toot! Are ye so dainty with a dirty parchment And so slipshod to smirch our reputations? You men! God’s arms! What ken ye of true women? You stuff one doll and name it Modesty, And bid her mince and giggle, hang her head And ogle in her sleeve; another poppet You make of snow and name St. Innocence: She sits by moonlight in a silver night-gown And sighs love-Latin in a nunnery. By Corpus bones! is not a mare a horse? A woman is but man; and both one beast-- A lusty animal, for field or harness. But no! ye sanctify a squeamish mule; And when an honest wench, that speaks her mind, Meets a fine lad and slaps him on the buttock, And says out plat: “Thou art a man: I love thee--” She is a sinner, and your doll a saint. CHAUCER Alis, thou speak’st like one in jealousy. ALISOUN Why, Geoffrey, so I am. To tell thee flat, I’m jealous of thy Lady Prioress. CHAUCER Peace, dame. Speak not her name with mine. ALISOUN Aye, go it, Miss Innocence and Master Modesty! How’s that? CHAUCER Dame Alisoun, it is enough. ALISOUN Why, then, it is enough. Come, lad; clap hands. I am a bud of old experience, Whom frost ne’er yet hath nipped. In love, I’ve danced The waltz and minuet. Therefore, sweet Geoffrey, This Prioress wears a brooch upon her wrist. CHAUCER Well, what of that? ALISOUN Yea, “What of that?” Good soul! She stops to-morrow at Bob-up-and-down. CHAUCER How knowest thou? ALISOUN Nay, t’other ear is wise. At the One Nine-pin she shall meet-- CHAUCER Her brother. ALISOUN What wilt thou bet she goes to meet her brother? CHAUCER Why, anything. ALISOUN Hear that! As though a veil Were perfect warrant of virginity. What wilt thou bet she goeth not to meet Her leman--aye, her lover? CHAUCER Thou art daft. ALISOUN Lo, subtle man! He robs a poor wife’s wits To insure his lady’s honour. CHAUCER Tush, tush, dame. The very brooch she wears, her brother gave her, For whose sake she hath even promised never To take it off. ALISOUN Wilt _bet_ me? CHAUCER Bet away! ALISOUN Ho, then, it is a bet, and this the stakes: If that my Lady Prioress shall give Yon brooch of gold from off her pretty wrist, Unto the man whom she expects to meet, And that same man prove not to be her brother, Then thou shalt marry me at Canterbury. CHAUCER A twenty of thee, dame. But if thou lose The stakes, then thou shalt kneel a-down and kiss Yon brooch of gold upon her pretty wrist, And pray the saints to heal thy jealousy. ALISOUN Aye, man, it is a bet; and here’s my fist. CHAUCER And here’s mine, Alis; thou art a good fellow. [_An uproar outside._] What row is this? ALISOUN Here comes my rendezvous. [_Enter in tumult, the Friar, Miller, Cook, Shipman, Summoner, and Manciple, holding fast to one another’s ears. They call out, partly in chorus._] FRIAR He’s nabbed, sweet Alisoun. MILLER Here is the lousel. SUMMONER I’ve got his quids. COOK I stalled him. ALISOUN Hang fast, hold him! Ho! fetch him down. [_Laughing._] O Geoffrey, here’s a wooing! CHAUCER Yea; “Amor vincit omnia.” ALL THE SWAINS Here he is! ALISOUN Leave go. [_They let go ears._] Where is the knave? ALL [_Pointing at one another._] There. ALISOUN Which one? ALL [_Pointing at one another._] Him! ALISOUN So, so! Hath Peggy jilted all of ye, That took such pains to grow you asses’ ears? Fie! Peg’s a jade--come back to Alisoun; She’ll learn ye the true dance of love. ALL The devil! CHAUCER Nay, Robin Huberd, Roger--lads, chirk up. These be the thorny steps of Purgatory That lead ye to your Beatrice of Bath. When ye attain unto her t’other ear-- [_They groan._] FRIAR We have attained unto it. ALISOUN [_To Chaucer._] Go thy ways! [_Draws them aside._] Come here, sweethearts! Hark! I have made a bet With goodman Geoffrey yonder. Him as helps Me best to win my bet, by God! he shall Make merry for my marriage. Come, which fellow Will help me? ALL I! ALISOUN The best shall make me bride. [_A kitchen-boy blows a horn._] BOY [_Shouts._] Meat! [_Servants enter with steaming trenchers; the other pilgrims come in and seat themselves at the table. The Prioress stands hesitating. Chaucer goes to meet her._] HOST [_Rises on a bench._] Lordings, who goes to Canterbury? ALL I! CHAUCER [_Offers his arm to the Prioress._] Madame, will you vouchsafe to me the honour? PRIORESS [_With a stately courtesy._] Merci. ALISOUN [_Imitating the Prioress, takes his other arm._] Merci! [_Chaucer escorts them both to the table, where he sits between them._] HOST Lordings! Now hearkneth to a merry game. To-morrow when you canter by the way It is no mirth to ride dumb as a stone. I say--let every fellow tell a tale To short the time, and him as tells the best You’ll give a supper here when ye return. Lo! I myself will ride with you and judge. If ye assent, hold up your hands. ALL Aye! Aye! HOST To-morrow then to Canterbury! ALL To Canterbury! [_Amid the babbling din of eating, drinking, and laughter, Alisoun leans across Chaucer’s trencher towards the Prioress._] ALISOUN Who is the lean wench, Geoffrey? PRIORESS By St. Loy! =Explicit pars prima.= ACT SECOND “Whan that Aprille with his shoures sote The droghte of Marche hath perced to the rote, And bathed every veyne in swich licour, Of which vertu engendred is the flour; Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth Inspired hath in every holt and heeth The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne, And smale fowles maken melodye, That slepen al the night with open ye, (So pricketh hem nature in hir corages): Then longen folk to goon on pilgrimages.” ACT II TIME: April 19th. The afternoon. SCENE: Garden of the One Nine-pin inn at the little hamlet of Bob-up-and-down, en route to Canterbury. _Right, the inn, with door opening into garden. Back, a wall about chin-high in which is a wicket gate. The wall is newly greened over with honeysuckle and rose-vines, which are just beginning to blossom. Left, an arbour of the same. Right front, a rough table and chair. Behind the garden wall runs the highway, beyond which stretches a quiet rolling landscape, dotted with English elms and hedgerows._ _When the curtain rises, the scene is empty. There is no sound except the singing of birds, and the hum of a loom inside the inn. Then, away to the left, is heard a bagpipe playing. It draws nearer. Behind the wall, then, against the green background of Spring, pass, in pageant, the_ CANTERBURY PILGRIMS _on horseback. Among the last, astride her ambler, rides the_ WIFE OF BATH, _telling her tale, in the group with_ CHAUCER _and the_ PRIORESS. _Behind her follow the Swains, the_ MILLER _playing the bagpipe. Last rides the_ REEVE. _Behind the scene, they are heard to stop at the inn and call for hostlers. The bustle of arrival, horses led across a stone court, laughter and abuse,--these sounds are sufficiently remote to add to the reigning sense of pleasant quietness in the garden. Through the door of the inn enters_ CHAUCER, _alone; in his hand, some parchments. He enters with an abandon of glad-heartedness, half reading from his parchments_. CHAUCER “When that April with his sunny showers Hath from the drought of March the dreamy powers Awaked, and steeped the world in such sweet wine As doth engender blossoms of the vine; When merry Zephirus, with his soft breath, In every hedge and heath inspireth The tender greening shoots, and the young Sun Hath half his course within the Ram y-run, And little birds all day make melody That, all night long, sleep with an open ee, (So Nature stirs ’em with delicious rages) Then folk they long to go on pilgrimages--” SQUIRE [_Comes from the inn._] Dan Chaucer! Master Chaucer! CHAUCER Signorino! SQUIRE Sir, what a ride! Was ever such a ride As ours from London? Hillsides newly greened, Brooks splashing silver in the small, sweet grass, Pelt gusts of rain dark’ning the hills, and then Wide swallowed up in sunshine! And to feel My snorting jennet stamp the oozy turf Under my stirrup, whilst from overhead Sonnets shook down from every bough. Oh, sir, Rode Cæsar such a triumph from his wars When Rome’s high walls were garlanded with girls? CHAUCER Boy, let me hug thee! SQUIRE Noble sir! CHAUCER [_Embracing him._] A hug! Spring makes us youths together. On such a day Old age is fuddled and time’s weights run down. Hark! [_A cuckoo sounds; they listen._] The meadow is the cuckoo’s clock, and strikes The hour at every minute; larks run up And ring its golden chimes against the sun. SQUIRE Sir, only lovers count the time in heaven. Are you in love, too? CHAUCER Over head and heart. SQUIRE Since long? CHAUCER These forty years. SQUIRE Nay, is your mistress So old? CHAUCER She’s still kind. SQUIRE Kind, yet old! Nay, what’s Her name? CHAUCER Hush, she will hear thee. SQUIRE Hear me? CHAUCER [_Mysteriously._] Hush! Mine own true mistress is sweet Out-of-doors. No Whitsun lassie wears so green a kirtle, Nor sings so clear, nor smiles with such blue eyes, As bonny April, winking tears away. Not flowers o’ silk upon an empress’ sleeve Can match the broidery of an English field. No lap of amorous lady in the land Welcomes her gallant, as sweet Mistress Earth Her lover. Let Eneas have his Dido! Daffydowndilly is the dame for me. PRIORESS [_Within._] Joannes! SQUIRE You are happy, sir, to have Your mistress always by you. Mine’s afar Turning the Italian roses pale with envy. CHAUCER She dwells in Italy? SQUIRE In Padua. CHAUCER In Padua? Why, there I knew Dan Petrarch, Whose sonnets make the world love-sick for Laura. SQUIRE Would I could make it sigh once for my lady! Sir, will you help me? CHAUCER Gladly; what’s her name? SQUIRE Alas! Her name is not poetical: Johanna! Who can sonnetize Johanna? CHAUCER Invent her one to please you. SQUIRE Euphranasia-- How like you Euphranasia, sir? FRIAR [_Aside, popping his head from behind the wall._] Qui la? [_Dodges down again._] PRIORESS [_Within, singing._] Laudate, pueri, Dominum; laudate nomen Domini! Nay, Paulus, I _will_ sing: ’tis pretty weather. SQUIRE Euridice or Helena? PRIORESS [_Sings within._] A solis ortu usque ad occasum, laudabile nomen Domini. SQUIRE Or, Thisbe? CHAUCER [_Lifting a sprig of honeysuckle on the wall._] Nay, boy, this spray shall name her. [_The Friar peeps over the wall again._] SQUIRE Eglantine! Music itself! Methinks I have an aunt Named Eglantine. What matter?--Eglantine! CHAUCER I’ll match that name against the Muses nine. [_Takes out his parchments._] SQUIRE What! verses? CHAUCER Scraps of prologue to a book I think to call “The Canterbury Tales.” Good boy, leave me a bit; I have the fit To rhyme for a time thy Donna Eglantine. Come back at chapel-bell, or send someone To fetch the verses. SQUIRE Sir, I will. [_Exit left._] FRIAR Me voila! [_Exit right, behind wall._] CHAUCER [_Reading from one of his parchments, crosses over by the arbour._] “There was also a nun, a prioress, That of her smiling was full simple and coy; The greatest oath she swore was ‘by St. Loy!’ And she was clepèd Madame Eglantine; Full daintly she sang the psalms divine; And French she spake (St. Patrick taught her how), After the school of Stratford-at-the-Bowe. Full prettily her wimple pinchèd was, Her nose piquante; her eyes as grey as glass; Her mouth full small, and thereto soft and red; In very sooth she had a fair forehead; And dangling from her dainty wristlet small, A brooch of gold she wore, and therewithal Upon it there was writ a crownèd A, And after-- [_Enter, right, the Prioress, carrying her little hound. Chaucer sees her._] Amor vincit omnia.” [_He enters the arbour._] PRIORESS Joannes, stay indoors and tell your beads. [_To her little hound._] Jacquette, ma petite, it is a pretty day. See you those clouds? They are St. Agnes’ sheep; She hath washed their wool all white and turned ’em loose To play on heaven’s warm hillside. Smell that rose? Sweet-sweet! n’est ce pas, ma petite? Hast ever heard The Romance of the Rose? CHAUCER [_Aside._] Saints! PRIORESS ’Tis a tale As lovely as the flower,--writ all in verses Dan Chaucer made at court. Hush, hush, don’t tell: I’ve read it. Ah! Jacquette! Jacquette! Jacquette! When Mary was a girl in Joseph’s garden, Were there such pretty days in Palestine? [_Picks a rose._] CHAUCER Gods! must I hand her over--to a brother! Alas! the sands of dreams, how fast they slip Till Geoffrey lose his Lord-protectorship. PRIORESS [_Plucking the rose’s petals till the last petal falls._] Pater noster (our Father), qui es in cœlis (which art in heaven), sanctificetur nomen tuum (hallowed be thy name). Adveniat regnum tuum (thy kingdom come); fiat voluntas tua--thy will be done! CHAUCER Amen! I must resign! [_He is about to step out from the arbour and discover himself, but pauses as the Prioress continues._] PRIORESS Alas! We must go seek my brother and so Quit the protection of this noble stranger. You know, Jacquette, we must be fond of him. He saved your life--we mustn’t forget that. And though the wastel-bread was underdone, He was most kind at table, and inquired After your health, petite. And though he kissed The ale-wife--oui, ma pauvre Jacquette!--yet he Is contrite, and will seek St. Thomas’ shrine For absolution. CHAUCER Forgive us our trespasses! PRIORESS He was so courteous, too, upon the road I’m sure he is a gentleman. Indeed, I hope my brother proves as true a knight, When he arrives. CHAUCER Deliver us from temptation! [_A shout from the pilgrims within._] PRIORESS Would he were here now.--Nay, I mean--the other. This April day flowed sweet as a clear brook Till these hoarse frogs jumped in to rile its silver. SWAINS [_Sing, within._] The Wife of Bath She’s a good fellow, A maiden mellow Of Aftermath. PRIORESS Vite, vite, ma petite. [_She hastens to the arbour, where Chaucer quickly pretends to be absorbed in writing. As she is withdrawing hastily, however, he turns round._] Monsieur, excusez moi! CHAUCER Madame, the fault is mine; I crave your pardon. PRIORESS What fault, Monsieur? CHAUCER [_Breaks a spray from the arbour and hands it to her._] I trespass in _your_ bower. Permettez. PRIORESS Honeysuckle? CHAUCER So ’tis called; But poets, lady, name it--eglantine. PRIORESS M’sieur! CHAUCER May I remain and call it so? PRIORESS M’sieur--this is Jacquette, my little hound. [_Chaucer takes the pup; they retire farther into the arbour, as the_ WIFE OF BATH _enters from the inn. She is accompanied by the_ FRIAR, MILLER, COOK, SUMMONER, PARDONER, MANCIPLE, _and_ SHIPMAN, _who enter singing. They lift her upon the table, and form a circle round her._] SWAINS The Wife of Bath She’s a good fellow, A maiden mellow Of Aftermath. She cuts a swath Through sere-and-yellow; No weeping willow Bestrews her path. Her voice in wrath Is a bullock’s bellow; For every good fellow Eyes she hath. She’s a good fellow, The Wife of Bath! ALISOUN Sweethearts, your lungs can blow the buck’s horn.--Robin, Ye sing like a bittern bumbling in the mire. MILLER By Corpus, ’twas a love-toot. FRIAR Prithee, sweet dame, Finish your tale. ALL Finish the tale. [_Other pilgrims enter from the inn._] ALISOUN Shut up, lads. Sure, my wits are gone blackberrying. Where was I? FRIAR Where King Arthur’s knight came home, You said, and-- ALISOUN Will you let me say it then? FRIAR Sweet dame, you said-- ALISOUN A friar and a fly Will fall in every dish, that’s what I said. Lads, will ye hear this church-bell ring, or me? ALL You--you-- SUMMONER I’ll muffle his clapper. ALISOUN Hark my tale: This knight rode home a-whistlin’ to himself, Right up the castle-hall, where all the lords And ladies sat. “Your majesties,” quoth he, “Though I be hanged, this is my true reply: Women desire to do their own sweet wills.” [_The Swains clap._] “Ho!” cried King Arthur, “that’s the best I’ve heard Since I was first henpecked by Guinevere. Depart! Thy neck is free!” But at that word, Up sprang an old wife, sitting by the fire, And says: “Merci, your Majesty, ’twas I That taught this answer to the knight; and he Hath sworn to do the next thing I require. Therefore, sweet knight, before this court I pray That ye will take me to your wedded wife. Have I said false?” “Nay, bury me,” quoth he. “Then I will be thy love.” “My love?” quoth he. “Nay, my damnation!” “Take your wife to church,” Cries out the King, “and look ye treat her well, Or you shall hang.” MILLER Ho! What a roast! PRIORESS [_Aside._] Poor man! ALISOUN The knight he spake no word, but forth he takes His grizzly bride to church, and after dark He leads her home. “Alas! sweet husband mine, What troubleth you?” quoth she. “Nothing,” quoth he. “Perchance that I am old?” “Nay, nay,” quoth he. “Ugly and old,” quoth she, “cures jealousy.” “It doth indeed,” quoth he. “What then?” quoth she. “Are ye content?” “More than content,” quoth he; “And will ye let me do my own sweet will In everything?” “In everything,” quoth he, “My lady and my love, do as you please.” “Why, then, so please me, strike a light,” quoth she. And when the knight had lit the candle, lo! His grizzly bride--she was the Fairy Queen. [_Loud acclamation._] PRIORESS [_Aside._] Praise heaven! FRIAR [_Into whose arms Alisoun jumps._] Bravo, Queen Mab, it was thyself. COOK I’ll bet The knight was her fifth husband. ALISOUN Welcome the sixth! God made me the King Solomon of wives. SHIPMAN [_To the Miller, who begins to play his pipes._] God save thee, Robin! Bust thy pigskin. ALISOUN Aye! Let’s have an elf dance. Come! [_To the Summoner._] Thy arm, sweet Puck! BOTTLEJOHN [_To Herry Bailey, who is looking on._] Tarry ye all to-night? HOST Aye, till to-morrow. BOTTLEJOHN ’Twill be a pinch for room. HOST [_Laughs._] But not for reckonings. [_The Miller, sitting on the wall, plays his bagpipe, while Alisoun dances with her Swains, each of whom is jealous of the rest. Chaucer and the Prioress still remain out of sight in the arbour. As the music grows merrier, the Prioress begins to click the beads of her rosary rhythmically._] CHAUCER Why do you tell your beads, Madame? PRIORESS To keep The fairies from my feet. CHAUCER The fairies? PRIORESS Yes, The bagpipe sets them free. I feel them twitch me. CHAUCER Why drive them away? PRIORESS Monsieur! CHAUCER See you the birds? St. Francis taught that we should learn of them. PRIORESS What do they? CHAUCER Sing, and dance from bough to bough. The Muses sing; and St. Cecilia danced. PRIORESS Think you she danced, sir, of her own sweet will? CHAUCER Nay, not in April! In April, ’tis God’s will. PRIORESS Monsieur-- [_Gives Chaucer her hand shyly._] ’tis April. [_They dance, in stately fashion, within the arbour. Forgetting themselves in the dance, however, they come a little too far forward; Alisoun spies them, and clapping her hands, the music stops._] ALISOUN Caught! Ho, turtle-doves Come forth, Sir Elvish Knight, Sir Oberon! Fetch forth thy veilèd nymph, that trips so fair. [_Chaucer steps forth from the arbour. The Prioress, within, seizes up her little hound from a settle and hides her face._] ALL Hail! CHAUCER Silence, loons! And thou, wife, hold thy tongue And know thy betters. As for you, ye lummocks, You need be proud as water in a ditch To glass this lady’s image even in your eyes, So, look ye muddy not her sandal-tips. Begone! And mind when next you laugh the same, That all the saints, to whom you bumpkins pray, Dance with the Virgin round the throne of God. Begone, and do your reverences. [_Some of the pilgrims retire; others remain staring and bow as the Prioress, veiled, crosses over to the inn door with her little hound._] ALISOUN [_To the Cook._] Hist, Roger! What is the man? COOK No cheap dough. PRIORESS O Jacquette! [_Exit._] ALISOUN [_Approaches Chaucer tentatively._] God save thee, man! I ken not who thou art, But him’s can curry down a ticklish mare Like me, he hath a backbone in his bolster; I love thee better for’t.--Ay, gang thy gait; But, bully Geoffrey, mind, we have a bet: Yea, if I fry thee not in thine own grease And cry thee tit for tat, call me a man. Man lives _for_ wit, but woman lives _by_ it.-- These dancing virgins! [_Exit, followed by Friar._] CHAUCER Clods and bumpkins all! MILLER [_Gets in Chaucer’s way defiantly._] Sir Oberon-- CHAUCER Stand by! MILLER Lord Rim-Ram-Ruff! He plays the courtier. [_Bitterly._] Harkee, Monsieur Courtier, “When Adam delved and Eve span, Who was then the gentleman?” CHAUCER Why, Monsieur Snake; he cherished the family tree As the apple of his eye. In view of which, Go drink a pot of cider. [_Throws the Miller a coin._] MILLER [_Ducking._] ’Save your Worship! [_Exit with Swains._] CHAUCER [_Solus._] “When Adam delved”--who was court-poet then? Adam. Who was Bob Clodhopper? Why, Adam. Which, then, in that close body politic Perked high his chin? Which doffed and ducked the knee? Which tanned and sweat in the lean furrow? Which Spat on the spade--and wore it in his crest? Which was the real Adam? Sly Dame Clay, If paradox died not in Genesis, Let me not fancy Richard’s laureate Alone’s incognito. Incognito Are all that pass in nature’s pilgrimage, For thou, with loamy masks and flesh-tint veils, Dost make us, in this timeless carnival, Thy dupes and dancers, ushering the courtier To kiss beneath thy glove the goose-girl’s hand, Or snub, behind the poor familiar rogue And clown, some god that hides in Momus’ mask. Nay, but not she--my gentle Prioress! Though all the rest, in born disguisements, be Basted and togg’d with huge discrepancy, _She_ wears the proper habit of her soul. Dear God! how harmony like hers unchains Delight from the lugg’d body of Desire To sing toward heaven like the meadow-lark, Till, with her parting, it drops dumb again In the old quag of flesh. Flesh, Geoffrey! Fie! What need to guard from sight the poet in thee When nature thus hath hoop’d and wadded him With barracoons of paunch? What say, thou tun? Will Eglantine mistake thee for Apollo, Thou jewel in the bloated toad; thou bagpipe Puff’d by the Muse; thou demijohn of nectar; Thou grape of Hebe, over-ripe with rhyme; Thou lump of Clio, mountain of Terpsichore; Diogenes, that talkest in thy tub! Fie, Mother Earth!--Cling not about my waist As if I were a weanling sphere. Fall off! Ye gods! that kneaded this incongruous dough With lyric leaven, sweat me to a rake-handle Or let the Muse grow fat! [_Exit._] FRIAR [_Outside, sings._] Ye pouting wenches, pretty wives, That itch at weddings, fairs, and wakes, For trothal-rings and kissing-cakes, For wristlets, pins, and pearlèd knives, Hither trip it! To peep i’ the friar’s farsèd tippet, Who gently for sweet sinners’ sakes-- [_Enter the Friar and Alisoun._] ALISOUN Hush! [_Going to the cellar door, she opens it and ponders._] FRIAR Ben’cite! (Thus singeth he.) Bene--benedicite! ALISOUN Hold thy cock-crow! My wit’s working. FRIAR Nay, Thy jealousy, sweet dame. [_Sings._] Ye lasses jilted, lovers droopèd, Rose-lip-- ALISOUN Shut up! FRIAR [_Sings on._] Rose-lip, White-brow, Blue-eye, Brown-tress, Confide your pretty hearts! Confess To the pleasant friar: trust not Cupid-- ALISOUN By Peter! I have the plan! FRIAR [_Sings._] Love is a liar, But lovers love the pleasant friar, Who, making of their burdens less-- [_Here he approaches Alisoun caressingly, and deftly steals a gold pin from her head-dress._] ALISOUN [_Laughing to herself._] Ha! that shall win my bet! What, Huberd! FRIAR [_Secreting the pin._] Ben’cite! (Thus singeth he.) Bene--benedicite! ALISOUN Wilt thou hear my plan? FRIAR Fair Alis, I would console thy jealousy. ALISOUN Me jealous! Blest be thy breech! Who of? FRIAR [_Imitating Chaucer in his former speech._] “And, thou, wife, hold Thy tongue and know thy betters.” ALISOUN Ho! my betters? That little snipper-snapper of a saint He praised for dancing ring-around-the-rose-tree, When honest wives are damned for showing their ankles? A fig for her!--What, him! a walking hay-cock That woos a knitting-needle of a nun! And me! that when I was to home in Bath Walked into kirk before the beadle’s wife: My betters? Wait until I win my bet! FRIAR What bet? ALISOUN Canst thou be mum? FRIAR Dame, I have been A bishop’s valet, a nun’s confidant, A wife’s confessor, a maid’s notary; As coroner, I’ve sat in Cheapside inns When more than wine flowed. This breast can be dark As Pharaoh’s chamber in the pyramids. ALISOUN List then: Ye wot I made a bet last night With Geoffrey. This was it: Dame Eglantine, Here at this inn, expects to meet her brother-- FRIAR You mean--Dan Roderigo. ALISOUN Aye; but as She hath not seen him since she was a child, She hath not recognised him. He, ye ken, Doth wear a ring wi’ a Latin posy in’t. FRIAR I know; ’tis “Amor vincit omnia,” The same as on her brooch. ALISOUN There hangs my bet. For if Dame Eglantine shall give yon brooch Into the hands of any but her brother, Then Geoffrey marries me at Canterbury. FRIAR Diable! _Marries_ thee? ALISOUN What then, dear friend? Wouldst thou forswear thy celibate sweet vows To buckle on a wife? FRIAR Nay, dame, a sister. ALISOUN A sister of St. Venus’ house? Go pray! A husband is my holy pilgrimage, And Geoffrey is my shrine. FRIAR Et moi? ALISOUN “Et moi?” Thou art a jolly incubus. Thou shalt Help me to catch my bird. [_Enter the Miller by the wicket gate._] FRIAR Et donc? ALISOUN “Et donc?” Why, then, I’ll give a farthing to the friars. FRIAR Nay, dame, the coin of Cupid is a kiss. [_Pleading._] One kiss pour moi.--At Canterbury--un baiser! MILLER [_Seizing the Friar._] One pasty, eh? thou shorn ape! FRIAR [_Screams._] Alisoun! MILLER By Corpus bones, I’ll baste thee! ALISOUN Let him be! Shame! Wouldst thou violate a modest friar? MILLER He asked thee for a-- ALISOUN Baiser. Baiser means In Latin tongue a blessing. Not so, Huberd? FRIAR Dame, from thy lips, it meaneth Paradise. MILLER [_Imitating him._] Doth it in thooth, thweet thir?--Thou lisping jay! Thou lousy petticoats! ALISOUN [_Suddenly embracing the Miller; whispers to him._] Whist! Robin, thou Art just in the nick. I have a plan. Run fast; Fetch here the other lads, and bring a gag. MILLER A gag? For him? ALISOUN Run quick. MILLER [_Going._] By Corpus arms! FRIAR [_Taunting._] Mealy miller, moth-miller, Fly away! If Dame Butterfly doth say thee nay, Go and court a caterpillar! MILLER [_Laughing, shakes his fist._] Ha, ha! By Corpus bones! [_Exit at gate._] ALISOUN Now, bird; the plot. I’ve sent him for a gag. FRIAR A gag? What for? ALISOUN To win my bet, of course. ’Tis for this knight. FRIAR Thou wilt not gag a knight--the Prioress’ Brother! ALISOUN Hast thou forgot I bet with Geoffrey The man that wears the ring will prove to be Dame Virtue’s lover? FRIAR He that wears the ring? Methinks I smell: but who’s your man? ALISOUN Sweet owl, The sunlight hurts thine eyes, thou starest too hard. [_Blindfolding his eyes with her hands, she whirls him thrice round._] Behold him. FRIAR [_Dizzily._] Where? [_Alisoun slaps her own shoulder._] What, thou? O ecce homo! Thou wilt enact the lover and the knight And woo Dame Eglantine? ALISOUN Who else? Forsooth, I am a shapely crusader. This leg Hath strode a palfrey thrice to Palestine. I’ve won my spurs. FRIAR Thou wit of Aristotle. O Helen of Troy! O Amazon! I catch: Thou gaggest the _real_ knight and bear’st him off Where thou mayst steal his ring and togs. ALISOUN And borrow A false beard from thy tippet. Thou shalt be My valet, and retouch the Wife of Bath To play the Devil in the Mystery. FRIAR But where’ll be thy boudoir? ALISOUN The cellar yonder. Bob Miller and the other lads shall gag And tie him there. FRIAR Why, this is merrier than Nine wenches ducking in a Hallow-een bowl. [_Doubling over with laughter, he almost knocks against Chaucer, who enters, left, meditative._] Whist! Geoffrey! Come away. CHAUCER [_Reads from a parchment._] “April, May, Cannot stay; We be pilgrims--so are they, And our shrine, Far away--” [_A bell sounds outside; Chaucer pauses, and draws out a pocket sun-dial._] The chapel bell! Four, by my cylinder. My signorino Will claim his verses! [_Reads on._] “And our shrine, Far away, Is the heart of Eglantine.” [_Pauses and writes._] ALISOUN [_Aside to Friar._] Eglantine! What’s this? FRIAR Love verses. He hath writ them for the Squire To give unto his lady-love Johanna. ALISOUN But he said “Eglantine.” FRIAR Aye, dame; he dubs Her Eglantine to be poetical. ALISOUN A poet! Him? FRIAR Why not? Jack Straw himself Could ring a rhyme, God wot, till his neck was wrung. CHAUCER [_Reads._] “Eglantine, O to be There with thee, Over sea, In olive-shaded Italy.” Too rough. “Shaded” is harsh. H’m! “Olive-silvered.” “In olive-silvered Italy.”--That’s better. FRIAR [_To Alisoun._] Hide there! ALISOUN What now? FRIAR Watch. [_The Friar approaches Chaucer obsequiously._] CHAUCER [_Reads._] “There to pray At thy shrine--” FRIAR Benedicite! The blissful martyr save you, sir. CHAUCER And you. FRIAR The gentle Squire sent me for-- CHAUCER His verses? They are just finished. [_Folds them up._] FRIAR Sir, you see, he hailed me Passing upon the road. He lies out yonder Along a brookside, sighing for his lady. CHAUCER [_Handing the parchment to the Friar._] Bid him despatch her these. Here, wait; this spray Of eglantine goes with them. FRIAR Save you, sir. [_The Friar starts for the wicket gate. Chaucer, absent-minded, passes on to the inn door. As he does so, the Friar, treading tip-toe behind him, steals another parchment, which is sticking from his pouch._] CHAUCER “April, May, Cannot stay; We be pilgrims--so are they.” [_Exit._] FRIAR [_Stands holding the second parchment, from which he reads._] “There was also a nun, a prioress, That of her smiling was full simple and coy; The greatest oath she swore--” Blessed be larceny! This rhyme is slicker to have up my sleeve Than five aces of trumps. ALISOUN [_Joining him._] What’s up? FRIAR List, dame! Of human hearts I am an alchemist. To stir them in the crucible of love Is all my research and experiment; And but to find a new amalgam makes My mouth to water like a dilettante’s. ALISOUN Well? FRIAR Geoffrey wrote these verses for the Squire To give his lady; therefore, _I_ will give them To Eglantine, and watch the _tertium quid_; That is to say, whether the resultant be A mantling _coleur rose_, or--an explosion. ALISOUN What’s in the verses? Nay, man, read ’em out; I am no clerk. FRIAR _I_ am a master-reader. “Sigh, Spring, sigh, Repine Amid the moon-kissed eglantine, For so do I.” [_The Friar sighs._] ALISOUN No more o’ that. FRIAR Sweet Alis, ’tis the art. When I look thus,--’tis moonlight. When I sigh Thus,--’tis a zephyr wooing apple blossoms. ALISOUN Wooing a sick goat! Read ahead. FRIAR Ahem! [_Reads._] “April, May, Cannot--” [_Enter, from the inn, the Knight; from the wicket gate, the Swains, with ropes and a gag._] ALISOUN Quit; here’s our knight. Go find the Prioress. And when you’ve given her the verses, join Me and the other fellows in the cellar. [_Jerking her thumb at the Knight._] _He_’ll be with us. FRIAR Thy valet comprehends. KNIGHT [_To Friar._] Good fellow, have you seen my son, the Squire? FRIAR My lord, that dame can tell you. [_Throwing a kiss to Alisoun._] Au revoir! [_Then throwing another to the Miller, he sings as he skips out._] Ma douce gazelle, Ma gazelle belle, Bon soir! MILLER [_To the Shipman._] Quick! Head him off, Jack! [_Exit Friar into inn._] ALISOUN Let him go. [_To the Miller._] Thine ear! MILLER But-- ALISOUN Shh! [_Draws him aside and whispers._] Art thou afeard? MILLER Nay, dame, but ’tis A lord. Mayhap we’d catch the whipping-post. ALISOUN But mayhap me along with it, sweet Bob. [_They whisper aside._] KNIGHT This woman tell me of my son! ’Tis strange. ALISOUN [_Aside to Miller._] Ye ken! MILLER Aye, aye. [_Looking pleased, he speaks to the others aside. During the following scene, all of them approach the Knight cautiously with the ropes and gag, while Alisoun, distracting the Knight, warns or urges them in pantomime._] KNIGHT Good woman, have you seen-- ALISOUN And do mine eyes behold him once again? O sir! The blissful saints requite you, sir! KNIGHT For what, good dame? ALISOUN His voice! That I should hear His voice once more! The vision bursts again Upon my brain: the swords, the sweated horse, The lifted battle-mace, and then his arms, His arms around me--saved! [_Falling at his feet._] Oh, can it be? KNIGHT Madame, arise. We met last night, methinks, At Master Bailey’s inn, in Southwark, but Never before. ALISOUN [_Rising._] Hold! Gallop not so fast, Ye steeds of Memory!--Was it perchance A lonely damsel by the Coal Black Sea, Forsaken save by him; or was it by The walls of old Granada, at the siege, When, dazzled by the white star of my beauty, He raised his cross to smite the lustful Moor, And cried, “Don Roderigo dies for thee!” KNIGHT [_To the Miller._] The woman is ill. You had best call a leach. ALISOUN Call no one, sir. Forgive my sentiment. Small wonder is it, though the lordly falcon Forget the dove he succoured from the crows. But ah! how can the tender dove conceal The flutterings of her snow-white breast to meet Her lord once more? KNIGHT [_Going._] Madame, I wish you better. ALISOUN Dear lord, when last we met at Algezir-- KNIGHT Pray to the Virgin! ALISOUN Sweet lord!-- KNIGHT By St. George, I know you not. ALISOUN Alas! Alas! The faithless! Was this the chivalry ye promised me That night ye kissed me by the soldan’s tent? KNIGHT Off me, thou wife of Satan! ALISOUN Heard ye that? Lads, to the rescue! KNIGHT Sorcery! [_The Miller and Alisoun gag the Knight, while the others assist in binding him._] ALISOUN Quick, Roger! Take off his finger-ring. Mum, sweethearts! In, now! [_Exeunt omnes, carrying the Knight into the inn cellar._] [_Enter the Squire and Johanna. Passing along behind the wall, they enter the garden by the wicket gate._] SQUIRE Lady, I cannot yet believe my eyes That you are here, and not in Padua. JOHANNA ’Tis sweet to hear your voice discredit mine, And yet I pray you, sir, believe in me; I would not prove a rich Lombardian dream To be more fair--even than I am. SQUIRE You could not. JOHANNA Grazie! SQUIRE For you authenticise yourself With beauty’s passport. This alone is you; But how come hither? JOHANNA Like the Spring, because I heard the snows had thawed in Merry England. SQUIRE As ever, you’re fellow-travellers, dear lady; I might have guessed it from the little birds, Your gossipy outriders. But with what Less winged chaperones came you? JOHANNA Nay, with none! Some flighty ladies of King Richard’s court That oped their beaks--but not like nightingales-- To prate of love. For my part when I saw them This morning trot away toward Canterbury With that dull Gaunt and silly Duke of Ireland, I sighed “sweet riddance.” True, the king is different, But he is married. SQUIRE You are not alone? JOHANNA No, sir. I travel with a world-stormed priest, Whom all who love him call “Good Master Wycliffe”; And those who love him not, “Old Nick,” for writing The gospels in dear English. SQUIRE You--a Lollard! JOHANNA Wait till you know him. He rides now to assist High mass at the Cathedral, for Duke John Who sails to claim his kingdom in Castile. But I ride with him, not so much to absolve My sins,--which frankly, since they are so few And serviceable, I hate to part with--as I go to look on one shall grace that service-- The man I best admire. SQUIRE Sweet lady, whom? JOHANNA Dan Chaucer--laureate of chivalry. SQUIRE Chaucer! Why he-- [_Checks himself._] Alas! JOHANNA Scarce do I wonder To see you bite your lip at that great name: You, sir, who once, unless my memory fail, Did promise me some verses of your own. SQUIRE Nay, you shall have them. JOHANNA What? The verses? SQUIRE Yes. JOHANNA Prithee, what are they? Rondeaux, amoretti, Ballads? Why did you send them not? Odes? Sonnets? Which? SQUIRE Nay, I know not. JOHANNA Know not? SQUIRE Not as yet. JOHANNA Know not as yet! SQUIRE I mean--O Donna mine! I have a friend, whom but to call my friend Sets all my thoughts on fire, and makes the world A pent-up secret burning to be told. Whose slave to be, I would roll Sisyphus’ stone; Whom to clasp hands withal, I’d fight Apollyon; For whom but to be Pythias, I would die. JOHANNA What amorous Platonics! Pythias? Sure, Troilus were an apter choice. Well, sir, Who is this paragon? [_Aside._] Heaven send her freckles. SQUIRE Nay, if it were allowed me but to name-- If you could guess the Olympian pedigree-- [_Enter Chaucer from the inn._] Ah! Here he comes! JOHANNA Pray, sir, _who_ comes? SQUIRE My friend. CHAUCER [_Scanning the ground._] I would not for good twenty pound have lost it. JOHANNA Is this your Damon? SQUIRE Lady, ’tis my friend. CHAUCER [_To himself._] If Madame Eglantine should find it, read it! Nay, not for forty pound. SQUIRE He does not see us. May I present him? JOHANNA [_Nods carelessly, then aside._] Saints! Must I essay To circumvent a rival of such scope? SQUIRE Great sir! JOHANNA “Great sir” ’s a proper epithet. SQUIRE [_Touching Chaucer’s sleeve._] I prithee-- CHAUCER Ah, boy, well met! Did I perchance-- [_Seeing Johanna._] Pardon! SQUIRE [_Whispers to Chaucer, then aloud to Johanna._] Permit me to present to you-- Lady Johanna, Marchioness of Kent-- This gentleman, my friend. JOHANNA [_Bows slightly._] A nameless knight? SQUIRE [_Embarrassed._] His name--ah! CHAUCER Master Geoffrey, and your servant. JOHANNA [_To Chaucer._] We saw you searching. Was it for a sur-name? SQUIRE Have you lost something? Let us help you find it. A purse? JOHANNA I trust your loss was not in pounds. CHAUCER Sooth, I have lost what fair your ladyship Could least, methinks, supply--a piece of wit Without a tongue; that is, a piece of parchment Writ o’er with verses. SQUIRE Verses! Sir, a word. [_Draws Chaucer aside to the arbour and whispers._] JOHANNA A clever rogue! He’d make an apt court-fool. CHAUCER [_Aside to Squire._] No; these lost verses were a mere description-- To fit my prologue--of a dainty nun, Poking some gentle mirth at her; of use To none save me; but faith! I grudge ’em dearly. SQUIRE Did you find time to write--the other verses? CHAUCER The others? SQUIRE To my lady. CHAUCER Those you sent for? Did not you like them? SQUIRE I? I sent for none, sir. JOHANNA [_Aside._] Still whispering? Faith! Hath my Aubrey lost Both heart and manners to this tavern rhymester? I will not have it. SQUIRE [_To Chaucer._] But I sent no friar! CHAUCER He took your mistress’s verses, saying you Had sent for them by him. JOHANNA Excuse me, sirs: That arbour-seat has room for two to sit, Providing we choose wisely from us three. CHAUCER Your choice is fate. SQUIRE [_Aside to Chaucer as they enter the arbour._] The friar must have stolen them. [_Johanna and the Squire sit; Chaucer stands talking with them, his back toward the arbour’s entrance._] [_Enter, right, from inn, the Prioress and Friar, the former reading a parchment._] PRIORESS The verse is very beautiful. FRIAR Is’t not Enough to make the Muse weep amber? Zipp! ’Tis honey’d moonbeams stored in lachrymals. PRIORESS [_Reads._] “Eglantine, O to be There with thee, Over sea; In olive-silvered Italy.” But, gentle friar, why in Italy When I’m in England? FRIAR Dame, ’tis poetry. In poetry, all ladies have blue eyes And live in Italy. PRIORESS And is this truly For me? FRIAR He bade me give it with this spray. PRIORESS [_Taking the sprig of eglantine._] He is so chivalrous! But I must finish. “In olive-silvered Italy. There to pray At thy shrine, There to lay This green spray Of our English eglantine. At thy feet. Lady mine, Then wouldst thou say: ‘Pilgrim sweet In Padua, Take it; it is thine.’” Is Padua short for Bob-up-and-down? FRIAR Yes, dame. [_Aside._] And now to watch my experiment Precipitate rose-colour. PRIORESS [_Sighs._] Almost finished! [_Reads._] “Say not nay! Fairest, dearest, far away, Donna Eglantine.” FRIAR Alas, Madame, I did but do my duty. He bade me bring them. PRIORESS From my heart, I thank you. They’re very beautiful. FRIAR But amorous, I fear; they are _love_-verses. PRIORESS Are they? Sure, I thought them sweet. He is so chivalrous. FRIAR [_Aside, takes out his stolen parchment._] Soft, then, I’ll try the other. This should bring The explosion. [_Rattles the parchment._] PRIORESS [_Eagerly, laying the first parchment on the table._] Did he send more verses? FRIAR Nay, He sent no more, though from his pouch there fell This parchment; but methinks he would desire you Not to peruse it. [_Turning as if to leave, he discovers the three conversing in the arbour._] PRIORESS Me! FRIAR Yes, dame, for it Describes you. PRIORESS How? FRIAR Alas! In different vein From the other. PRIORESS Different? [_Demanding it with a gesture._] Quickly! FRIAR ’Tis my duty. [_Hands her the manuscript._] PRIORESS [_Snatching it; reads._] “There was also a nun, a prioress, That of her smiling was full simple and coy; The greatest oath she swore was ‘by St. Loy!’” O ciel! O quel outrage! [_While she reads on to herself, changing visibly to pique and tears, the Friar, purloining the first parchment from the table, trips over to the arbour’s entrance and bows._] FRIAR Diner est servi! Messieurs, you are awaited by a lady. [_Runs off._] CHAUCER [_To Squire._] Quick! Catch him! JOHANNA [_To Squire._] Stay! “A lady?” [_Pursued, the Friar drops his parchment, and, as the Squire stops to pick it up, escapes at the garden gate._] PRIORESS [_Holding her parchment, confronts Chaucer._] Stay, Monsieur. [_Reads._] “And French she spake (St. Patrick taught her how!)” You hear, Monsieur--“St. Patrick taught her how!” Oh, where is my Jacquette! SQUIRE [_Joyfully; glancing at the other parchment._] These are the verses! [_Hands the parchment eagerly to Johanna._] CHAUCER Madame, be calm. I will explain. PRIORESS Non, non. JOHANNA [_Reads._] “Eglantine, O to be There with thee--” [_To Squire._] Wrote you these verses, sir? Who’s Eglantine? SQUIRE Why, lady, she-- PRIORESS [_To Chaucer._] How could you write them? CHAUCER Patience, Dear Madame Eglantine-- JOHANNA Ha! Eglantine! CHAUCER [_To Prioress, distracted._] Which verses do you mean? I wrote them not To you! PRIORESS What, not to me? Those gracious lines, So exquisite? CHAUCER Good God! SQUIRE [_To Johanna._] Upon my truth, These verses are for you. Let me explain-- JOHANNA Nay, let your friend. [_Showing her parchment to Chaucer._] Sir, did you write these verses? CHAUCER I did! PRIORESS [_Showing her parchment._] And these, Monsieur? CHAUCER I did. JOHANNA And pray, To whom did you write _these_? CHAUCER To you. JOHANNA O Heaven! PRIORESS To her! [_Unseen, save by the audience, the cellar door is opened, part way, and Alisoun peers out, dressed in the Knight’s clothes, but still without a make-up. She winks to Huberd, whose head bobs up a moment from behind the wall._] SQUIRE [_To Johanna._] Sweet mistress-- JOHANNA I demand to know Who is this rhyming man? Who was his father? CHAUCER My father was a vintner, dame, in London. PRIORESS A vintner? SQUIRE [_With pleading deprecation._] Sir-- JOHANNA Small marvel that his son Should be a cask. ALISOUN [_Aside, jubilantly._] God save my betters! JOHANNA [_To Squire._] “If You could but guess the Olympian pedigree--” Saints! Take me to my guardian, sir. PRIORESS [_To Chaucer._] Ah! bring Me to my brother! O Monsieur! How false! FRIAR [_From behind the wall, sings._] Love is a liar, But lovers love the pleasant friar, Who, making of their burdens less-- CHAUCER AND SQUIRE That friar! FRIAR [_Popping his head above the wall with a mock gesture of benediction, sings._] Ben’cite! (Thus singeth he.) Bene--benedicite! Explicit pars secunda. ACT THIRD “Wite ye nat wher ther stant a litel toun Which that y-clepèd is Bob-up-and-doun, Under the Blee, in Caunterbury weye?” ACT III TIME: Evening of the same day. SCENE: The hall of the One Nine-pin. _At the opening of the act all the Pilgrims are on the stage, except the following_: MILLER, SHIPMAN, COOK, MANCIPLE, SUMMONER, KNIGHT, ALISOUN, CHAUCER, _and_ WYCLIFFE. _Owing to the overcrowding of the little inn, the hall is arranged, for the night, as a common sleeping-room. Up stage, right, is a great canopied bedstead, with steps to climb into it. Along the right wall are truckle-beds. As the curtain rises, a clear bell is heard ringing outside, slow and musical. By the light of a single torch, the Pilgrims are seen, some putting on their cloaks and hoods, some peering from behind the bed-curtains, others taking links from a tap-boy, who distributes them. These, as they are lit, throw an ever stronger light upon the grouped faces and contrasted garbs of the company. The PARSON is just waking the PLOUGHMAN, who drowses on a truckle-bed._ PARSON Up, brother; yon’s the chapel bell. PLOUGHMAN It rings For thee; thou art the parson, Jankin. PARSON Nay, The preacher will be Wycliffe, old good Master De Wycliffe. MERCHANT Old good Master Weak-liver! PARSON [_Turns angrily._] Sir! MAN-OF-LAW Old good Master Black-sheep! PARSON [_Turns._] Sir! MONK Old Nick! PARSON [_Turns._] Whom name you thus? MONK Your preacher. Faugh! The pope Hath bann’d him with five bulls for heresy. PLOUGHMAN The old man hath a good grip, if he can Hold five bulls by the horns. MAN-OF-LAW [_Aside to Priest._] An ignoramus! BOTTLEJOHN Dick, fetch a pint of moist ale from the cellar For Master Bailey here. [_Aside._] A small pint, mind, And notch his tally. DICK [_Takes a stick from wall, notches it with his knife, and shows it to Bottlejohn._] Sixpence, sir, three farthings. [_Dick then goes to the cellar door. As he opens it, he is grabbed within by the Miller, handed breathlessly to the Shipman, who claps his hands over the boy’s mouth, and disappears with him below. The door then is closed, but at intervals it opens and the Miller’s head is seen cautiously to emerge._] MERCHANT This Wycliffe’s gab hath hurt good trade. ’Twas him, Six year ago, whose preaching made the poor folk March up to London-town with Wat the Tyler, And burn the gentry’s houses. DYER Served ’em right! PLOUGHMAN God save Wat Tyler! MONK Peasant! Spit upon thee! PARSON Thou son of Antichrist! MONK Thou unhang’d Lollard! BOTTLEJOHN Sst! Sst! Good masters! Pray, sweet lordings, here Comes Master Wycliffe. [_Enter, in conversation, WYCLIFFE and CHAUCER, followed by JOHANNA, who seeks to draw WYCLIFFE away. The Pilgrims greet the last, some with shouts of welcome, others with hisses._] WYCLIFFE [_To Chaucer._] Certes, sir, it may Be as you say.--Good folk! good children!--Yet To me this England is a gorgeous tabard, Blazon’d with shining arms and kingly shields; A cloth of gold, blood-dyed with heraldries Of knightly joustings, presbyterial pomps, And red-wine revellings; cunningly, i’ the fringe, Chaced round with little lutes and ladies’ Cupids To snuggle the horse-hair lining. This brave shirt, This inward-goading cloth of gaiety, The poor, starved peasant wears on his bare back-- A ghost, that plays the bridegroom with’s despair. PLOUGHMAN [_Amongst sneers and applause._] Right! WYCLIFFE [_To Chaucer._] Friend, how seems it thee? CHAUCER Sir, with your pardon, To me, our England is still “Merry England!” Which nature cirqued with its green wall of seas To be her home and hearth-stone; where no slave, Though e’er he crept in her lap, was nursed of her; But the least peasant, bow’d in lonely fief, Might claim his free share in her dower of grace; The hush, pied daisy for’s society, The o’erbubbling birds for mirth, the silly sheep For innocence.--Mirth, friendship, innocence: Where nature grants these three, what’s left for envy? These three, sir, serve for my theology. MAN-OF-LAW Parfoi! What is this man--a Papist? Is’t Some courtier? FRANKLIN Naw! He rings true Lollard, him. They’re friends. PARDONER [_Sniffs._] They say it is a London vintner. WYCLIFFE [_Aside, to Johanna, indicating Chaucer._] Not speak with him? JOHANNA On no account. WYCLIFFE But-- JOHANNA ’Tis A villain. Pray, sir, come to chapel. [_She hurries Wycliffe toward the door, where she is accosted, beseechingly, by the Squire._] SQUIRE Mistress! JOHANNA Am I beset? [_Indicating Chaucer._] Join your conspirator, Signore! [_She sweeps out._] SQUIRE [_Following._] Grace, Madonna, grace! [_Enter, right, Eglantine, with her priests._] CHAUCER [_Aside, sees her._] My lady! PARSON [_To Ploughman._] Quick, mon, and light the way for Master Wycliffe. [_Exeunt._] MERCHANT [_To Man-of-Law._] Go you? MAN-OF-LAW [_Smiles ironically._] Hein? When an ass comes out of Oxford, His braying charms great ears. [_Lower._] They say he hath A patron in John Gaunt. [_They go out._] BOTTLEJOHN [_Calls._] Dick! Drat thee, Dick! Ned, fetch Dick from the cellar with that ale For Master Bailey. NED [_Goes slowly._] Can I ’ave a candle? [_The Host gives him such a look that he hastens on._] BOTTLEJOHN [_To Bailey._] These ’prentices! BAILEY Haw! Haw! MONK [_To Pardoner._] Come, we’ll go twit him. [_Exeunt toward chapel._] [_As Ned is about to open the cellar door, a black face looks out at him._] NED [_Running back._] Ow! Ow! A devil’s head! I seed a spook! BOTTLEJOHN [_Seizing a ladle, drives him back._] Scat! And the devil swallow thee! Skedaddle! Feared o’ the dark! NED [_Goes whimpering._] ’E’ll drub me wi’ his thigh-bones. [_Opening the door, he feels his way down. As the door closes, a faint scream comes from within._] CHAUCER [_To Prioress, who, preceded by her three priests, is about to go out._] Madame, goes she to chapel? PRIORESS Paul, Joannes, Keep close. CHAUCER Si chère Madame--if dear my lady Would vouchsafe but a moment, till-- PRIORESS [_Pausing, but not looking at Chaucer._] Eh bien? CHAUCER [_Confused._] The night is very beautiful. PRIORESS Joannes! CHAUCER That is--I bring you tidings of your brother. JOANNES What would Madame? CHAUCER The moon-- PRIORESS [_To Joannes._] Go, go--to chapel. JOANNES But will Madame-- PRIORESS Va! Va!-- [_Exeunt priests; she turns shyly to Chaucer._] Alors, Monsieur, Vous dites mon frère?-- CHAUCER Your brother-- [_Aside, as they go out._] Drown her brother! WEAVER [_To Dyer._] Come on! [_Exeunt omnes._] BOTTLEJOHN [_Blowing out a candle._] This preaching saveth tallow. [_Calls._] Dick! Ned! Slow knaves! [_Exit right._] [_Cautiously, the cellar door is opened, and enter the Miller. He whistles softly; some one within whistles in answer._] MILLER Be all gagged below there? SHIPMAN [_His head appearing._] Aye, All’s tight beneath the hatches. Is the deck clear? [_Miller nods; Shipman disappears for an instant. Then the Miller bows low._] MILLER This way, your lordship-- COOK [_Appearing with Shipman._] ’Save your Worship! [_Enter SUMMONER, MANCIPLE, and HUBERD, the latter disguised as a chimney-sweep. Lastly, ALISOUN in the dress of the Knight._] ALL THE SWAINS Hail, Dan Roderigo! ALISOUN [_While the Swains assist in adjusting her disguise._] Good my squires and henchmen, I thank you.-- Roger, sweetheart, lace my boot there.-- Our journey hath been perilous and dark-- Bob, chuck, how sits my doublet?--but praise Mary, I am preserved to greet my virgin sister;-- God send _she_ like the flavour of my beard Better than me. FRIAR Let me amend it, sweet! [_Kisses her._] ALISOUN Avaunt, vile chimney-sweep! Beshrew thee, Huberd Love, wouldst thou swap complexions? [_Looks in a pewter plate, while the Cook holds a candle._] Thy smut nose Hath blotched the lily pallor of my brow Like a crushed violet. Some powder, quick, And touch it off. FRIAR [_From his robe and cowl, which the Shipman holds, extracts a rabbit’s foot and touches up Alisoun’s face, while the Manciple helps her on with a scarlet-lined mantle._] Sweet love, how liketh you This cloak I stole? ALISOUN ’Twill serve. FRIAR [_Bowing._] Your valet is Your abject Ethiop slave. MILLER [_Kicks him._] Your nincumpoop! Scarecat! Thou blacks thy friar’s skin to save it, Lest the fat vintner and the young squire catch thee And flay it off. FRIAR Even so. SUMMONER By quid, let’s blab, then. He kissed her, and we’ll blab. COOK, MANCIPLE, AND SHIPMAN Aye! ALISOUN Wo betide ye, Then! Down! Kneel down--the batch of ye--and swear, As ye have hopes to win this lily-white hand, Ye will be brothers, till I win my bet. Out with your oaths, now. Kiss my foot and say, By Venus’s lip, And Alis’s hip, I swear to keep This fellowship! ALL [_Severally trying to kiss her extended foot._] By Venus’s lip, And Alis’s hip, I swear to keep-- BOTTLEJOHN [_Calls outside._] Ned! Dick! ALISOUN [_In low voice, to Swains._] Get out! Back to your cellar; guard The knight and the two knaves. Whoever enters Gag ’em and tie. BOTTLEJOHN [_Entering._] Dick! Ned! The devil take All ’prentices! ALISOUN [_Retaining Friar._] Hist! [_Staying the Miller._] Bob! [_To the others._] Go! Go! BOTTLEJOHN I wonder Was it a spook he saw! ’Tis dark. [_Takes up an unlit candle._] ALISOUN Mind, when he strikes A light, I am the devil, and your feet Are hoofs. BOTTLEJOHN Folk say they dwell in cellars. FRIAR Soft! I’ll sprinkle a pinch of this sal volatile I’ the candle flame. BOTTLEJOHN [_Lights candle._] I’ll take my crucifix. [_He is about to go toward the priedieu, when the Friar thrusts his hand over the candle flame. A vivid flash of light reveals his black face to Bottlejohn._] FRIAR Succubus! Incubus! Praestare omnibus! BOTTLEJOHN [_Drops the candle, which goes out._] Help! ALISOUN Silence! [_On the hearth the Friar lights a dull red flame, which throws a flickering glow about the room._] BOTTLEJOHN [_To Alisoun._] O! what art thou? Dost thou laugh? What is thy name? ALISOUN My name is Lucifer. These be my urchins, Belial and Moloch. Salaam! Salaam! FRIAR AND MILLER [_Salaaming._] Hail, Mephistophilis! ALISOUN [_To Host._] What thing art thou?--Duck! BOTTLEJOHN [_Ducks as the Miller pricks him with a dirk._] I be Bottlejohn, The host o’ the One Nine-pin. ALISOUN Bottlejohn, Thee and thy One Nine-pin I damn. For know, Thy cellar is the attic over hell, And hath been leaking bad ale through my ceiling This seven year, and made a puddle deep As Proserpina’s garter in her bridal Chamber, where thy two knaves-- BOTTLEJOHN What! Ned and Dick? ALISOUN Came plumping through head-downwards into hell Like bullfrogs in a tarn. MILLER And drowned! and drowned! Shalt _thou_ in thine own ale. [_Leads him toward cellar._] BOTTLEJOHN O Virgin! FRIAR [_At door, back._] Whist! One comes. BOTTLEJOHN Help! help! ALISOUN [_To Miller._] Quick, Belial, lug thine ass Into his stall. Instruct him with thy whittle What manner devils we are, and when I clap My hands thus and cry “Host!” then lead him forth. [_Exeunt Miller and Bottlejohn into cellar. To Friar._] Meantime, my pixy, hide we here. FRIAR Sweet lord-- [_They hide in the cupboard. Enter, left, Chaucer and Prioress._] PRIORESS Parlez toujours, Monsieur! Parlez toujours! CHAUCER How silver falls the night! The hills lie down like sheep; the young frog flutes; The yellow-ammer, from his coppice, pipes Drowsy rehearsals of his matin-song; The latest swallow dips behind the stack. What beauty dreams in silence! The white stars, Like folded daisies in a summer field, Sleep in their dew, and by yon primrose gap In darkness’ hedge, St. Ruth hath dropped her sickle. PRIORESS Nay, yonder’s the new moon. CHAUCER But here’s St. Ruth, Whose pity hath reprieved a vintner’s son. Your nephew’s verses-- PRIORESS Pray speak not of them; That wicked Friar Huberd was to blame. But now-- [_Turning to the casement._] The moon, Monsieur; parlez, Monsieur! CHAUCER [_Aside._] “Parlez, Monsieur.” How shall I trust myself? [_Aloud._] I may not, dear Madame. If I should speak, My heart would run in passages too sweet For this cloy’d planet. PRIORESS [_Pointing through casement to the sky._] Mais--parlez, Monsieur. CHAUCER Yea, if perchance there were some _other_ star-- PRIORESS Some other star-- CHAUCER Some star unsurfeited, Some blessed star, where hot and lyric youth Pours not swift torment in the veins of age; Where Passion--gorgeous cenobite--blurs not With fumid incense of his own hot breath The hallow’d eyes of sweet Philosophy; Where body battens not upon the soul, But both are Reason’s angels, and Love’s self-- Pontifical in daisy-chains--doth hold High mass at nature’s May-pole;--if such star There were in all God’s heaven, and such indeed Were ours, there would I speak and utter, not “Dear Eglantine, I love you,” but “We love.” PRIORESS Monsieur, ’tis true. CHAUCER The simple truth, once said, Is very sweet, Madame. PRIORESS Merci, Monsieur. ALISOUN Whist, Huberd; are they gone? FRIAR Nay. ALISOUN Did he kiss her? Bones! Are they dumb! FRIAR Art jealous, dame? ALISOUN Shut up! CHAUCER [_At the window._] Some other star! Choose, lady, which is ours? PRIORESS Yonder cool star that hides its winking light Like a maid that weeps--but not for heaviness. CHAUCER Ha! If I were Prometheus now, I’d filch it From out the seventh crystal sphere for you And ’close it in this locket. [_Seizes her hand._] PRIORESS Nay, that holds My brother’s hair. CHAUCER [_Dropping her hand, looks away into the night._] We dream. PRIORESS Of what, Monsieur? CHAUCER We dream that we are back in Eden garden And that the gates are shut--and sin outside. PRIORESS Why, such in truth is love. CHAUCER Yes, such in truth But not in fact, dear lady. Such sweet truth Grows only on God’s tree; we may behold And crave immortally, but may not pluck it Without the angel’s scourge.--“When Adam delved”-- Aye, then he dragged both heaven and earth and hell Along with him.--O God! this suzerain mansion Where saints and crown’d philosophers discourse Familiarly together as thy guests-- This ample palace of poesie, the mind-- Hath trap-doors sunk into a murky vault, Where passion’s serfs lie sprawling. PRIORESS I am afraid! CHAUCER Forgive me, O sweet lady! I seem not All that I am. PRIORESS [_Timidly._] What are you? CHAUCER Do you ask? Why, then, for this dull, English bulk, ’tis true A London vintner gat it; but for this My moving soul, I do believe it is Some changeling sprite, the bastard of a god, Sprung from Pan’s loins and white Diana’s side, That, like a fawn, I fain must laugh and love Where the sap runs; yet, like an anchorite, Pore on the viewless beauty of a book: Not more enamoured (when the sun is out) O’ the convent rose, than of the hoyden milkweed Bold in my path. Life, in whatever cup, To me is a love-potion. In one breath, My heart hath pealed the chimes above St. Paul’s And rung an ale-wife’s laughter. ALISOUN [_Aside to the Friar._] Bless his heart And waistband! Heard ye that? PRIORESS [_Who has listened, lost._] To hear you speak Is sweeter than the psalter. Do not stop. CHAUCER [_Aside, smiling._] Dear Lady Dreams!-- [_Aloud._] Hark! Footsteps from the chapel. [_Goes to the door._] It is your nephew and his lady-love. Let’s step aside before I introduce you, And profit by these pangs of “lyric youth.” [_Chaucer and the Prioress step aside, as enter, left, Johanna and the Squire._] SQUIRE Stay! JOHANNA Leave me! SQUIRE Hear me! JOHANNA Is the house of prayer No sanctuary that you drag me from it? SQUIRE Donna, the cloudy-pillar’d dome o’ the air Alone can roof a lover’s house of prayer. JOHANNA More verses? Send ’em to your lady nun. SQUIRE O heartless bosom! Cold concave of pity! Whet thy disdain upon the heart-shaped stone Lodged, like a ruby, in that marble breast, And slay me with the onyx of thine eye. JOHANNA Pray, did your Geoffrey write that? SQUIRE Do not scorn him. He named you “Eglantine” because “Johanna” Was not euphonious. JOHANNA Because “Johanna” Was not-- SQUIRE Euphonious. But “Eglantine”-- JOHANNA But “Eglantine” was all symphonious. “Johanna”--ha?--was not mellifluous Enough to woo me! So a honeysuckle, An eglantine, must be my proxy--ha? Go! go! Hide in the night--Go! Kill thyself! SQUIRE [_At the door._] O sky! thy noon was a broad, glorious mirror, Which now hath fallen from its frame and shattered; And little stars, like points of glass, they prick me That gather back my grains of crushèd joy. JOHANNA [_At the window._] O starry night! thou art Fortune’s playing-card, All bright emboss’d with little shining hearts That dash our own with destiny. Oh, false! [_Turns._] Go!--to your Eglantine! SQUIRE Johanna! CHAUCER [_Speaks from the darkness._] Hide, Cleopatra, thy Egyptian hair! JOHANNA Hark! CHAUCER Esther, let melt thy meekness as the snow.-- JOHANNA [_Draws nearer to Squire._] What is’t? CHAUCER Hide, Ariadne, all thy beauties bare! SQUIRE Who speaks? CHAUCER Penelope and Marcia Cato, Drown all your wifely virtues in the Po.-- JOHANNA Good Aubrey, strike a light. CHAUCER Isold and Helen, veil your starlit eyes-- _Johanna_ comes, that doth you jeopardise! [_The Squire lights a candle, revealing Chaucer._] JOHANNA O monster! It is he. [_Chaucer takes the candle from the Squire’s hand, and, holding it high, approaches Johanna, thereby throwing the Prioress into his own shadow._] SQUIRE Nay, gentle sir! CHAUCER Laodamia, Hero, and Dido, And Phyllis, dying for thy Demophon, And Canace, betroth’d of Cambalo,-- Polixena, that made for love such moan, Let envy gnaw your beauties to the bone; Yea, Hypermnestra, swoon in envious sighs-- _Johanna_ comes, that doth you jeopardise! JOHANNA Oh, thank you--both. Squire, I congratulate Your cunning chivalry on luring me From church to bait me in this bear-trap. SQUIRE Lady, Upon my honour-- [_To Chaucer._] Good sir-- [_To Johanna._] Nay, fear nothing. Indeed, if you but knew-- JOHANNA [_Catching sight of Prioress._] If I but knew! St. Ann! I know too much. SQUIRE You would be proud To have him rhyme your name. Sir, I protest Had I conceived how fair “Johanna” sounds In verse-- CHAUCER [_Sternly._] Hold, signorino! Was it thus You bade me sonnetise your Eglantine? You said yourself-- SQUIRE In sooth, that “Eglantine” Is sweeter. JOHANNA Ugh! CHAUCER There you were false. For know As ocean-shells give back the mermaid’s sigh, The conches of a lover’s ears should hold Eternal murmurs of his mistress’ name. “Johanna” should have been thy conjure-word To raise all spirits; thy muses’ _nom de plume_; “Johanna” should have learnt thy brook to purl, Thy pine to sorrow, and thy lark to soar; And nightingales, forswearing Tereus’ name, Have charmed thy wakeful midnight with “Johanna.” JOHANNA [_To Chaucer._] Roland of Champions! Ringrazio! Now, pray, what says the other lady? SQUIRE The other? JOHANNA [_To Prioress._] Dame Eglantine, your most obsequious. PRIORESS Votre servante.--I also, Mademoiselle, Have been at court. JOHANNA Does not Madame applaud, then, This vintner’s courtly eloquence? PRIORESS I think Monsieur will soon explain how this good youth And I are dearly tied unto each other. SQUIRE What! I--and you, Madame? JOHANNA It seems the trap Hath caught the hunters. [_Aside._] Oh, my heart! SQUIRE I swear I do not know this lady. JOHANNA What! you swear! [_Aside._] Not perjury? SQUIRE I swear that we are strangers; Of no relationship, and least of love. JOHANNA Oh, Aubrey, is this true? SQUIRE Why, Mistress-- CHAUCER [_Aside to Squire._] Soft! Walk with this nun a moment. SQUIRE Sir? CHAUCER Dost trust me? SQUIRE Yes, but-- CHAUCER [_Indicating Johanna._] I’ll reconcile her. [_Aside to Prioress._] Tell him all, Madame. Leave us alone a moment. SQUIRE But-- CHAUCER [_Aloud._] I will not play the hypocrite. PRIORESS [_To Squire, as they go out._] Dear Aubrey-- JOHANNA “Dear Aubrey!” Gone! gone! and with her. O base Conspiracy!--To leave me! [_To Chaucer._] Stand aside! CHAUCER Nay, do not follow. JOHANNA I? I follow _her_? Follow the lost Francesca into Limbo! She’s damned. I seek my ward, De Wycliffe. CHAUCER Stay! JOHANNA St. Winifred! You’ll force--? CHAUCER Donna, my heart Bleeds tears for you. JOHANNA Stand by! CHAUCER That one so young, So seeming virtuous-- JOHANNA “So seeming”--thanks! CHAUCER As this young squire should, at one look from his-- Should, at one look, forsake your ladyship For his--alas! But such is man! The bonds Which nature forges chain us to the flesh, Though angels pry the links. JOHANNA The bonds which nature?-- CHAUCER Yes, nature: ’tis not love. Had it been love, Would he have turned, even in his vows of truth, And left you with his--ah! it chokes me. Nay, Go, go, great marchioness, seek out your ward; I crave your pardon. [_Bowing, he steps aside. Johanna, passing disdainfully to the door, there pauses, and turns to Chaucer, as though he had spoken._] JOHANNA Well? [_Chaucer retires right._] ’Tis very dark. [_Returning._] I will wait here. CHAUCER In sadness, honoured lady, I take my leave. [_He goes to the door; Johanna rises uneasily._] Yet I beseech your grace Will never hint to that poor youth, my friend, The secret I let slip. JOHANNA [_Aside._] “Let slip!” The booby!-- He thinks he’s told me who she is. Soft! _now_ I’ll worm it out. [_Aloud._] Wait; if I promise never To hint the thing we know--you understand. CHAUCER That’s it. JOHANNA One moment, Master Geoffrey. I Have rallied you somewhat on your paternal Vintage. CHAUCER To be hit by your Grace’s wit Is to die smiling. JOHANNA [_Aside._] How the big fish bites! [_Aloud, effusively._] But you’ll forgive me? ’Tis my nature, those To banter whom I best adore. [_Detaching a knot of ribbon from her gown, she offers it to Chaucer._] Pray, sir,-- CHAUCER For me?--A love-knot! By your Grace’s favours I am bewildered. JOHANNA Keep it as a pledge-- For you are Aubrey’s friend, my Aubrey’s friend-- As pledge that I will never, so help me Heaven, Reveal to him my knowledge of his secret, How Eglantine is his--oh, word it for me, For I am heartsick. CHAUCER Trust me, honoured lady, You have done bravely. For did he suspect That I have even whispered to you how That nun, whose sensuous name he bade me rhyme In verses meant for you, that Prioress, Whose cloistral hand even now, lock’d in his palm, Leads here your Aubrey, how that vestal maid Hath lived for months, nay years, your lover’s--oh! JOHANNA [_Seizes Chaucer’s arm._] His _what_? In God’s name, speak it! His-- CHAUCER His aunt! [_Blows out the candle._] JOHANNA His _aunt_? CHAUCER [_Going off in the dark._] O shire of Kent! thou shire of Kent! To sit with thee in parliament Doth not content Me, verayment, Like laughing at lovers after Lent. Haha! Hahaha! [_Exit._] Ho! Shire of Kent! JOHANNA So--Kent? He mocks my title, doth he? O gall! If he have made a fool of me-- Yet, if he’ve made a fool of me, O sweet, Sweet gall! SQUIRE [_Outside._] Johanna! JOHANNA Aubrey! SQUIRE [_Returning with Prioress._] He hath told thee? JOHANNA Nay, hath he told me _true_? SQUIRE This is my aunt, Dame Eglantine, my father’s sister. ALISOUN [_Aside._] Death! We must be quick. FRIAR [_Aside._] I’ll win thy wager for thee. [_Exit Friar at door, front left._] PRIORESS [_Extending her hand to Johanna._] My nephew tells me you and he-- JOHANNA Madame, I blush to think of my late rudeness; ’twas My jealousy. Yet you should pardon it; For you that wear St. Chastity’s safe veil Can never know how blind St. Cupid plagues The eyes of worldlings. PRIORESS No? SQUIRE Love, you forgive me? [_Reënter Chaucer._] JOHANNA Forgive you? By my heart--I’ll think about it. Here comes our fool. Come hither, What’s-your-name. CHAUCER [_Coming forward with the love-knot._] Your Grace’s secret-monger. JOHANNA Tut! tut! [_Embarrassed, motions him to put it away._] Rhymester, If thou wilt come to court, I’ll have thee made Court-fool. SQUIRE [_Aside._] O mistress, hush! JOHANNA A cask of thy Diameter should keep King Richard drunk With laughter for a twelvemonth. Cask, I swear it, Thou shalt be made court-fool. SQUIRE [_Aside to Chaucer._] She doth not mean it. PRIORESS [_Aside to Squire._] Nephew, I cannot quite approve your choice. JOHANNA Nay, keep my knot; my favour is renewed. I’ll sue the king myself at Canterbury To swaddle thee in motley. [_Chaucer laughs aside._] --Well, no thanks? CHAUCER Lady, pray God I live to see that day. JOHANNA Amen. Now, Aubrey, where’s your father? Let’s Make merry all together. PRIORESS True, my brother; Went he to chapel? SQUIRE Ladies, I am ’shamed To make confession of my selfishness: To-day, all day, in the sweet day and night Of my own thoughts I have been wandering. I have not seen my father since this morning. I’ll go and seek him now. CHAUCER Nay, boy, remain. Doubtless he’s gone to chapel. I will find him And bring him to you here. First, though, let me Anticipate my fool’s prerogative And play the father to another’s bairns, This vixen girl and boy. [_With an affectionate smile he draws Johanna and Aubrey together and kisses them._] God bless ’em both! PRIORESS [_Aside._] St. Loy! No more? JOHANNA Dear fool, thou’rt not so old. Come now, how old? CHAUCER Ah, lass, my crop is rowen. When grey hairs creep like yarrow into clover, Farewell, green June! Thy growing days be over. [_Aside._] Bewitching Eglantine! [_Exit left._] PRIORESS [_At the casement, aside._] Some other star! [_Aloud._] Nephew! [_The Squire and Johanna stand absorbed in their own whisperings._] Nephew! SQUIRE Madame! PRIORESS I pray you, tell Your father, when he comes, I am retired A moment to my room. SQUIRE I will, Madame. [_Exit Prioress, right._] My lady, we’re alone. JOHANNA Alas, then come, Sit and be sad. [_She sits in the niche by the fireplace._] SQUIRE Sad? Must I wear a mask, then? Mistress! Mistress, masks fall away from love Like husks from buds in April. By love’s light Lovers can look through mountains to their joy As through these black beams I see heaven. Nay, Hear me! When I have won my spurs-- FRIAR [_Sings within._] What, ho! What, ho! Dan Cupido! A spurless knight usurps thy halls.-- JOHANNA What’s that? SQUIRE The friar! ’Tis his voice. FRIAR [_Sings within._] Thy fortress falls, And all her rosèd charms-- JOHANNA Is’t in the cellar? SQUIRE Or the wall? [_They look up the chimney._] FRIAR [_Sings within._] To arms, Dan Cupido! To arms, Dan Cupido! [_With a rush of soot, he falls into the fireplace._] Bon soir! JOHANNA ’Od’s fiends! SQUIRE [_Seizing Friar, drags him forth._] Sneak thief, at last I have thee--What! A chimney-sweep? FRIAR Did scare the ladykin? SQUIRE Was’t thou that sung? FRIAR Sung-la? JOHANNA [_Brushing herself off._] My taffeta! SQUIRE Sing! Didst thou sing? FRIAR Oh, sing! You mean the friar, sir. SQUIRE [_Peremptorily._] Where? FRIAR In the cellar. He’s a-hiding, sir. SQUIRE I warrant him. Here-- [_Gives Friar a coin._] Come, show me the scoundrel. FRIAR [_Examining coin._] A noble! [_Sings._] Oh, rare Sweet miller, Lady-killer, Not there, not there! SQUIRE [_Eyeing Friar with suspicion._] What? [_The Miller slips stealthily from the cellar door and joins Alisoun in the cupboard._] FRIAR Was’t so he sung, sir? SQUIRE Yes. JOHANNA [_Still brushing her gown._] Ruined! FRIAR Sir, follow, sir. I know him well. A begging friar? SQUIRE Yes.--One moment, Mistress.-- I’ll flay the beggar. Now! FRIAR [_The Friar opens cellar door; Squire snatches his candle and precedes him._] A sneaking friar-- A noble!--a swindling, skulking, lying friar. [_Aside to Bob Miller, who joins him from the cupboard._] O rare Bob-up-and-down! [_Exeunt; Alisoun leaves the cupboard and exit stealthily at door, left front._] JOHANNA Stay; are they gone? Mass! mass! I’m spotted worse than ink. And kneel In Canterbury kirk in such a gown! I’ll eat it first. Oh, Lord! Lord, now who comes? [_Enter, left back, the Canon’s Yeoman and the Carpenter; after whom the Wife of Bath, disguised._] ALISOUN Good fellow, you there, can you propagate Unto my vision--a young prioress? CANON’S YEOMAN No, sir, I cannot. ALISOUN Or a marchioness? [_The pilgrims pass on._] JOHANNA [_Aside._] A marchioness! ALISOUN [_Twirling her sword-scabbard._] Hum! Hum! CARPENTER How went the sermon? CANON’S YEOMAN God’s blood! Old Wycliffe hammered the pope flat. The pulpit rang like a hot anvil. CARPENTER Aye, There’ll be skulls cracked yet. [_Exeunt right._] ALISOUN [_To Johanna._] Amorous Minerva! JOHANNA Signor! [_Aside._] My left sleeve’s clean. ALISOUN I have a son, Whose aunt-- JOHANNA Are you the Knight of Algezir? ALISOUN I am--Dan Roderigo d’Algezir. JOHANNA My Aubrey’s father. ALISOUN Bones! Are you Johanna? JOHANNA [_Aside._] Bones! ALISOUN Corpus arms! it sticks me to the heart To gaze on your sweet face, my dear. JOHANNA [_Aside._] My dear! ALISOUN Ah! the fat rogue! He said your face was worth Unbuckling an off eye to pop it in; But such a pretty finch! JOHANNA Finch! Sir, perhaps You are deceived in me.--Who sent you here? ALISOUN Yon chum of that sweet spindle-shanks, my son-- Yon rhymester, Master Geoffrey. JOHANNA Yes; ’twas he. [_Aside._] Saints! is _this_ Aubrey’s father? [_Aloud._] Doubtless, sir, There’s no mistake. Your sister left you word-- ALISOUN O villain! Aye, though I ha’ bred him! What Though ’tis my own son--villain! God’s teeth! JOHANNA Sir! ALISOUN Your pardon, dainty dame. Before I speak I do not rinse my mouth in oleander. I am a blunt knight. Nay, I cannot sigh A simoon hot with sonnets like my son. I am a blunt knight who, on Satan’s heel, Hath rode it and strode it, wenched it, wived it, and knived it, Booted and footed ’t, till--by Venus’ shoestring, I be a blunt and rough but honest soldier. JOHANNA Signore, I believe it. ALISOUN Blunt’s the word, then; And here’s the blunt point. You’re deceived. JOHANNA By whom? ALISOUN By Aubrey. JOHANNA What! ALISOUN Aye, by my smiling son Wi’ the pretty curls. Where is he now? JOHANNA Why, he-- He’s gone to find the friar. ALISOUN Aye. JOHANNA Good Heaven! Can he have harmed him? ALISOUN Who--the friar? The friar’s His pal--his pal; and so is Geoffrey; aye, And that lascivious, Latin-singing nun-- JOHANNA What! Eglantine? ALISOUN Yes, she; those four! Child, child, Wouldst not believe it, how they’ve sneaked and schemed, Plotted my life, aye, for my money. But ’Twas lust, lust egged him on. Oh God! my son! And ’twas a cherub ’fore this Geoffrey warped him! JOHANNA [_To herself._] They whispered here: and there she said “Dear Aubrey.” ALISOUN And their disguises; oh, you’d not believe it! That devil friar plays the chimney-sweep. And-- JOHANNA Chimney-sweep! ’Twas he, then, sung? Oh, come; Help! ALISOUN Where? JOHANNA They’re in the cellar. ALISOUN Like enough; They’re plotting, plotting. God’s wounds! ’Tis a trap. Where be they all? Geoffrey to send me here-- My son to leave you with the friar--Ha! They’re with that sly, deceptive Prioress; ’Tis she-- JOHANNA Why, she’s your sister. ALISOUN [_As if taken back._] What--my sister! Is _she_ the Prioress? _She_ Eglantine? JOHANNA Yes, yes; and she, too, left upon a pretext. Sir Roderigo, say, what shall we do? ALISOUN My sister--and my son! JOHANNA [_Calls._] Aubrey!--no answer? Aubrey! ALISOUN My son and sister! JOHANNA Oh, poor soldier! ALISOUN Oh, monstrous brood, hatched in a vampire’s nest! But I will be revenged. Go to your room; Lock fast the door; but when I call, “A brooch, A brooch!” come forth and raise the house. JOHANNA Why “brooch”? ALISOUN A watchword. Quick; go! I hear footsteps. Go! [_Urges her toward door, right back._] Blunt is the word; your presence dangers me-- Your room. No, no, I fear not. JOHANNA Poor Sir Roderick! [_Exit; Alisoun shuts door; voices outside, left._] ALISOUN A miss is as good’s a mile. REEVE [_Outside._] Where went your knight? [_Enter Reeve, Doctor, and Chaucer._] CHAUCER To chapel. REEVE Na, na, na; I saw him not. CHAUCER [_To Doctor._] Nor you? DOCTOR A knight, say you, from the Holy Land? CHAUCER Yes, a crusader. DOCTOR [_Points at Alisoun._] Is that he? CHAUCER Ah, thank you; [_Starts forward, but sees he is mistaken._] Nay, ’tis another man. DOCTOR Good even, sir. REEVE [_To Doctor._] ’Twas the first time I heard the devil preach In chapel. DOCTOR Wycliffe? REEVE [_Nods._] Curse him and his Lollards! [_Exeunt, right front._] CHAUCER [_Follows them to door, and calls._] Aubrey! ALISOUN [_Claps her hands._] Host! CHAUCER Signorino! ALISOUN Host here! [_Enter from cellar the Miller and Bottlejohn. As the door is closing, the chink is filled with the faces of the Swains, threatening Bottlejohn._] MILLER [_His dagger drawn, aside to Bottlejohn._] Mum! Quick! Be thy ribs good whetstones? BOTTLEJOHN [_Ducking to Alisoun._] Here, sweet lording. ALISOUN Thou’rt slow. MILLER [_Aside._] Ribs! BOTTLEJOHN Slow, sweet lording. ALISOUN Tell me, host, Hast thou residing in this hostelry A gentle prioress? CHAUCER [_Aside._] What? MILLER [_Aside to Bottlejohn, sharpening his dagger on an ale mug._] Whetstones! BOTTLEJOHN Aye, Sweet lording. ALISOUN Good; go tell her that her brother Awaits her here. CHAUCER [_Aside._] Her brother! [_Draws nearer._] HOST Aye, sweet lording. [_Starts for door, right back, Miller following._] ALISOUN Her brother, say--Dan Roderigo. BOTTLEJOHN Aye, Sweet lording. MILLER Host, hast thou a whetstone in Thy pocket? BOTTLEJOHN Aye, sweet lording. MILLER [_Winking at Alisoun._] “Aye, sweet lording.” [_Exeunt Bottlejohn and Miller._] [_Alisoun ignores Chaucer’s presence._] CHAUCER [_Approaching her._] Your pardon, sir, I trespass. By your cross You come-- ALISOUN From Palestine. Well met. You, friend? CHAUCER Nay, I’m a door-mouse, sir; a doze-at-home. My home’s near by at Greenwich. You have friends-- Friends at the inn? ALISOUN A friend, sir; a fair friend; By Jupiter, a sweet friend. CHAUCER Ah! ALISOUN A sister. She is a nun. CHAUCER Good God! ALISOUN A prioress. CHAUCER It cannot be! ALISOUN Signor! CHAUCER Her name? Her name? ALISOUN What’s that to you--her name? CHAUCER [_Disconcerted._] It may be-- ALISOUN Ah! Perhaps you know her--what? ’Tis Eglantine. CHAUCER Impossible!--Sir, pardon me; I must Have made some strange mistake. ALISOUN Nay, friend; I guess ’Tis I have made the blunder. CHAUCER You, sir? ALISOUN Sooth, I might as well stick both feet in the mire And wade across my blushes. We old lads With beards, who sees our blushes, what? So, then, This prioress, she is not just my sister. CHAUCER No? ALISOUN No. CHAUCER What then? ALISOUN Vous savez bien, these nuns, When they would have a friend, they clepe him “brother.” Especially on holy pilgrimage It hath a proper sound: “My _brother_ meets me; My _brother_ is a knight.” You cannot blame ’em; ’Tis more discreet; we men must humour ’em. Therefore this little honeysuckle nun Doth take delight to call me _brother_. CHAUCER Liar! [_As Chaucer lifts his hand about to strike Alisoun, she raises hers to guard; seizing it, he beholds her ring._] What!--“Amor vincit omnia.”--Even her! ALISOUN Take back your lie! CHAUCER That ring--tell me--that ring! ALISOUN St. Madrian! It is my love-ring. She, My sweet nun, gave it me. She wears a brooch To match it, on her wrist. [_Enter, right, Bottlejohn and Miller._] BOTTLEJOHN The Prioress, Sweet lording. [_Enter the Prioress._] PRIORESS Brother! Welcome, brother! CHAUCER No! God! God! I’ll not believe it. Aubrey! Aubrey! [_Exit, left._] ALISOUN My pretty virgin sister! PRIORESS [_Gives her hand, reticently._] Roderigo! [_Looking after Chaucer._] He need not, sure, have gone. ALISOUN Put up thy chin, My snow-white dove. Aha, but thou art grown! The silver slip o’ girlhood that I kissed Good-by when I set out for Palestine Hath mellowed into golden womanhood. Give me thy lips. PRIORESS Nay, brother, nay; my vows! I may not kiss a man. ALISOUN Toot! never fear, then; Thou shalt not break thy vows against _my_ beard. What, I’m thy brother; come! PRIORESS Adieu, mon frère. ALISOUN Soft, soft, my startled fawn. You need not jump Because your brother is a true crusader. Or didst thou fancy I was cut in stone, With my cold gauntlets crossed above my breast, Like a dumb, marble knight upon a tomb? Art not thou glad to see me, sister? PRIORESS Yes, Mon frère. Forgive me, I had thought--You see, My nephew--’tis a pretty mannered youth; You’re not alike, are you? ALISOUN [_Laughing._] By Peter’s toe, I hope not. Saints deliver me from being A new-hatched chicken’s feather. PRIORESS What! your son? ALISOUN Next, thou’ll be wishing I were like that fellow That fetched me here--yon what’s-his-name, yon Geoffrey. PRIORESS Why, ’tis a noble gentleman. [_Enter, from cellar door, Summoner, Shipman, Cook, Friar, and Manciple; they look on._] ALISOUN Hoho! Your noble gentleman! Why, harkee, sweet; He told me he’s betrothèd to an ale-wife. PRIORESS He told you--when? ALISOUN Just now, coming from chapel. PRIORESS Her name? ALISOUN [_Ruminating, winks at the Swains._] What was her name, now?--Alisoun, The Wife of Bath, they call her. PRIORESS O gran Dieu! That _person_! ALISOUN Person! God wot, ’twas not so Your Geoffrey called her. “Alisoun,” quoth he; “My lily Alisoun, my fresh wild-rose, My cowslip in the slough of womankind, Bright Alisoun shall be my bride.” PRIORESS [_Throwing herself into Alisoun’s arms._] Mon frère! Oh, keep me safe, mon frère! [_She hides her face._] MILLER [_Laughing._] By Corpus bones! SUMMONER Look! SHIPMAN Hold me up! BOTTLEJOHN [_Whispers._] Lady, beware! MILLER Mum! PRIORESS What Are these? ALISOUN Begone, you varlets! COOK [_Bowing._] Yes, sweet lord. SUMMONER We know our betters. [_They withdraw a little._] ALISOUN Come, what cheer, my girl? Hath that churl Geoffrey wronged thee? PRIORESS No, no, no! ALISOUN Nay, if the churl hath wronged thee, by this locket-- PRIORESS Swear not by that. _He_ swore by that. ALISOUN O vile! He swore by this--the brooch that holds my hair, Thy brother’s hair? PRIORESS But, Roderigo-- ALISOUN What! Give’t here! Or maybe thou hast promised it To him? PRIORESS No, no, mon frère. Here, take it--keep it. ALISOUN So! By this brooch-- [_Aside._] Now, lads, learn how to woo! Now, by this golden brooch of Eglantine, And by this little, slender wrist of pearl, Where once it hung; and by the limpid eyes Of Eglantine, and by her ripe, red mouth, Yea, by the warm white doves which are her breasts And flutter at the heart of Eglantine, I swear I will be ever Eglantine’s And lacerate the foes of Eglantine. PRIORESS Brother, such words-- ALISOUN Call me not brother, sweet; A brother’s blood is lukewarm in his limbs, But mine for thee is lightning. Look at me! Was Jove a finer figure of a man Than me? Had Agamemnon such an arm, Or Hector such a leg? PRIORESS Forbear! Forbear! ALISOUN Alack, she scorns me. Stay, Venus of virgins! Why dost thou wimple all the lovely dawn Of thy young body in this veil of night? Why wilt thou cork thy sweetness up, and, like A mummy, wrapped in rose and ivory, Store all thy beauty till the judgment-day? God did not paint thee on a window-glass. Step down from thy cold chapel, rosy saint, And take thy true-knight in thine arms. PRIORESS Help! help! BOTTLEJOHN Pray, lady, pray! It is Satanas! They Be devils all! ALISOUN Love--Eglantine--I kneel. PRIORESS Joannes! Marcus! [_Seizing her crucifix._] Tibi, Domine! [_Enter, right, Joannes, Marcus, and Paulus. They are immediately driven back by the Summoner, Shipman, and Cook._] JOANNES Madame. SHIPMAN Come on! PRIORESS Help! Save me! [_Enter Chaucer, left._] ALISOUN [_To Prioress._] Lovely nymph, Come to my arms-- CHAUCER [_To Alisoun, with his sword drawn._] Embrace me. PRIORESS [_Goes to his protection._] Cher monsieur! ALISOUN God save you, Master Geoffrey. CHAUCER Draw! FRIAR [_Aside._] Lord! Lord! The pot boils. Now to add the salt and pepper. [_Exit down cellar._] [_Enter, left back, in quick succession, all the pilgrims, returning with their links from chapel._] PRIORESS [_To Chaucer._] Monsieur-- CHAUCER [_To Alisoun._] Draw! PRIORESS Do not fight, Monsieur! CHAUCER Wilt draw, I say? ALISOUN Draw what? Draw _you_? Merci, I’m not a dray-horse. CHAUCER Is this man your brother? PRIORESS Oh, sir, I know not; but he hath insulted-- CHAUCER Insulted you? Enough. By all the devils, Defend yourself! ALISOUN [_Drawing._] To arms then, sweet Achilles. [_They fight. Re-enter right, Shipman, Summoner, and Cook. They rush to Alisoun’s aid._] SHIPMAN Boardside the fat churl. PILGRIMS Come! A fight! FRANKLIN [_Entering._] Who are they? MERCHANT A Lollard and Papist. PRIORESS Stay them! Stop them! PILGRIMS Down with the Papists! PRIORESS Oh, St. Loy! CHAUCER [_To the crowd._] Stand off! PILGRIMS Down with the Lollards! [_They close in and fight confusedly with staves._] ALISOUN [_Holding up the locket._] Hold! A brooch! A brooch! CHAUCER I’ll make thee yield it, ruffian. [_From the cellar enter the Friar and the Squire, the latter sword in hand, fragments of cut ropes still clinging to him._] SQUIRE [_To Chaucer--plunging at Alisoun._] Sir, I’m with you. [_Enter, right, Johanna._] ALISOUN [_To Squire._] Unnatural son! JOHANNA Help! [_Throws herself between them._] Brave Sir Roderick! [_To Squire._] Shame! Shame! Your father’s blood? SQUIRE You, lady? [_Enter, left, Wycliffe._] WYCLIFFE [_To the pilgrims._] Peace! CHAUCER You, marchioness! What does this mean? ALISOUN [_Stripping off her beard and wig--her own hair falling over her shoulders--snatches a warming-pan from the chimney, and confronts Chaucer._] Sweet Geoffrey, It means this pan shall warm our wedding sheets. MILLER What devil! CHAUCER Alisoun!--My bet is lost. FRANKLIN The Wife of Bath! [_The pilgrims crowd round and laugh._] JOHANNA [_Turning away._] Impostors! ALISOUN [_To Chaucer._] Come, sweet chuck, And kiss the brooch that hath betrothed our hearts. PRIORESS M’sieur, is this true? [_As Chaucer turns to the Prioress in a kind of blank dismay, enter, from the cellar, swathed in a long gown, the real Knight and the Friar._] KNIGHT [_To Friar._] Where? [_Friar points to Prioress; he advances._] Eglantine! PRIORESS [_Aghast at this apparition, runs to the priedieu._] No more! CHAUCER [_Struck, at a flash, by this medley of incongruities, bursts into laughter, and seizing an ale mug, lifts it high._] Alis, I drink to thee and woman’s wit. FRIAR God save the vintner and the Wife of Bath! PILGRIMS [_Shout._] God save the vintner and the Wife of Bath! ALISOUN [_Sharing the ale mug with Chaucer._] Sweetheart! Explicit pars tertia. ACT FOURTH “And specially, from every shires ende Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende, The holy blisful martyr for to seke, That hem hath holpen whan that they were seke.” ACT IV TIME: The next day. SCENE: Before the west front of Canterbury Cathedral, gorgeously decorated with tapestries, hatchments, and cloth of gold. Grouped nearby are temporary booths of venders, gaily trimmed. _Many pilgrims are assembled; others keep arriving from different directions, talking, praying, and sight-seeing. At the Cathedral door a Priest blesses, with a sprengel, those who enter._ FIRST VENDER Relics! Souvenirs! SECOND VENDER Blood of the blissful martyr! A BLACK FRIAR [_To Bailey, the Host._] A guide, Sir Hosteler? HOST Be off! SECOND VENDER [_To the Guild-men._] Ampulles? WEAVER What are they? SECOND VENDER Leaden bottles; look! DYER What’s in ’em? SECOND VENDER Drops from the holy well: St. Thomas’ well, That turned four times to blood and once to milk; Good for the humours, gout, and falling-sickness. WEAVER [_Buys some._] Here. SECOND VENDER Eightpence. [_The Guild-men buy, and arrange the leaden vials in their hats._] FIRST VENDER Vernicles! St. Peter’s keys! CARPENTER [_Examining a purchase._] What’s written on this brooch, sir? CLERK “Caput Thomæ.” PLOUGHMAN [_Staring at a statue in a niche of the Cathedral._] Is he alive? FRANKLIN Naw; he’s just petrified. BLACK FRIAR [_To Merchant._] A guide, sir? MERCHANT No. BLACK FRIAR Show you the spot, sir, where The four knights murdered Becket, in the year Eleven hundred seventy, at dusk, The twenty-ninth day of December-- A GREY FRIAR Nay, sir, I’ll show you the true statue of the Virgin That talked to holy Thomas when he prayed. BLACK FRIAR St. George’s arm, sir! Come; I’ll let you kiss it. GREY FRIAR This way; the tomb of Edward the Black Prince. [_Both seize Merchant and tug him._] MERCHANT [_Struggling._] Mine host! HOST [_Coming up._] Pack off! PARSON [_To Ploughman._] What May-day queen comes here? [_Outside, left, are heard girls’ voices singing; enter, dressed richly and gaily_, CHAUCER, _surrounded by a bevy of Canterbury brooch-girls, who have wreathed him with flowers and long ribbons, by which they pull him; plying him with their wares, while he attempts to talk aside with the Man-of-Law, who accompanies him_.] CANTERBURY GIRLS [_Sing._] High and low, Low and high, Be they merry, Be they glum, When they come To Canterbury, Canterbury, Canterbury, Some low, Some high, Canterbury brooches buy. CHAUCER Sweet ladies--nay, sweet Canterbury muses, Not Hercules amid the Lydian nymphs Was ravished by more dulcet harmonies. [_To Man-of-Law._] You sergeants-of-the-law are subtle men. MAN-OF-LAW We have a knack--a knack, sir. A GIRL Pull his sleeve. ANOTHER They say you are a bridegroom. Is it true, sir? CHAUCER Your Canterbury skies rain compliments. [_To Man-of-Law._] Pray!-- MAN-OF-LAW [_Taking money from Chaucer._] If you insist, my lord. CHAUCER Nay, not “my lord.” How stands the case? MAN-OF-LAW You say this wife hath been Some eight times wedded? CHAUCER Five times. A GIRL Stop their gossip, He’s talking business. ALL THE GIRLS Brooches! Souvenirs! CHAUCER [_Examining their wares._] How much? A GIRL This? Two-pence. MAN-OF-LAW Five times--five times. Well! CHAUCER [_To Man-of-Law, giving more money._] Prithee-- MAN-OF-LAW If you insist. A GIRL [_To Chaucer._] Mine for a penny. MAN-OF-LAW Why, then, the case stands thus: By English law, No woman may be wedded but five times. By law, sir, a sixth husband is proscribed. CHAUCER You’ll vouch for that? By law? MAN-OF-LAW Sir, I will quote You precedents from William Conqueror. CHAUCER Alas, my nuptials! And I would have made So neat a bridegroom! A GIRL Come, sir, will you buy? ANOTHER Take mine! ALL THE GIRLS Mine! Mine! Mine! CHAUCER Nay, fresh goddesses, Your graces are more heavenly souvenirs! Sell to me your glances For a poet’s fancies! [_To a girl with yellow hair._] You, Midas’ daughter, how much for this gold? THE GIRL ’Tis not for sale, sir. CHAUCER [_To another._] How much for that rose? THE GIRL What rose? CHAUCER Your smile. THE GIRL Gratis--for you, sir. [_Enter Alisoun, attired gorgeously as a bride._] ALL THE GIRLS Oh-h! CHAUCER How much, Olympians, for your nectar’d lips? ALL THE GIRLS A kiss! A kiss! ALISOUN Hold! Give the bride first licks. ALL THE GIRLS The bride! ALISOUN [_After kissing Chaucer._] Now, lasses, take your turns. A GIRL The shrew! ALISOUN Lo! what a pot of honey I have won To lure the village butterflies. Come, pretties, Sip, sip, and die o’ jealousy. A GIRL [_To Chaucer._] Who is This woman? CHAUCER Nymphs, this is the gentle Thisbe That wooed and won me. Judge then, goddesses, How I must weep to lose her. ALISOUN Lose me, love? Nay, honey-pot, I am too stuck on thee. Thy bosom is my hive, and I queen-bee. A GIRL I’d rather lose my heart to a ripe pumpkin. ANOTHER Or a green gourd. [_They go off, in piqued laughter._] ALISOUN [_Calls after them._] What devil doth it matter Whether he be a pumpkin or a rose, So be that he rings sound.--Give me the man That keeps his old bark grafted with new buds And lops away the dead wood from his trunk, And I will hug him like the mistletoe. Geoffrey, thou art the man. CHAUCER [_As Alisoun is about to embrace him, turns to the Man-of-Law._] Cold-blooded knave! The flower of women and the wit of wives-- Yet I must lose her! MAN-OF-LAW Blame not me, sir; blame The law. CHAUCER O heartless knave! MAN-OF-LAW By English law, No woman may be wedded but five times. ALISOUN What’s that? CHAUCER But is there no exception? MAN-OF-LAW None. By law, sir, a sixth husband is proscribed. ALISOUN Hey, what! What devil? Say’t again. I’m deef. MAN-OF-LAW By law, dame, a sixth husband is proscribed. ALISOUN Prescribed? Ho, then, art thou a doctor? MAN-OF-LAW No, I am a sergeant-of-the-law.--“Proscribed” Is to say, dame, “inhibited,” “forbidden.” ALISOUN How! you forbid me to take Geoffrey here For my sixth husband? CHAUCER Nay, the law forbids it. ALISOUN Pish! What’s the fine? MAN-OF-LAW To hang, dame, by the neck Till thou art dead. ALISOUN Aye, man, by _Geoffrey’s_ neck. Get out! CHAUCER Canst quote the law? MAN-OF-LAW The statute, sir,-- The forty-ninth doom of King Richard--saith: “One woman to five men sufficeth,” or “Quid tibi placet mihi placet,” sir. ALISOUN Hog-gibberish! CHAUCER [_Aside._] Nay, ’tis a man-of-law. But soft! we’ll bribe him. ALISOUN [_Aside._] Do, duck. CHAUCER Sergeant--hist! [_Whispers aside and gives him money, as if covertly. Then aloud._] This statute, is there no appeal from it? MAN-OF-LAW A special dispensation from the king; That’s all, sir. ALISOUN Break his head! CHAUCER Nay, Alis, here’s Good news. The king himself is here to-day In Canterbury. I will beg him grant This special dispensation for our marriage. ALISOUN Thou--ask the king? CHAUCER Why not? ALISOUN Give me a vintner For cheek! Sweet duck, I do believe thou lov’st me. [_Enter the Miller, with the other Swains._] CHAUCER I am unworthy, love, to match thy wit. MILLER Thou art unworthy, fool, to latch her shoe. CHAUCER Even so. MILLER Thou likes to play the gentleman; Come, then; I’ll duel you. CHAUCER Good Bob, I love thee. MILLER Come: knives or fists? CHAUCER Kind Bob, thou shalt this day Shed tears and vow I love thee. MILLER Wilt not fight? Then-- ALISOUN [_Intercepting a blow at Chaucer._] Hold there, Robin Sweetheart, art thou jealous? MILLER Aye, dame. ALISOUN What for? MILLER [_To Swains._] She axes me what for! Axe her, who gagged the Knight? SHIPMAN Who tied the Squire? MANCIPLE Who watched in the wet cellar? SUMMONER Tied thy doublet? FRIAR Who stole thy scarlet cloak? COOK Who kissed thy toe? MILLER Axe her, what made us do all this? Mayhap To get our backs flayed--what? Mayhap to make Our wench a wedding with this vintner here? SHIPMAN Revenge! FRIAR Remember Peggy’s stall. [_They surround Chaucer threateningly._] COOK Vile tub! PRIORESS [_Entering, left._] O Roderigo, help him! KNIGHT Whom? That churl! SQUIRE Father, let me! KNIGHT You are deceived in him. SQUIRE But, sir, these are the rogues that bound you. KNIGHT He Is one of them. They are beneath our notice. MANCIPLE Death to the vintner! SUMMONER Hit him! ALISOUN Stand away! CHAUCER [_As Alisoun, with her fists, keeps them at bay._] Happy, bridegroom, be thy stars When thy Venus turns to Mars! [_Enter heralds._] HERALDS Make way! Room for King Richard! Way! The King! CLERK [_In the crowd._] Shall we see Chaucer now? PARSON He’s sure to come. [_The heralds force back all the pilgrims, except those of high degree, showing, at the great door of the Cathedral, a procession of priests and choir-boys about to emerge._] PRIEST Peace, folk! Stop wrangling. Kneel! His Reverence, Archbishop of Canterbury, meets the King. PRIORESS [_To Squire._] Chaucer, you say? SQUIRE A little patience more. [_A silence falls on the pilgrims as, within the Cathedral, choir-boys begin to chant a hymn. Issuing from the door and forming against one side of the massed, kneeling pilgrims, enters a procession, headed by splendid-vested priests, carrying pictured banners of St. Thomas and his shrine, followed by choir-boys, and lastly, by the Archbishop of Canterbury with regalia._] THE PROCESSION [_Sings._] “Tu, per Thomæ sanguinem Quem pro te impendit, Fac nos, Christe, scandere Quo Thomas ascendit. [_Chants._] Gloria et honore coronasti eum Domine Et constituisti eum supra opera manuum tuarum Ut ejus meritis et precibus a Gehennæ incendiis liberemur.” [_At the climax of the chant, as the Archbishop appears in the doorway, the chimes of the Cathedral peal forth from high above the kneeling crowd; cheers, beginning from the right, swell to a tumult, and as the people rise, enter, right, King Richard on horseback, the Dukes of Lancaster, Gloucester, and Ireland on ponies, and their train, among whom are Wycliffe and Johanna on foot. Six mules, laden with offerings, bring up the rear. The shouts of “God save the King!” “God save John Gaunt!” etc., continue till the King and nobles descend from their steeds._] PILGRIMS God save King Richard! KING RICHARD Thanks, good gaffers, thanks! [_To John of Gaunt._] Sweet Uncle Jack, thou hast a spanking pony. Take her to Spain with you, and all the Dons Will kiss her fetlock. N’est ce pas, bel ami? DE VERE They will, my Dick. Par charity! Haha! ARCHBISHOP [_Saluting gravely._] God save your Majesty! KING RICHARD God save you, too! Your Reverence is looking in fine feather. Here are some trinkets for the holy martyr. These mules bear spices from Arabia; These--tapers; and these--Persian tapestries. Here’s a neat statue of myself in gold; And so, and so, so.-- [_To the Duke of Gloucester._] Pretty Uncle Tom, I wish my ruffs were puckered like your brows. Dost thou pick faults, eh? in my Paris gown? GLOUCESTER My liege, this is the shrine of holy Becket. KING RICHARD Lord, save our souls! [_To De Vere._] Lend me a looking-glass. DE VERE [_Takes one from his sleeve._] Ha! Dick, par charity! [_Richard and De Vere look in the glass and make faces in imitation of Gloucester and the others._] PARSON [_In the crowd to the Clerk._] Yonder’s the Duke Of Lancaster: John Gaunt. CHAUCER [_Who has been held back with the crowd by the heralds, pushes through, and hastening forward, kneels to Johanna, who is talking with Wycliffe._] A boon! a boon! JOHANNA [_To Wycliffe._] Protect me, sir! CHAUCER [_Holds up Johanna’s love-knot._] Lady, once more, your pledge! JOHANNA Unmannered loon! A HERALD [_Seizes Chaucer roughly by the shoulder._] Get back! JOHN OF GAUNT What, brother Geoffrey! CHAUCER Well met, old friend! [_They embrace._] KING RICHARD God’s eyes! Our laureate. Halloa there, Chaucer! JOHANNA Chaucer! ALISOUN Chaucer! PRIORESS Chaucer! [_Chaucer bows to the King._] SQUIRE [_To Knight._] Father, I said so. GAUNT You are late, my poet What make you here? CHAUCER Blunders, your Grace. GAUNT How, blunders? CHAUCER Taxing the memory of a gracious lady. JOHANNA Signor, the place of fool I should have sued For you, hath been already filled--by me. I crave your pardon. CHAUCER And I kiss your hand. KING RICHARD Ho, Chaucer! ALISOUN [_Struggling with a herald._] Let me out! CHAUCER Your Majesty? KING RICHARD When April comes, there’s not a man in England But thinks on thee and love. While thou art England’s And England Richard’s, thou art Richard’s own. [_As the King embraces Chaucer, Alisoun breaks away from the herald._] ALISOUN Hold up, your Majesty! The man is mine. KING RICHARD What’s this? CHAUCER My liege--another blunder. [_Chaucer whispers aside to the Man-of-Law._] KING RICHARD So? The blunder was not God’s in making her. ALISOUN The man is mine. KING RICHARD What, Geoffrey, art thou tripped? Have love and April overflowed thy verse To fill thy veins? CHAUCER Your Majesty-- MAN-OF-LAW [_Aside to John of Gaunt._] Dan Chaucer Bid me explain to you-- [_They talk aside._] CHAUCER Your Majesty, This is that fair-reputed fay, Queen Mab, Who, having met amid the woods of Kent, Hath so enamoured me, as you have said, With love and April, that--to speak it short-- We are betrothed. KING RICHARD Betrothed! DE VERE Par charity! MILLER [_To a herald, who restrains him._] Leave go! GAUNT [_Aside to Man-of-Law._] A miller? MAN-OF-LAW [_Aside._] Yes, that fellow there. ALISOUN [_Nudging Chaucer._] Speak on, sweet chuck. CHAUCER “Betrothed,” your Majesty: ’Tis a sweet word which lovers’ law hath hallow’d, But which your law, King Richard, hath envenom’d. “No woman may be wedded but five times:” Thus saith the law. KING RICHARD What! Where? GAUNT [_Laughingly aside._] My liege! [_They whisper._] CHAUCER And so, Because this queen of wives hath scarce been knit Five times in wedlock, therefore--saith the law-- Our bosoms must be sundered. MILLER [_In the crowd._] God be praised! CHAUCER But knowing, King, how nobly wit and mercy Are mixed in your complexion, I presume To ask your greatness to outleap your laws And grant, by special dispensation, to This woman--a sixth husband. KING RICHARD By my fay, sir, You ask too much. My laws are sacred. [_Aside to John of Gaunt, who whispers him._] Hein? ALISOUN Dig him again there, Geoffrey. CHAUCER King, have grace! KING RICHARD The Duke of Lancaster advises me There may be one exception. [_Aside._] What? What’s that? [_Aloud._] But only one. My law is sacred.--Woman, I grant to thee the right to wed once more On one condition. Mark it; thy sixth husband Must be a miller.--Herald, sound the verdict. [_As the herald blares his trumpet, Alisoun shakes her fist at Chaucer, who eyes her slily; then both burst into laughter._] HERALD If any miller here desire this woman, Now let him claim her. MILLER [_Rushes up._] Here, by Corpus bones! ALISOUN Thou sweet pig’s eye! I take thee. [_Extending her hand to Chaucer._] Geoffrey, quits! CHAUCER Quits, Alisoun! FRIAR [_Bobbing up between them._] Et moi? ALISOUN Et toi. [_Kisses him._] MILLER [_Grabbing him._] Hold, friar! That pays thee to perform the ceremony. KING RICHARD [_Seated, to Chaucer._] Come now, our prodigal Ulysses! Tell us; What dark adventures have befallen thee since Thou settest forth from Priam-Bailey’s castle? What inland Circe witched our laureate To mask his Muse among this porkish rabble? CHAUCER My liege, may I have leave to tell you bluntly? KING RICHARD Carte blanche, carte blanche, mon cher. I’ll be as mute As e’er King Alcinous i’ the Odyssey. CHAUCER My Muse went masked, King Richard, from your court To learn a roadside rhyme. Shall I repeat it? KING RICHARD Carte blanche, j’ai dit. Say on! CHAUCER Your Majesty, “When Adam delved and Eve span, Who was then the gentleman?” MILLER By Corpus bones! KING RICHARD [_Starts up._] Mort Dieu! CHAUCER “Carte blanche,” my liege! Six years ago in London, when the mob Roared round your stirrups, Wat the Tyler laid His hand upon your bridle. “Sacrilege!” Cried the Lord Mayor, and Wat Tyler fell Dead. [_The crowd murmurs._] GLOUCESTER [_To Richard, remonstratingly._] Nephew! [_The King, sitting again, motions Gloucester silence._] CHAUCER Whereat you, your Majesty-- God save you, a mere boy, a gallant boy-- Cried out: “Good fellows, have you lost your captain? I am your King, and I will be your captain.” [_The pilgrims cheer._] Have you forgotten how they cheered? Then hark! Once more that “porkish rabble” you shall hear Make music sweeter than your laureate’s odes. [_Turning to the crowd._] Pilgrims and friends, deep-hearted Englishmen, This is your King who called himself your captain. PILGRIMS [_Shout._] God save the King! CHAUCER My liege, my dear young liege, Are these the dull grunts of the swinish herd, Or are they singing hearts of Englishmen? Where is _the gentleman_, whose ermined throat Shall strain a nobler shout? “When Adam delved”-- Sire, Adam’s sons are delving still, and he Who scorns to set his boot-heel to the spade Is but a bastard. KING RICHARD [_Jumps up again._] ’Swounds! PILGRIMS God save Dan Chaucer! KING RICHARD [_To Chaucer._] Give me thy hand. God’s eyes! These knaves cheer you Louder than me. Go tell the churls I love ’em. CHAUCER [_To the pilgrims._] His Majesty bids me present you all Before him, as his fellow Englishmen. KING RICHARD [_As the pilgrims approach._] Fellows, God bless you! [_To Chaucer._] Thanks. [_Snatching away his looking-glass from the hand of De Vere, who is making a comic face at Chaucer, he smashes it upon the ground._] DE VERE Sweet Dick! ARCHBISHOP My liege, The holy canopy is being raised. [_A medley of sweet bells is heard from within the Cathedral. The pilgrims crowd about Chaucer._] CHAUCER Give me your hands, my friends. You hear the bells Which call us to the holy martyr’s shrine. Give me your hands, dear friends; and so farewell: You, honest parson--sly Bob--testy Jack-- Gentle Sir Knight--bold Roger--Master Franklin-- All, all of you!--Call me your vintner still, And I will brew you such a vintage as Not all the saps that mount to nature’s sun Can match in April magic. They who drink it-- Yes, though it be after a thousand years, When this our shrine, which like the Pleiades Now glitters, shall be bare and rasèd stone, And this fresh pageant mildewed history-- Yet they who drink the vintage I will brew Shall wake, and see a vision, in their wine, Of Canterbury and our pilgrimage: These very faces, with the blood in them, Laughter and love and tang of life in them, These moving limbs, this rout, this majesty! For by that resurrection of the Muse, Shall you, sweet friends, re-met in timeless Spring, Pace on through time upon eternal lines And ride with Chaucer in his pilgrimage. [_A deep bell sounds._] ARCHBISHOP My liege, St. Thomas will receive his pilgrims. [_The King, lords, and people, forming in procession, begin to move toward the entrance of the Cathedral._] CHAUCER [_To Prioress._] Madame, will you walk in with me? PRIORESS Monsieur, If you will offer this at Thomas’ shrine. CHAUCER Your brooch! PRIORESS Our brooch. CHAUCER When shall we meet again? PRIORESS Do you forget our star? CHAUCER Forget our star! Not while the memory of beauty pains And _Amor vincit omnia_. [_The heralds blare their trumpets; the priests swing their censers; the choir-boys, slowly entering the Cathedral, chant their hymn to St. Thomas, in which all the pilgrims join. Just as Chaucer and the Prioress are about to enter, the curtain falls._] Explicit pars quarta. FINIS. [Illustration: In lauđibus Aña. Aña. Granum cadit copiam germinat frumenti: alabastrum frangitur fragrat vis unguenti. ps̅̅. Dñs regnavit Aña. Totus orbis martyris certat in amorem: cujus signa singulos agunt in stuporem. ps̅̅. Jubilate. Aña. Aqua thome quinquies varians colorem in lac semel transiitquater in cruorem. ps̅̅. De’ de’ me’ Aña Ad thome memoriam quater lux descendit: et in sancti gloriam cereos accendit. ps̅̅. Benedicite Aña. Tu per thome sanguinẽ quem pro te impendit: fac nos christe scandere quo thomas ascendit. ps̅̅. Laudate ] ADDENDA 1. The accompanying reproduction of the original Hymn to St. Thomas, of which the last verse only is sung by the pilgrims in Act IV, is authentic in words and music. The author is sincerely indebted to Professor Kittredge, of Harvard University, for tracing and securing, through the various courtesies of Mr. Albert Matthews (of Boston), Mr. Frank Kidson (of Leeds), Mr. J. E. Matthew (of S. Hampstead, London), and Mr. Wilson (of the British Museum Library), a copy of this almost inaccessible document. The words are taken from Vol. 13, p. 240, of Dreves’ “Collection of Sequences and Latin Hymns.” The music is copied from the “Sarum Antiphonal” of 1519. In regard to the music, Mr. Wilson writes: “Each of these Antiphons (_i.e._ each verse of the hymn) is sung once before, and once after, each psalm. Here there are five; and at the end of each is the catchword of the psalm. The first is ‘_Dominus regnavit_’; the second, ‘_Jubilate_,’ and so on.” Mr. J. E. Matthew writes: “The catchword is not sufficient, in every case, to identify the psalm, but I have indicated all the psalms having such beginnings.[1] The lines ‘Gloria et honore coronasti,’ etc. (part, of course, of the 8th Psalm: ‘Thou hast crowned him with glory and honour’), form no part of the service in the ‘Sarum Antiphonal.’” 2. For valuable information and advice regarding the chronology of the “Canterbury Tales” as affecting this play, the author also gives sincere thanks to his friend, Mr. John S. P. Tatlock, of the University of Michigan. 3. The following dates will reveal certain anachronisms in the text of his play, which the writer, for dramatic purposes, has ignored:-- Oct. 1, 1386: Chaucer was elected Knight of the Shire for Kent, which office he still held in April, 1387. Dec. 31, 1384: Wycliffe died. 1386: John of Gaunt left England for Castile. 4. According to Chaucer scholars, the third wife of John of Gaunt was probably a sister of Chaucer’s wife. Upon this probability, though it could not have been a fact until after 1387, the author bases his dramatic license of referring to Chaucer and the Duke of Lancaster as brothers-in-law. PERCY MACKAYE. NEW YORK, March, 1903. FOOTNOTES: [1] The psalms, as indicated by Mr. Matthew, are as follows: Beginning _Deus regnavit_, xxiii, xcix; _Jubilate_, c, lxvi; _Deus, Deus, meus_, xxii, lxiii; _Benedicite_, The Song of the Three Children? 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