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Fragment III (Group D)
THE WIFE OF BATH’S PROLOGUE
‘Experience—and no matter what they say
In books—is good enough authority
For me to speak of trouble in marriage.
For ever since I was twelve years of age,
Thanks be to God, I’ve had no less than f ve
Husbands at church door—if one may believe
I could be wed so often legally!
And each a man of standing, in his way.
Certainly it was told me, not long since,
That, seeing Christ had never more than once
Gone to a wedding (Cana, in Galilee)
He taught me by that very precedent
That I ought not be married more than once.
What’s more, I was to bear in mind also
Those bitter words that Jesus, God and Man,
Spoke in reproof to the Samaritan
Beside a well—“Thou hast had”, said He,
“Five husbands, and he whom now thou hast
Is not thy husband.” He said that, of course,
But what He meant by it I cannot say.
All I ask is, why wasn’t the f fth man
The lawful spouse of the Samaritan?
How many lawful husbands could she have?
All my born days, I’ve never heard as yet
Of any given number or limit,
However folk surmise or interpret.
All I know for sure is, God has plainly
Bidden us to increase and multiply—
A noble text, and one I understand!
And, as I’m well aware, He said my husband
Must leave father and mother, cleave to me.
But, as to number, did He specify?
He named no fgure, neither two nor eight—
Chaucer, G. (1986). Canterbury tales. Oxford University Press. Created from gmcollege on 2021-11-10 16:00:30.
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151 the ife of bath’s prologue
Why should folk talk of it as a disgrace?
‘And what about that wise King Solomon:
I take it that he had more wives than one!
Now would to God that I might lawfully
Be solaced half as many times as he!
What a God-given gift that Solomon
Had for his wives! For there’s no living man
Who has the like; Lord knows how many a bout
That noble king enjoyed on the f rst night
With each of them! His was a happy life!
Blessed be God that I have married f ve!
Here’s to the sixth, whenever he turns up.
I won’t stay chaste for ever, that’s a fact.
For when my husband leaves this mortal life
Some Christian man shall wed me soon enough.
For then, says the Apostle Paul, I’m free
To wed, in God’s name, where it pleases me.
He says that to be married is no sin,
Better it is to marry than to burn.
What do I care if people execrate
The bigamy of villainous Lamech?
I know that Abraham was a holy man,
And Jacob too, so far as I can tell;
And they had more than two wives, both of them,
And many another holy man as well.
Now can you tell me where, in any age,
Almighty God explicitly forbade
All marrying and giving in marriage?
Answer me that! And will you please tell me
Where was it He ordained virginity?
No fear, you know as well as I do, that
The Apostle, where he speaks of maidenhood,
Says he has got no frm precept for it.
You may advise a woman not to wed,
But by no means is advice a command.
To our own private judgement he left it;
Had virginity been the Lord’s command,
Marriage would at the same time be condemned.
And surely, if no seed were ever sown,
From what, then, could virginity be grown?
Chaucer, G. (1986). Canterbury tales. Oxford University Press. Created from gmcollege on 2021-11-10 16:00:30.
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152 the ife of bath’s prologue
Paul did not dare command, at any rate,
A thing for which the Lord gave no edict.
There’s a prize set up for virginity:
Let’s see who’ll make the running, win who may!
‘This teaching’s not for all men to receive,
Just those to whom it pleases God to give
The strength to follow it. All I know is,
That the Apostle was himself a virgin;
But none the less, though he wished everyone
—Or so he wrote and said—were such as he,
That’s only to advise virginity.
I have his leave, by way of concession,
To be a wife; and so it is no shame,
My husband dying, if I wed again;
A second marriage can incur no blame.
Though it were good for a man not to touch
A woman—meaning in his bed or couch,
For who’d bring fre and tow too close together?
I think you’ll understand the metaphor!
Well, by and large, he thought virginity
Better than marrying out of frailty.
I call it frailty, unless he and she
Mean to live all their lives in chastity.
‘I grant all this; I’ve no hard feelings if
Maidenhood be set above remarriage.
Purity in body and in heart
May please some—as for me, I make no boast.
For, as you know, no master of a household
Has all of his utensils made of gold;
Some are of wood, and yet they are of use.
The Lord calls folk to Him in many ways,
And each has his peculiar gift from God,
Some this, some that, even as He thinks good.
‘Virginity is a great excellence,
And so is dedicated continence,
But Christ, of perfection the spring and well,
Did not bid everyone to go and sell
All that he had, and give it to the poor,
And thus to follow in His tracks; be sure
He spoke to those who would live perfectly;
Chaucer, G. (1986). Canterbury tales. Oxford University Press. Created from gmcollege on 2021-11-10 16:00:30.
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153 the ife of bath’s prologue
And, sirs, if you don’t mind, that’s not for me.
I mean to give the best years of my life
To the acts and satisfactions of a wife.
‘And tell me also, what was the intention
In creating organs of generation,
When man was made in so perfect a fashion?
They were not made for nothing, you can bet!
Twist it how you like and argue up and down
That they were only made for the emission
Of urine; that our little dif erences
Are there to distinguish between the sexes,
And for no other reason—who said no?
Experience teaches that it is not so.
But not to vex the scholars, I’ll say this:
That they were fashioned for both purposes,
That’s to say, for a necessary function
As much as for enjoyment in procreation
Wherein we do not displease God in heaven.
Why else is it set down in books, that men
Are bound to pay their wives what’s due to them?
And with whatever else would he make payment
If he didn’t use his little instrument?
It follows, therefore, they must have been given
Both to pass urine, and for procreation.
‘But I’m not saying everyone who’s got
The kind of tackle I am talking of
Is bound to go and use it sexually.
For then who’d bother about chastity?
Christ was a virgin, though formed like a man,
Like many another saint since time began,
And yet they lived in perfect chastity.
I’ve no objection to virginity.
Let them be loaves of purest sifted wheat,
And us wives called mere barley-bread, and yet
As St Mark tells us, when our Saviour fed
The multitude, it was with barley-bread.
I’m not particular: I’ll continue
In the condition God has called us to.
In married life I mean to use my gadget
As generously as my Maker gave it.
Chaucer, G. (1986). Canterbury tales. Oxford University Press. Created from gmcollege on 2021-11-10 16:00:30.
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154 the ife of bath’s prologue
If I be grudging, the Lord punish me!
My husband’s going to have it night and day,
At any time he likes to pay his dues.
I shan’t be difcult! I shan’t refuse!
I say again, a husband I must have,
Who shall be both my debtor and my slave,
And he shall have, so long as I’m his wife,
His “trouble in the fesh”. For during life
I’ve “power of his body”* and not he. That’s just what the Apostle Paul told me;
He told our husbands they must love us too.
Now I approve entirely of this view—’
Up leapt the Pardoner—‘Now then, madam,
I swear to you by God and by St John,
You make a splendid preacher on this theme.
I was about to wed a wife—but then
Why should my body pay a price so dear?
I’ll not wed this nor any other year!’
‘You wait!’ said she. ‘My tale has not begun.
It is a diferent cask that you’ll drink from
Before I’ve done; a bitterer brew than ale.
And when I’ve fnished telling you my tale
Of tribulation in matrimony
—And I’m a lifelong expert; that’s to say
That I myself have been both scourge and whip—
You can decide then if you want to sip
Out of the barrel that I mean to broach.
But you had best take care if you approach
Too near—for I’ve a dozen object-lessons
And more, that I intend to tell. “The man
Who won’t be warned by others, he shall be
Himself a warning to all other men.”
These are the very words that Ptolemy
Writes in his Almagest:* you’ll f nd it there.’ ‘Let me beg you, madam,’ said the Pardoner,
‘If you don’t mind, go on as you began,
And tell your tale to us and spare no man,
And teach all us young fellows your technique.’
‘Gladly,’ said she, ‘if that’s what you would like;
But let no one in this company, I beg,
Chaucer, G. (1986). Canterbury tales. Oxford University Press. Created from gmcollege on 2021-11-10 16:00:30.
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155 the ife of bath’s prologue
If I should speak what comes into my head,
Take anything that I may say amiss;
All that I’m trying to do is amuse.
‘And now, sir, now, I will begin my tale.
May I never touch a drop of wine or ale
If this be not the truth! Of those I had,
Three were good husbands, two of them were bad.
The three good ones were very rich and old;
But barely able, all the same, to hold
To the terms of our covenant and contract—
Bless me! you’ll all know what I mean by that!
It makes me laugh to think, so help me Christ,
How cruelly I made them sweat at night!
And I can tell you it meant nothing to me.
They’d given me their land and property;
I’d no more need to be assiduous
To win their love, or treat them with respect.
They all loved me so much that, heavens above!
I set no store whatever by their love.
A wily woman’s always out to win
A lover—that is, if she hasn’t one.
Since I’d got them in the hollow of my hand,
And they’d made over to me all their land,
What point was there in taking pains to please,
Except for my advantage, or my ease?
Believe you me, I set them so to work
That many a night I made them sing, “Alack!”
No fitch of bacon for them, anyhow,
Like some have won in Essex at Dunmow.* I governed them so well in my own way,
And kept them happy, so they’d always buy
Fairings to bring home to me from the fair.
When I was nice to them, how glad they were!
For God knows how I’d nag and give them hell!
‘Now listen how I managed things so well,
You wives that have the wit to understand!
Here’s how to talk and keep the upper hand:
For no man’s half as barefaced as a woman
When it comes to chicanery and gammon.
It’s not for knowing wives that I say this,
Chaucer, G. (1986). Canterbury tales. Oxford University Press. Created from gmcollege on 2021-11-10 16:00:30.
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156 the ife of bath’s prologue
But for those times when things have gone amiss.
For any astute wife, who knows what’s what,
Can make her husband think that black is white,
With her own maid as witness in support.
But listen to the kind of thing I’d say:
‘ “So this is how things are, old Mister Dotard?
Why does the woman next door look so gay?
She can go where she likes, and all respect her,
—I sit at home, I’ve nothing f t to wear!
Why are you always over at her house?
She’s pretty, is she? So you’re amorous!
What did I catch you whispering to the maid?
Mister Old Lecher, drop it, for God’s sake!
And if I’ve an acquaintance or a friend,
You rage and carry on just like a f end
If I pay him some harmless little visit!
And then you come back home pissed as a newt,
And preach at me, confound you, from your bench!
What a great shame—just think of the expense—
To marry a poor woman, so you tell me.
And if she’s rich, and comes of a good family,
It’s hell, you say, to put up with her pride,
And her black moods and fancies. Then, you swine,
Should she be beautiful, you change your line,
And say that every rakehell wants to have her,
That in no time she’s bound to lose her honour,
Because it is assailed on every side.
‘ “You say that some folk want us for our riches,
Some for our looks, and others for our f gures,
Or for our sex appeal, or our good breeding;
Some want a girl who dances, or can sing,
Else it’s our slender hands and arms they want.
So the devil takes the lot, by your account!
None can defend a castle wall, you say,
For long if it’s attacked day after day.
‘ “And if she’s plain, why then you say that she’s
Setting her cap at every man she sees:
She’ll jump upon him, fawning like a spaniel,
Till someone buys what she has got to sell.
Never a goose upon the lake so grey
Chaucer, G. (1986). Canterbury tales. Oxford University Press. Created from gmcollege on 2021-11-10 16:00:30.
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157 the ife of bath’s prologue
But it will fnd its gander, so you say.
Says you, it’s hard to manage or control
A thing no man would keep of his own will.
That’s how you talk, pig, when you go to bed,
Saying that no sane man need ever wed,
Nor any man who hopes to go to heaven.
Wretch, may your withered wrinkled neck be broken
In two by thunderblast and f ery lightning!
‘ “And then, you say, a leaky roof, and smoke,
And nagging wives, are the three things that make
A man fee from his home. Oh, for God’s sake!
What ails an old man to go on like that?
‘ “Then you go on to claim we women hide
Our failings till the knot is safely tied,
And then we show them—A villainous saying,
A scoundrel’s proverb, if I ever heard one!
‘ “You say that oxen, asses, horses, hounds,
Can be tried out and proved at dif erent times,
And so can basins, washbowls, stools, and spoons,
And household goods like that, before you buy;
Pots, clothes and dresses too; but who can try
A wife out till he’s wed? Old dotard! Pig!
And then, says you, we show the faults we’ve hid.
‘ “You also claim that it enrages me
If you forget to compliment my beauty,
If you’re not always gazing on my face,
Paying me compliments in every place,
If on my birthday you don’t throw a party,
Buy a new dress, and make a fuss of me;
Or if you are ungracious to my nurse,
Or to my chambermaid, or even worse,
Rude to my father’s kinsfolk and his cronies,—
That’s what you say, old barrelful of lies!
‘ “And about Jankin you’ve the wrong idea,
Our apprentice with curly golden hair
Who makes himself my escort everywhere—
I wouldn’t have him if you died tomorrow!
But, damn you, tell me this—God send you sorrow!—
Why do you hide the strongbox keys from me?
It’s mine as much as yours—our property!
Chaucer, G. (1986). Canterbury tales. Oxford University Press. Created from gmcollege on 2021-11-10 16:00:30.
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158 the ife of bath’s prologue
What! I’m the mistress of the house, and you’ll
Make her look like an idiot and a fool?
You’ll never be, no matter how you scold,
Master of both my body and my gold,
No, by St James! For you’ll have to forgo
One or the other, take or leave it! Now,
What use is all your snooping and your spying?
I sometimes think you want to lock me in
That strongbox of yours, when you should be saying
‘Dear wife, go where you like, go and have fun,
I shan’t believe the tales they tell in malice,
I know you for a faithful wife, Dame Alice.’
We love no man who watches carefully
Our coming and going; we want liberty.
‘ “Blessed above all other men is he,
That astrologer, Mister Ptolemy,
Who set down in his book, the Almagest
This proverb: ‘Of all men he is the wisest
Who doesn’t care who has the world in hand.’
From which proverb you are to understand
That if you have enough, why should you care
A curse how well-of other people are?
Don’t worry, you old dotard—it’s all right,
You’ll have cunt enough and plenty, every night.
What bigger miser than he who’ll not let
Another light a candle at his lantern—
He won’t have any the less light, I’m thinking!
If you’ve enough, what’s there to grumble at?
‘ “And you say if we make ourselves look smart
With dresses and expensive jewellery,
It only puts at risk our chastity;
And then, confound you, you must quote this text,
And back yourself up with the words of Paul,
As thus: ‘In chaste and modest apparel
You women must adorn yourselves,’ said he,
‘And not with braided hair and jewellery,
Such as pearls and gold; and not in costly dress.’
But of your text, and your red-letter rubric,
I’ll be taking no more notice than a gnat!
‘ “And you said this: that I was like a cat,
Chaucer, G. (1986). Canterbury tales. Oxford University Press. Created from gmcollege on 2021-11-10 16:00:30.
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159 the ife of bath’s prologue
For you have only got to singe its skin,
And then the cat will never go from home;
But if its coat is looking sleek and gay,
She won’t stop in the house, not half a day,
But of she goes the frst thing in the morning,
To show her coat of and go caterwauling.
That’s to say, if I’m all dressed up, Mister Brute,
I’ll run out in my rags to show them of !
‘ “Mister Old Fool, what good is it to spy?
If you begged Argus with his hundred eyes
To be my bodyguard—what better choice?—
There’s little he would see unless I let him,
For if it killed me, yet I’d somehow fool him!
‘ “And you have also said, there are three things,
Three things there are that trouble the whole earth,
And there’s no man alive can stand the fourth—
Sweet Mister Brute, Jesus cut short your life!
You keep on preaching that an odious wife
Is to be counted one of these misfortunes.
Really, are there no other comparisons
That you can make, and without dragging in
A poor innocent wife as one of them?
‘ “Then you compare a woman’s love to Hell,
To barren lands where rain will never fall.
And you go on to say, it’s like Greek f re,
The more it burns, the fercer its desire
To burn up everything that can be burned.
And just as grubs and worms eat up a tree,
Just so a woman will destroy her husband;
All who are chained to wives know this, you say.”
‘Ladies and gentlemen, just as you’ve heard
I’d browbeat them; they really thought they’d said
All these things to me in their drunkenness.
All lies—but I’d get Jankin to stand witness
And bear me out, and my young niece also.
O Lord! the pain I gave them, and the woe,
And they, heaven knows, quite innocent of course.
For I could bite and whinny like a horse.
I’d scold them even when I was at fault,
For otherwise I’d often have been dished.
Chaucer, G. (1986). Canterbury tales. Oxford University Press. Created from gmcollege on 2021-11-10 16:00:30.
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160 the ife of bath’s prologue
Who comes frst to the mill, is f rst to grind;
I’d get in frst, till they’d be glad to f nd
A quick excuse for things they’d never done
In their whole lives; and so our war was won.
I’d pick on them for wenching; never mind
They were so ill that they could barely stand!
‘And yet it tickled him to the heart, because
He thought it showed how fond of him I was.
I swore that all my walking out at night
Was to spy out the women that he tapped;
Under that cover, how much fun I had!
To us at birth such mother-wit is given;
As long as they live God has granted women
Three things by nature: lies, and tears, and spinning.
There’s one thing I can boast of: in the end
I’d gain, in every way, the upper hand
By force or fraud, or by some stratagem
Like everlasting natter, endless grumbling.
Bed in particular was their misfortune;
That’s when I’d scold, and see they got no fun.
I wouldn’t stop a moment in the bed
If I felt my husband’s arm over my side,
No, not until his ransom had been paid,
And then I’d let him do the thing he liked.
What I say is, everything has its price;
You cannot lure a hawk with empty hand.
If I wanted something, I’d endure his lust.
And even feign an appetite for it;
Though I can’t say I ever liked old meat—
And that’s what made me nag them all the time.
Even though the Pope were sitting next to them
I’d not spare them at table or at board,
But paid them back, I tell you, word for word.
I swear upon my oath, so help me God,
I owe them not a word, all’s been paid back.
I set my wits to work till they gave up;
They had to, for they knew it would be best,
Or else we never would have been at rest.
For even if he looked ferce as a lion,
Yet he would fail to get his satisfaction.
Chaucer, G. (1986). Canterbury tales. Oxford University Press. Created from gmcollege on 2021-11-10 16:00:30.
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161 the ife of bath’s prologue
‘Then I would turn and say, “Come, dearest, come!
How meek you look, like Wilkin, dear old lamb!
Come to me, sweetheart, let me kiss your cheek!
You ought to be all patient and meek,
And have ever such a scrupulous conscience—
Or so you preach of Job and his patience!
Always be patient; practise what you preach,
For if you don’t, we’ve got a thing to teach,
Which is: it’s good to have one’s wife in peace!
One of us has got to knuckle under,
And since man is more rational a creature
Than woman is, it’s you who must forbear.
But what’s the matter now? Why moan and groan?
You want my quim just for yourself alone?
Why, it’s all yours—there now, go take it all!
By Peter, but I swear you love it well!
For if I wished to sell my pretty puss,
I’d go about as sweet as any rose;
But no, I’ll keep it just for you to taste.
Lord knows you’re in the wrong; and that’s the truth!”
‘All arguments we had were of that kind.
Now I will speak about my fourth husband.
‘My fourth husband was a libertine;
That is to say, he kept a concubine;
And I was young, and passionate, and gay,
Stubborn and strong, and merry as a magpie.
How I would dance to the harp’s tunable
Music, and sing like any nightingale,
When I had downed a draught of mellow wine!
Metellius, the dirty dog, that swine
Who with a club beat his own wife to death
Because she drank—if I had been his wife,
Even he would not have daunted me from drink!
And after taking wine I’m bound to think
On Venus—sure as cold induces hail,
A greedy mouth points to a greedy tail.
A woman full of wine has no defence,
All lechers know this from experience.
‘But, Lord Christ! when it all comes back to me,
And I recall my youth and gaiety,
Chaucer, G. (1986). Canterbury tales. Oxford University Press. Created from gmcollege on 2021-11-10 16:00:30.
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162 the ife of bath’s prologue
It warms the very cockles of my heart.
And to this day it does my spirit good
To think that in my time I’ve had my f ing.
But age, alas, that cankers everything,
Has stripped me of my beauty and spirit.
Let it go then! Goodbye, and devil take it!
The four’s all gone; there is no more to say.
Now I must sell the bran as best I may;
But all the same I mean to have my fun.
And now I’ll tell about my fourth husband.
‘I tell you that it rankled in my heart
That in another he should take delight.
But he was paid for it in full, by God!
From that same wood I made for him a rod—
Not with my body, and not like a slut,
But certainly I carried on with folk
Until I made him stew in his own juice,
With fury, and with purest jealousy.
By God! on earth I was his purgatory,
For which I hope his soul’s in Paradise.
God knows he often had to sit and whine
When his shoe pinched him cruellest! And then
How bitterly, and in how many ways,
I wrung his withers, there is none can guess
Or know, save only he and God in heaven!
He died when I came from Jerusalem,
And now lies buried under the rood beam,* Although his tomb is not as gorgeous
As is the sepulchre of Darius
That Apelles sculpted so skilfully;
For to have buried him expensively
Would have been waste. So goodbye, and God rest him!
He’s in his grave now, shut up in his cof n.
‘Of my ffth husband I have this to tell
—I pray God keep and save his soul from hell!—
And yet he was to me the worst of all:
I feel it on my ribs, on each and all,
And always will until my dying day!
But in our bed he was so free and gay
And moreover knew so well how to coax
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163 the ife of bath’s prologue
And cajole when he wanted my belle chose,
That, though he’d beaten me on every bone,
How quickly he could win my love again!
I think that I loved him the best, for he
Was ever chary of his love for me.
We women have, I’m telling you no lies,
In this respect the oddest of fancies;
If there’s a thing we can’t get easily,
That’s what we’re bound to clamour for all day:
Forbid a thing, and that’s what we desire;
Press hard upon us, and we run away.
We are not forward to display our ware:
For a great crowd at market makes things dear;
Who values stuf bought at too cheap a price?
And every woman knows this, if she’s wise.
‘My ffth husband—may God bless his soul!
Whom I took on for love, and not for gold,
Was at one time a scholar at Oxford,
But had left college, and come home to board
With my best friend, then living in our town:
God keep her soul! her name was Alison.
She knew me and the secrets of my heart
As I live, better than the parish priest:
She was my confdante; I told her all—
For had my husband pissed against a wall,
Or done a thing that might have cost his life—
To her, and also to my dearest niece,
And to another lady friend as well,
I’d have betrayed his secrets, one and all.
And so I did time and again, dear God!
It often made his face go red and hot
For very shame; he’d kick himself, that he
Had placed so great a confdence in me.
‘And it so happened that one day in Lent
(For I was ever calling on my friend,
As I was always fond of having fun,
Strolling about from house to house in spring,
In March, April, and May, to hear the gossip)
Jankin the scholar, and my friend Dame Alice,
And I myself, went out into the meadows.
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164 the ife of bath’s prologue
My husband was in London all that Lent,
So I was free to follow my own bent,
To see and to be seen by the gay crowd.
How could I know to whom, and in what place,
My favours were destined to be bestowed?
At feast-eves and processions, there I was;
At pilgrimages; I attended sermons,
And these miracle-plays; I went to weddings,
Dressed in my best, my long bright scarlet gowns.
No grub, no moth or insect had a chance
To nibble at them, and I’ll tell you why:
It was because I wore them constantly.
‘Now I’ll tell you what happened to me then.
We strolled about the felds, as I was saying,
And got on so well together, he and I,
That I began to think ahead, and tell him
That if I were a widow we could marry.
For certainly—I speak without conceit—
Till now I’ve never been without foresight
In marriage matters; other things as well.
I’d say a mouse’s life’s not worth a leek
Who has but one hole to run to for cover,
For if that fails the mouse, then it’s all over!
‘I let him think that he’d got me bewitched.
It was my mother taught me that device.
I also said I dreamed of him at night,
That he’d come to kill me, lying on my back,
And that the entire bed was drenched in blood.
And yet I hoped that he would bring me luck—
In dreams blood stands for gold, so I was taught.
All lies—for I dreamed nothing of the sort.
I was in this, as in most other things,
As usual following my mother’s teachings.
‘But now, sirs, let me see—what was I saying?
Aha! Bless me, I’ve found the thread again.
‘When my fourth husband was laid on his bier
I wept for him—what a sad face I wore!—
As all wives must, because it’s customary;
With my kerchief I covered up my face.
But, since I was provided with a mate,
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I wept but little, that I guarantee!
‘To church they bore my husband in the morning
Followed by the neighbours, all in mourning,
And one among them was the scholar Jankin.
So help me God, when I saw him go past,
Oh what a fne clean pair of legs and feet
Thought I—and so to him I lost my heart.
He was, I think, some twenty winters old,
And I was forty, if the truth be told.
But then I always had an itch for it!
I was gap-toothed; but it became me well;
I wore St Venus’ birthmark and her seal.
So help me God, but I was a gay one,
Pretty and fortunate; joyous and young;
And truly, as my husbands always told me,
I had the best what-have-you that might be.
Certainly I am wholly Venerian
In feeling; and in courage, Martian.
Venus gave to me lust, lecherousness;
And Mars gave me my sturdy hardiness.
Taurus was my birth-sign, with Mars therein.
Alas, alas, that ever love was sin!
And so I always followed my own bent,
Shaped as it was by my stars’ inf uence,
That made me so that I could not begrudge
My chamber of Venus to a likely lad.
I’ve still the mark of Mars upon my face,
And also in another secret place.
For, sure as God above is my salvation,
I never ever loved in moderation,
But always followed my own appetite,
Whether for short or tall, or black or white;
I didn’t care, so long as he pleased me,
If he were poor, or what his rank might be.
‘There’s little more to say: by the month’s ending,
This handsome scholar Jankin, gay and dashing,
Had married me with all due ceremony.
To him I gave all land and property,
Everything that I had inherited.
But, later, I was very sorry for it—
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166 the ife of bath’s prologue
He wouldn’t let me do a thing I wanted!
My God, he once gave my ear such a box
Because I tore a page out of his book,
That from the blow my ear became quite deaf.
I was untameable as a lioness;
My tongue unstoppable and garrulous;
And walk I would, as I had done before,
From house to house, no matter how he swore
I shouldn’t; and for this he’d lecture me,
And tell old tales from Roman history;
How one Simplicius Gallus left his wife,
Left her for the remainder of his life,
Only because one day he saw her looking
Out of the door with no head-covering.
‘He said another Roman, Whatsisname
Because his wife went to a summer-game
Without his knowledge, went and left her too.
And then he’d get his Bible out to look
In Ecclesiasticus for that text
Which with absolute stringency forbids
A man to let his wife go gad about;
Then, never fear, here’s the next thing he’d quote:
“Whoever builds his house out of willows,
And rides a blind horse over the furrows,
And lets his wife trot after saints’ altars,
Truly deserves to be hung on the gallows.”
But all for nothing; I cared not a bean
For all his proverbs, nor for his old rhyme;
And neither would I be reproved by him.
I hate a man who tells me of my vices,
And God knows so do more of us than I.
This made him absolutely furious;
I’d not give in to him, in any case.
‘Now, by St Thomas, I’ll tell you the truth
About why I ripped a page out of his book,
For which he hit me so that I went deaf.
‘He had a book he loved to read, that he
Read night and morning for his own delight;
Valerius and Theophrastus,* he called it, Over which book he’d chuckle heartily.
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167 the ife of bath’s prologue
And there was a learned man who lived in Rome,
A cardinal who was called St Jerome,
Who wrote a book attacking Jovinian;* And there were also books by Tertullian,
Chrysippus, Trotula, and Heloise,* Who was an abbess not far from Paris,
Also the parables of Solomon,
Ovid’s Art of Love, and many another one,
All bound together in the same volume.
And night and morning it was his custom,
Whenever he had leisure and freedom
From any other worldly occupation,
To read in it concerning wicked women:
He knew more lives and legends about them
Than there are of good women in the Bible.
Make no mistake, it is impossible
That any scholar should speak good of women,
Unless they’re saints in the hagiologies;
Not any other kind of woman, no!
Who drew the picture of the lion? Who?* My God, had women written histories
Like cloistered scholars in oratories,
They’d have set down more of men’s wickedness
Than all the sons of Adam could redress.
For women are the children of Venus,
And scholars those of Mercury; the two
Are at cross purposes in all they do;
Mercury loves wisdom, knowledge, science,
And Venus, revelry and extravagance.
Because of their contrary disposition
The one sinks when the other’s in ascension;
And so, you see, Mercury’s powerless
When Venus is ascendant in Pisces,
And Venus sinks where Mercury is raised.
That’s why no woman ever has been praised
By any scholar. When they’re old, about
As much use making love as an old boot,
Then in their dotage they sit down and write:
Women can’t keep the marriage vows they make!
‘But to the point—why I got beaten up,
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168 the ife of bath’s prologue
As I was telling you, just for a book:
One night Jankin—that’s my lord and master—
Read in his book as he sat by the f re,
Of Eva frst, who through her wickedness
Brought the whole human race to wretchedness,
For which Jesus Himself was crucif ed,
He Who redeemed us all with His heart’s blood.
Look, here’s a text wherein we plainly f nd
That woman was the ruin of mankind.
‘He read to me how Samson lost his hair:
He slept; his mistress cut it with her shears,
Through which betrayal he lost both his eyes.
‘And then he read to me, if I’m no liar,
Of Hercules and his Dejaneira,
And how she made him set himself on f re.
‘He left out nothing of the grief and woe
That the twice-married Socrates went through;
How Xantippe poured piss upon his head,
And the poor man sat stock-still as if dead;
He wiped his head, not daring to complain:
“Before the thunder stops, down comes the rain!”
‘And out of bloody-mindedness he’d relish
The tale of Pasiphaë,* Queen of Crete— Fie! say no more—it’s gruesome to relate
Her abominable likings and her lust!
‘Of the lechery of Clytemnestra,* How she betrayed her husband to his death,
These things he used to read with great relish.
‘He also told me how it came about
That at Thebes Amphiarus lost his life:
My husband had a tale about his wife
Eriphile, who for a golden brooch
Had covertly discovered to the Greeks
Where they might fnd her husband’s hiding-place,
Who thus, at Thebes, met a wretched fate.
‘He told of Livia and Lucilia,
Who caused their husbands, both of them, to die;
One out of love, the other out of loathing.
Hers, Livia poisoned late one evening,
Because she hated him; ruttish Lucilia
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169 the ife of bath’s prologue
On the contrary, loved her husband so,
That she mixed for him, so that he should think
Only of her, an aphrodisiac drink
So strong that before morning he was dead.
Thus husbands always have the worst of it!
‘Then he told me how one Latumius
Once lamented to his friend Arrius
That there was a tree growing in his garden
On which, he said, his three wives, out of dudgeon,
Had hanged themselves. “Dear friend,” said Arrius,
“Give me a cutting from this marvellous tree,
And I shall go and plant it in my garden.”
‘Concerning wives of later days, he read
How some had killed their husbands in their bed,
And let their lovers have them while the corpse
Lay all night on its back upon the f oor.
And others, while their husbands slept, have driven
Nails through their brainpans, and so murdered them.
Yet others have put poison in their drink.
He spoke more evil than the heart can think.
On top of that, he knew of more proverbs
Than there is grass and herbage upon earth.
“Better to live with a lion or dragon,”
Said he, “than take up with a scolding woman.
Better to live high in an attic roof
Than with a brawling woman in the house:
They are so wicked and contrarious
That what their husbands love, they always hate.”
He also said, “A woman casts of shame
When she casts of her smock,” and he’d go on:
“A pretty woman, if she isn’t chaste,
Is like a gold ring stuck in a sow’s nose.”
Now who could imagine, or could suppose,
The grief and torment in my heart, the pain?
‘When I realized he’d never make an end
But read away in that damned book all night,
All of a sudden I got up and tore
Three pages out of it as he was reading,
And hit him with my fst upon the cheek
So that he tumbled back into our f re,
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170 the ife of bath’s prologue
And up he jumped just like a raging lion,
And punched me with his fst upon the head
Till I fell to the foor and lay for dead.
And when he saw how motionless I lay,
He took alarm, and would have run away,
Had I not burst at last out of my swoon.
“You’ve murdered me, you dirty thief !” I said,
“You’ve gone and murdered me, just for my land!
But I’ll kiss you once more, before I’m dead!”
‘He came close to me and kneeled gently down,
And said, “My dearest sweetheart Alison,
So help me God, I’ll not hit you again.
You yourself are to blame for what I’ve done.
Forgive it me this once, for mercy’s sake.”
But once again I hit him on the cheek:
“You robber, take that on account!” I said.
“I can’t speak any more; I’ll soon be dead.”
After no end of grief and pain, at last
We made it up between the two of us:
He gave the reins to me, and to my hand
Not only management of house and land,
But of his tongue, and also of his f st—
And then and there I made him burn his book!
And when I’d got myself the upper hand
And in this way obtained complete command,
And he had said, “My own true faithful wife,
Do as you please from now on, all your life:
Guard your honour and look after my estate.”
—From that day on we had no more debate.
So help me God, to him I was as kind
As any wife from here to the world’s end,
And true as well—and so was he to me.
I pray to God Who reigns in majesty,
For His dear mercy’s sake, to bless his soul.
Now if you’ll listen, I will tell my tale.’
The dispute between the Summoner and the Friar
The Friar laughed, when he had heard all this.
‘Now madam,’ cried he, ‘as I hope for bliss,
That was a long preamble to a tale!’
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171 the ife of bath’s tale
And when the Summoner heard the Friar bawl,
‘See here!’ he cried. ‘By God’s two arms! A friar
Will butt in all the time, and everywhere!
Good folk, they’re all the same, these fies and friars,
Falling in people’s foodbowls and af airs.
What are you talking of—“perambulation”?
Amble, trot, or shut up and sit down!
This kind of thing is ruining our fun.’
‘Oh indeed, Mister Summoner, is that so?’
Returned the Friar. ‘My word, before I go
I’ll tell a tale or two about a summoner,
And raise a laugh from everybody here!’
‘Try it and see, Friar,’ said the Summoner,
‘And damn your eyes! And damn my own as well
If I’ve not got two or three tales to tell
Concerning friars, that will make you mourn
Before I get as far as Sittingbourne.* For I can see you’ve lost your temper now.’
‘Now you shut up!’ our Host cried. ‘Hold your row!’
He went on: ‘Let the lady tell her tale.
You look as if you had had too much ale.
Madam, begin your tale: that would be best.’
‘I’m ready, sir,’ said she, ‘just as you wish,
That is, if I have leave of this good Friar.’
‘Tell on, madam,’ said he, ‘and I will hear.’
THE WIFE OF BATH’S TALE
I n the old days, the days of King Arthur, He whom the Britons hold in great honour,
All of this land was full of magic then.
And with her joyous company the elf-queen
Danced many a time on many a green mead.
That was the old belief, as I have read:
I speak of many hundred years ago.
But now elves can be seen by men no more,
For now the Christian charity and prayers
Of limiters and other saintly friars
Who haunt each nook and corner, feld and stream,
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172 the ife of bath’s tale
Thick as the motes of dust in a sunbeam,
Blessing the bedrooms, kitchens, halls, and bowers,
Cities and towns, castles and high towers,
Villages, barns, cattle-sheds and dairies,
Have seen to it that there are now no fairies.
Those places where you once would see an elf
Are places where the limiter himself
Walks in the afternoons and early mornings,
Singing his holy of ces and matins,
While going on the rounds of his district.
Women may now go safely where they like:
In every bush, and under every tree,
They’ll fnd no other satyr there but he:
And he’ll do nothing worse than take their honour.
Now it so happened that this King Arthur
Had in his court a bold knight-bachelor
Who one day was hawking by the river,
And it so chanced, as he was riding home,
He met a maiden walking all alone,
And thereupon, though she fought long and hard,
The knight took by main force her maidenhood;
And this outrage occasioned a great stir,
So much petitioning of King Arthur,
That the knight was, in due course of law,
Condemned to death, and would have lost his head
According to the law as it then stood,
Had not the queen and many another lady
Importuned the king so long for mercy
That in the end he granted him his life
And gave him to the queen to dispose of:
Either to execute, or spare his life.
The queen gave the king thanks with all her heart,
And some time afterwards spoke to the knight
One day when she saw opportunity:
‘Your fate is in the balance still,’ said she,
‘You cannot yet be certain of your life,
But you shall live if you can answer me,
What is the thing that women most desire?
Your neck is forfeit to the axe—beware!
And if you cannot tell me here and now
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173 the ife of bath’s tale
I shall, however, give you leave to go
A twelvemonth and a day, to seek and f nd
An answer that will satisfy my mind.
And you must pledge, before you can depart,
Duly to yield yourself up in this court.’
Sad was the knight; sorrowfully he sighed;
But there! it’s not as if he’d any choice.
And so at long last he made up his mind
To go, and to come back at the year’s end,
With whatever answer heaven might provide;
And so he took his leave, and of he rode.
He visited every house, and every spot
Where he might have the luck to f nd out what
The thing is that we women most desire;
But could fnd in no country anywhere
Two people to agree with one another
Upon this subject.
Some said we love best
Riches and wealth; and others said, honour;
Some said, fne clothes; and others, happiness;
Some said it is the pleasures of the bed,
And to be often widowed, often wed.
And others said we’re happiest at heart
When complimented and well cosseted.
Which is pretty near the truth, and that’s no lie.
A man can win us best by f attery;
And with attentiveness, assiduity,
We’re ensnared, one and all.
Some say that we
Love best to have our own way and be free,
To have no one reprove us for our follies,
But say how wise we are, how far from foolish.
If someone touches on a tender spot,
There isn’t one of us—indeed there’s not—
Who won’t kick, just for being told the truth!
Just try it, and you’ll fnd out soon enough.
However faulty we may be within,
We want to be thought wise, and free from sin.
And others say that we take great delight
In being thought dependable and discreet,
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174 the ife of bath’s tale
Able to hold steadfastly to one purpose,
Never revealing what a person tells us.
As for that notion, it’s not worth a button,
Because we women can keep nothing hidden.
Witness King Midas—would you hear of him?
Ovid, among some other trif es, said
That under his long hair King Midas had
Two asses’ ears growing upon his head,
Which blemish he kept hid, as best he might,
Most artfully from everybody’s sight,
So that, but for his wife, none knew of it.
Above all things he loved and trusted her;
And he implored her never to make mention
Of his deformity to anyone.
No, not for anything in the world, she swore,
Would she do such a mean and sinful thing,
And bring discredit to her husband’s name.
If only for her shame’s sake, she’d not tell.
But none the less, she thought that she would die
If she had to keep a secret for so long;
So hard against her heart it seemed to swell,
That she must speak or burst; till f nally
As she dared tell the secret to no man,
Down to a marsh close by her home she ran—
Till she got there, her heart was all af re—
And, like a bittern when it makes its boom,
Placing her mouth beneath the water’s surface,
‘Do not betray me, water, with your noise,’
Said she, ‘to you I tell it, no one else:
My husband has got two long asses’ ears!
I feel ever so much better now it’s out.
I couldn’t keep it in another minute!’
Which shows that though we may hold on a bit,
Yet out it must; we can keep nothing secret.
If you’d like to hear the ending of this tale,
Read Ovid’s book: and there you’ll fnd it all.
Now when the knight, the subject of my story,
Found that he was no nearer the discovery
Of what it is that women love the best,
How heavy was the heart within his breast!
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175 the ife of bath’s tale
And home he went, for he could not remain;
The day was come when he had to return.
On his way home it happened that he rode,
Much troubled, by the borders of a wood
Where he, all of a sudden, caught a glimpse
Of four-and-twenty ladies in a dance;
And eagerly drew nearer, on the chance
That he would hear of something he could use.
Lo and behold! Before he quite got there,
The dancers vanished, he could not tell where.
No living creature was there to be seen
Save for a woman sitting on the green—
You couldn’t imagine an uglier.
At the knight’s coming, this old woman rose.
‘There’s no road on from here, Sir Knight,’ she says,
‘But tell me what you’re looking for. Who knows,
You’ll do yourself a good turn, it may be;
We old folks know so many things,’ says she.
‘My dear good mother,’ said the knight, ‘for sure,
I am as good as dead, if I can’t tell
What the thing is that women most desire.
If you could tell me that, I’d pay you well.’
‘Put your hand in mine and pledge your word,’ said she,
‘That you will do the frst thing I require
Of you, so be that it lies in your power,
And I shall tell it to you before night.’
‘Agreed: you have my promise,’ said the knight.
‘Then,’ said she, ‘I’ll go so far as to say
Your life is safe: for I will stake my head
That what I say is what the queen will say.
Now let’s see if the proudest of them all
That wears a headkerchief or jewelled snood
Will have the face to deny or refute
What I’ll teach you. Say no more; let’s go on.’
Then, whispering a few words in his ear,
She told him to cheer up and have no fear.
The knight, on his arrival at the court,
Said he had kept, according to his word,
His day, and that he had his answer ready.
Many a maiden, many a noble lady,
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176 the ife of bath’s tale
And many a widow (widows are so wise),
The queen herself in the chair of justice,
Had all assembled in the court to hear;
And then the knight was ordered to appear.
All were commanded to observe silence,
And the knight to tell, in formal audience,
What it is mortal women love the most.
Instead of standing there dumb as an ox,
The knight resolved the riddle there and then
In ringing tones, so the whole court heard him:
‘In general, my liege lady,’ he began,
‘Women desire to have dominion
Over their husbands, and their lovers too;
They want to have mastery over them.
That’s what you most desire—even if my life
Is forfeit. I am here; do what you like.’
In the whole court there was no wife nor maid
Nor widow who’d contradict what he said,
But all declared that he deserved his life.
Upon this, the old woman whom the knight
Encountered sitting on the forest green,
Jumped up and cried: ‘My sovereign lady queen,
Before the court disperses, do me right!
It was I who taught his answer to the knight.
For which he gave his promise on the spot
That he would do the frst thing that I asked,
If so be that it lay within his might.
And so before the court I ask, Sir Knight,’
Said she, ‘that you take me to be your wife.
For well you know that I have saved your life.
If this be false, deny it upon oath!’
‘Alas!’ replied the knight, ‘alack, alas!
I know too well that such was my promise.
So for the love of God, choose something else!
Take all my goods and let my body go.’
‘Never! A curse on us both if I do!
For though I may be ugly, old and poor,
I’d not, for all the gold and metal ore
That’s buried under ground, or lies above,
Be other than your wife, and your true love!’
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177 the ife of bath’s tale
‘My love?’ cried he. ‘You mean my damnation!
Alas! that ever any of my family
Should undergo such foul degradation!’
But it was all for nothing; f nally
He was compelled to see he needs must wed;
And, taking his aged wife, goes of to bed.
Now some of you will say of me, perhaps,
That I don’t trouble, out of laziness,
To tell of all the gaiety and joy
Seen at the feast upon that marriage-day:
To which I’ll give a short and simple answer,
There was no feasting and no fun whatever,
Nothing at all but misery and mourning,
For he married her in secret in the morning,
And all that day hid himself like an owl,
Moping because his new wife looked so foul.
And now what bitter thoughts oppressed the knight
When he was brought to bed with his aged wife!
He tossed and twisted back and forth, the while
His wife lay there and never ceased to smile,
But said, ‘My dearest husband! Bless me! Do
All knights who marry wives behave like you?
Is this the custom in King Arthur’s house?
Is every knight of his so hard to please?
I am your own true love, also your wife,
And I am also she who saved your life.
And surely I have never wronged you yet?
So why behave like this on our f rst night?
You’re acting like a man who’s lost his wits.
What have I done? Now tell me, for God’s sake,
And if I can, I shall soon set it right.’
‘Set it right! Never, never!’ cried the knight,
‘Nothing can ever set it right again!
You are so hideous, so old and plain,
And what is more besides, so basely born,
It’s little wonder if I toss and turn.
I only wish to God my heart would burst.’
‘Is that’, she asked, ‘the cause of your distress?’
‘Indeed yes, and no wonder,’ said the knight.
‘Now sir,’ said she, ‘all this I could put right
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178 the ife of bath’s tale
Before three days are up,—that’s if I liked,
And you were to behave more courteously.
‘But since you talk of such gentility
As is derived from ancient wealth; and claim
On that account to be a gentleman—
Such afectation isn’t worth a bean.
Look for the man who’s always virtuous
In private and in public, does his best
Always to do what gentle acts he can,
And count him for the greatest gentleman.
For Christ wants us to claim nobility
From Him, and not from our rich ancestry,
For though they may have left us all their wealth,
For which we claim to be of gentle birth,
They are by no means able to bequeath
Their goodness, or their virtuous way of life
Which earned for them the name of gentlemen,
And points to us to follow in their steps.
‘Upon this Dante, that wise Florentine
Poet, has spoken with great eloquence;
Now listen: Dante’s verses go like this:
“It’s rarely man climbs to excellence by
His own thin branches; God in His goodness
Wills us to claim from Him nobility.”* For from our forebears we can only claim
Material things, which may injure and harm.
‘And everybody knows as well as I,
Were Nature to implant gentility
In any single family, so the line
Inherited it—why then, they’d never cease
In private and in public from behaving
Like gentlemen; moreover, they would be
Incapable of villainy or crime.
‘Take fre, convey it to the darkest house
That’s between here and coldest Caucasus,
And shut the doors on it, and go away;
As brightly will that fre blaze and burn,
As if a thousand folk were looking on;
I’ll stake my life, that f re will perform
Its natural function always, till it die,
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179 the ife of bath’s tale
Thus you can plainly see that nobleness
Has no connection with ancestral riches;
People aren’t always on their best behaviour
As fre is—for fre is always f re.
And God knows one can often enough f nd
A lord’s son who behaves just like a f end.
And he who prizes his gentility
Because descended from a noble house,
From ancestors both noble and virtuous,
Yet who himself performs no noble deed
Like his own noble ancestor who’s dead,
He is not noble, be he duke or earl;
For churlish actions are what make the churl.
For nobility’s no more than the renown
Of your forebears, by their great virtue won,
Nothing to do with you, or your person;
Your nobility comes from God alone.
Thus our true nobility comes by grace,
Is not bequeathed along with our position.
‘And think how noble, as Valerius* says, Was Tullus Hostilius,* who rose From poverty to the highest rank of all.
Read Seneca,* and Boethius* as well, And there you will fnd that it’s made quite plain
It’s noble deeds that make the nobleman.
And therefore, my dear husband, I conclude,
That though my ancestors were rough and rude,
I might be granted yet, by God on high
(And so I hope) grace to live virtuously.
I’m truly noble then, if I begin
To live in virtue and to cast of sin.
‘As for my poverty, which you reprove,
The Lord on high, in Whom we both believe,
Willingly chose a life of poverty.
To every man, matron, and maid, surely
It’s plain as day that Jesus, Heaven’s King,
Would never choose a vicious way of life.
As Seneca and others say, in truth
Cheerful poverty is an honest thing.
Whoever is contented with his lot,
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180 the ife of bath’s tale
Poor as it is, I count him to be rich,
Though he may have no shirt upon his back;
Whoever covets anything is poor,
Because he wants what isn’t in his power.
The man with nothing, who would nothing have,
Is rich, though you may count him as a slave.
The nature of true poverty is to sing;
On this Juvenal has a happy saying—
“The poor man, when he goes a-journeying,
Can laugh at thieves.” Poverty’s a hated boon,
And, as I’d guess, an ef cient expeller
Of anxieties; also a great improver
Of wisdom, when it is patiently borne.
That is poverty, hard as it may seem:
It is an asset no one wants to claim.
Poverty will often, if you’re humble,
Teach you to know God, and yourself as well.
Poverty’s like an eyeglass, I declare,
Through which you can see who your real friends are.
In this I am not harming you; therefore
You can’t go on complaining I am poor.
‘And as for your reproach that I am old,
Were there no book whatever to uphold
Authority for it, yet all the same
It’s said by honourable gentlemen
Just like yourself, that people should respect
An old man, call him “sir” for manners’ sake:
I could fnd texts that say so, I expect.
‘As for your point that I’m loathsome and old,
You’ve then no fear of being made cuckold;
For ugliness and age, it seems to me,
Are the best bodyguards for chastity.
But, since I know what gives you most delight,
I’ll satisfy your sensual appetite.
‘Choose now, choose one of these two things,’ said she,
‘To have me old and ugly till I die,
And be to you a true and faithful wife,
And never to displease you all my life;
Or else to have me beautiful and young,
And take your chances with a crowd of men
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181 the ife of bath’s tale
All focking to the house because of me,
Or to some other place, as it may be.
Choose for yourself which of the two you please.’
He turns it over in his mind, and sighs,
And in this way the knight at last replies:
‘My lady and my love, my dear wife too,
I place myself in your wise governance;
Choose for yourself whichever’s the most pleasant,
Most honourable to you, and me also.
All’s one to me; choose either of the two;
What pleases you is good enough for me.’
‘Then I’ve the mastery of you,’ said she,
‘Since I may choose and decide as I wish?’
‘Yes, certainly,’ said he, ‘I think it best.’
‘Kiss me, and we won’t quarrel any more,
For I’ll be both to you, upon my honour!
That’s to say, beautiful as well as good.
May death and madness be my lot,’ she said,
‘If I am not a wife as good and true
As ever wife was since the world was new.
And if I’m not as pretty as a queen,
As any empress that was ever seen
From east to west, before tomorrow’s dawn,
Then you can deal just as you like with me.
And now, lift up the curtain: look and see.’
And when the knight saw it was really so,
And that she was as lovely as she was young,
He caught her up in both his arms for joy,
With his whole heart bathed in a bath of bliss;
They kiss; a thousand thousand times they kiss.
And she obeyed him in all things that might
Aford him satisfaction or delight.
To their lives’ end they lived in perfect joy;
And may Christ Jesus send us husbands who
Are meek and young, and spirited in bed;
And send us grace to outlive those we wed;
And I pray Jesus to cut short the lives
Of those who won’t be governed by their Wives;
And as for all old and ill-tempered skinf ints,
May heaven rain upon them pestilence!
Chaucer, G. (1986). Canterbury tales. Oxford University Press. Created from gmcollege on 2021-11-10 16:00:30.
