 | Poems of Chaucer modernized |  |
THE REVE'S PROLOGUE.
When all had laugh'd their fill at this nice case
Of Absalom and dexterous Nicholas
Diverse folk diversely their comments made.
But, for the most part, they all laugh'd and play'd,
Nor at this tale did any man much grieve,
Unless indeed 'twas Oswald, our good Reve.
Because that he was of the carpenter craft,
In his heart still a little ire is left.
He 'gan to grudge it somewhat, as scarce right;
‘So aid me!’ quoth he; ‘I could such requite
By throwing dust in a proud miller's eye,
If that I chose to speak of ribaldry.
But I am old; I cannot play for age;
Grass-time is done—my fodder is now foráge;
This white top sadly writeth mine old years;
Mine heart is also mouldy'd as mine hairs:
And since I fare as doth the medlar tree,
That fruit with time grows ever the worse to be,
Till it be rotten in rubbish and in straw.
Of Absalom and dexterous Nicholas
Diverse folk diversely their comments made.
But, for the most part, they all laugh'd and play'd,
Nor at this tale did any man much grieve,
Unless indeed 'twas Oswald, our good Reve.
Because that he was of the carpenter craft,
In his heart still a little ire is left.
He 'gan to grudge it somewhat, as scarce right;
‘So aid me!’ quoth he; ‘I could such requite
140
If that I chose to speak of ribaldry.
But I am old; I cannot play for age;
Grass-time is done—my fodder is now foráge;
This white top sadly writeth mine old years;
Mine heart is also mouldy'd as mine hairs:
And since I fare as doth the medlar tree,
That fruit with time grows ever the worse to be,
Till it be rotten in rubbish and in straw.
‘We old men, as I fear, the same lot draw;
Till we be rotten can we not be ripe.
We ever hop while that the world will pipe;
For in our will there sticketh ever a nail,
To have a hoary head and a green tail,
As hath a leek; for though our strength be lame,
Our will desireth folly ever the same;
For when our climbing's done, our words aspire;
Still in our ashes old is reeking fire
Till we be rotten can we not be ripe.
We ever hop while that the world will pipe;
For in our will there sticketh ever a nail,
To have a hoary head and a green tail,
As hath a leek; for though our strength be lame,
Our will desireth folly ever the same;
For when our climbing's done, our words aspire;
Still in our ashes old is reeking fire
141
‘Four hot coals have we, which I will express:
Boasting, lying, anger, and covetousness.
These burning coals are common unto age,
Our old limbs well may stumble o'er the stage,
But will shall never fail us, that is sooth.
Still in my head was always a colt's tooth,
As many a year as now is pass'd and done,
Since that my tap of life began to run.
For certainly when I was born, I trow,
Death drew the tap of life, and let it flow;
And ever since the tap so fast hath run,
That well-nigh empty now is all the tun.
The stream of life but drips from time to time;
The silly tongue may well ring out and chime
Of wretchedness, that passéd is of yore:
With aged folk, save dotage, there's nought more.’
Boasting, lying, anger, and covetousness.
These burning coals are common unto age,
Our old limbs well may stumble o'er the stage,
But will shall never fail us, that is sooth.
Still in my head was always a colt's tooth,
As many a year as now is pass'd and done,
Since that my tap of life began to run.
For certainly when I was born, I trow,
Death drew the tap of life, and let it flow;
And ever since the tap so fast hath run,
That well-nigh empty now is all the tun.
The stream of life but drips from time to time;
The silly tongue may well ring out and chime
Of wretchedness, that passéd is of yore:
With aged folk, save dotage, there's nought more.’
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When that our Host had heard this sermoning,
He 'gan to speak as lordly as a king;
And said, ‘Why, what amounteth all this wit?
What! shall we speak all day of holy writ?
The devil can make a steward fit to preach,
Or of a cobbler a sailor, or a leach.
Say forth thy tale; and tarry not the time.
Lo Deptford! and the hour is half way prime:
Lo Greenwich!—there where many a shrew loves sin—
It were high time thy story to begin.’
He 'gan to speak as lordly as a king;
And said, ‘Why, what amounteth all this wit?
What! shall we speak all day of holy writ?
The devil can make a steward fit to preach,
Or of a cobbler a sailor, or a leach.
Say forth thy tale; and tarry not the time.
Lo Deptford! and the hour is half way prime:
Lo Greenwich!—there where many a shrew loves sin—
It were high time thy story to begin.’
‘Now, fair sirs!’ quoth this Oswald, the old Reve,
‘I pray you all that you yourselves ne'er grieve,
Though my reply should somewhat fret his nose;
For lawful 'tis with force, force to oppose.
This drunken Miller hath informed us here
How that some folks beguiled a carpenter—
Perhaps in scorn that I of yore was one.
So, by your leave, him I'll requite anon.
In his own churlish language will I speak,
And pray to heaven besides, his neck may break.
A small stalk in mine eye he sees, I deem,
But in his own he cannot see a beam.
‘I pray you all that you yourselves ne'er grieve,
Though my reply should somewhat fret his nose;
For lawful 'tis with force, force to oppose.
This drunken Miller hath informed us here
How that some folks beguiled a carpenter—
Perhaps in scorn that I of yore was one.
So, by your leave, him I'll requite anon.
In his own churlish language will I speak,
And pray to heaven besides, his neck may break.
A small stalk in mine eye he sees, I deem,
But in his own he cannot see a beam.
Alluding to the “Miller's Tale,” which has rather offended the Reve, by reason that it ridiculed a worthy carpenter.
Or thus:—
For when our climbing's done our speech aspires;E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.
The original lines are:—
“For whanne we may not don than wol we speken,Yet in our ashen olde is fyre yreken.”
The coincidence of the last line with the one quoted from Gray's Elegy will be remarked. Mr. Tyrwhit says, he should certainly have considered the latter as an “imitation” (of Chaucer), “if Mr. Gray himself had not referred us to the 169 (170) Sonnet of Petrarch, as his original:—
Ch' i' veggio nel pensier, dolce mio foco,Fredda una lingua, e duo begli occhi chiusi
Rimaner dopo noi pien' di faville.
The sentiment is different in all three; but the form of expression, here adopted by Gray, closely resembles that of the Father of English Poetry; although, in Gray's time, it was no doubt far more elegant to quote Petrarch than Chaucer.
| Poems of Chaucer modernized | |