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,Ihave guessed.
[A merry jingling of bells outside. Enter the Monk, holdingup 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 thePardoner,Manciple,andSummoner,singing.]
[Outside, is heard the distant voice of the Wife of Bath(Alisoun),joined in chorus by thePardoner,Manciple,andSummoner,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.”
“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.
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 theWife 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 theSummoner,Pardoner,andManciple,she rides into the middle of the floor and reins up.]
[Outside the song, “Come hither, Love,” bursts into chorus. Enter theWife 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 theSummoner,Pardoner,andManciple,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.
PARDONERANDALISOUN [sing]
When sap runs in the tree,
And the huntsman sings “Halloo!”
And the greenwood saith: “Peewit! Cuckoo!”
Come hither, love, to me.
SWAINSANDALISOUN
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 hishand 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.