Iam a master-reader.
“Sigh, Spring, sigh,RepineAmid 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.]
[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.]
[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 othersassist 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.]
[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,whocomes?
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