The Canterbury Tales · The Clerk’s Tale · The Tale 2435 · Pars Quinta

Pars Quinta

Among all this,2620 after his wick’ uságe,

The marquis, yet his wife to temptë more

To the uttermost proof of her coráge,

Fully to have experience and lore2621

If that she were as steadfast as before,

He on a day, in open audience,

Full boisterously said her this senténce:

“Certes, Griseld’, I had enough pleasánce

To have you to my wife, for your goodness,

And for your truth, and for your obeisánce,

Not for your lineage, nor for your richéss;

But now know I, in very soothfastness,

That in great lordship, if I well advise,

There is great servitude in sundry wise.

“I may not do as every ploughman may:

My people me constraineth for to take

Another wife, and cryeth day by day;

And eke the Popë, rancour for to slake,

Consenteth it, that dare I undertake:

And truëly, thus much I will you say,

My newë wife is coming by the way.

“Be strong of heart, and void anon2622 her place;

And thilkë2623 dower that ye brought to me,

Take it again, I grant it of my grace.

Returnë to your father’s house,” quoth he;

“No man may always have prosperity;

With even heart I rede2624 you to endure

The stroke of fortune or of áventúre.”

And she again answér’d in patience:

“My Lord,” quoth she, “I know, and knew alway,

How that betwixtë your magnificence

And my povert’ no wight nor can nor may

Make comparison, it is no nay;2625

I held me never digne2626 in no mannére

To be your wife, nor yet your chamberére.2627

“And in this house, where ye me lady made,

(The highë God take I for my witness,

And all so wisly2628 he my soulë glade),

I never held me lady nor mistress,

But humble servant to your worthiness,

And ever shall, while that my life may dure,

Aboven every worldly creatúre.

“That ye so long, of your benignity,

Have holden me in honour and nobley,2629

Where as I was not worthy for to be,

That thank I God and you, to whom I pray

Foryield2630 it you; there is no more to say:

Unto my father gladly will I wend,2631

And with him dwell, unto my lifë’s end,

“Where I was foster’d as a child full small,

Till I be dead my life there will I lead,

A widow clean in body, heart, and all.

For since I gave to you my maidenhead,

And am your truë wife, it is no dread,2632

God shieldë2633 such a lordë’s wife to take

Another man to husband or to make.2634

“And of your newë wife, God of his grace

So grant you weal and all prosperity:

For I will gladly yield to her my place,

In which that I was blissful wont to be.

For since it liketh you, my Lord,” quoth she,

“That whilom weren all mine heartë’s rest,

That I shall go, I will go when you lest.

“But whereas ye me proffer such dowaire

As I first brought, it is well in my mind,

It was my wretched clothës, nothing fair,

The which to me were hard now for to find.

O goodë God! how gentle and how kind

Ye seemed by your speech and your viságe,

The day that maked was our marriáge!

“But sooth is said⁠—algate2635 I find it true,

For in effect it proved is on me⁠—

Love is not old as when that it is new.

But certes, Lord, for no adversity,

To dien in this case, it shall not be

That e’er in word or work I shall repent

That I you gave mine heart in whole intent.

“My Lord, ye know that in my father’s place

Ye did me strip out of my poorë weed,2636

And richëly ye clad me of your grace;

To you brought I nought ellës, out of dread,

But faith, and nakedness, and maidenhead;

And here again your clothing I restore,

And eke your wedding ring for evermore.

“The remnant of your jewels ready be

Within your chamber, I dare safely sayn:

Naked out of my father’s house,” quoth she,

“I came, and naked I must turn again.

All your pleasance would I follow fain:2637

But yet I hope it be not your intent

That smockless2638 I out of your palace went.

“Ye could not do so dishonést2639 a thing,

That thilkë2640 womb, in which your children lay,

Shouldë before the people, in my walking,

Be seen all bare: and therefore I you pray,

Let me not like a worm go by the way:

Remember you, mine owen Lord so dear,

I was your wife, though I unworthy were.

“Wherefore, in guerdon2641 of my maidenhead,

Which that I brought and not again I bear,

As vouchësafe to give me to my meed2642

But such a smock as I was wont to wear,

That I therewith may wrie2643 the womb of her

That was your wife: and here I take my leave

Of you, mine owen Lord, lest I you grieve.”

“The smock,” quoth he, “that thou hast on thy back,

Let it be still, and bear it forth with thee.”

But well unnethës2644 thilkë word he spake,

But went his way for ruth and for pitý.

Before the folk herselfë stripped she,

And in her smock, with foot and head all bare,

Toward her father’s house forth is she fare.2645

The folk her follow’d weeping on her way,

And fortune aye they cursed as they gon:2646

But she from weeping kept her eyen drey,2647

Nor in this timë wordë spake she none.

Her father, that this tiding heard anon,

Cursed the day and timë, that natúre

Shope2648 him to be a living creatúre.

For, out of doubt, this oldë poorë man

Was ever in suspéct of her marriáge:

For ever deem’d he, since it first began,

That when the lord fulfill’d had his coráge,2649

He wouldë think it were a disparáge2650

To his estate, so low for to alight,

And voidë2651 her as soon as e’er he might.

Against2652 his daughter hastily went he

(For he by noise of folk knew her coming),

And with her oldë coat, as it might be,

He cover’d her, full sorrowfully weepíng:

But on her body might he it not bring,2653

For rudë was the cloth, and more of age

By dayës fele2654 than at her marriáge.

Thus with her father for a certain space

Dwelled this flow’r of wifely patience,

That neither by her words nor by her face,

Before the folk nor eke in their absence,

Ne shewed she that her was done offence,

Nor of her high estate no rémembránce

Ne haddë she, as by2655 her countenance.

No wonder is, for in her great estate

Her ghost2656 was ever in plein2657 humility;

No tender mouth, no heartë delicate,

No pomp, and no semblánt of royalty;

But full of patient benignity,

Discreet and pridëless, aye honouráble,

And to her husband ever meek and stable.

Men speak of Job, and most for his humbléss,

As clerkës, when them list, can well indite,

Namely2658 of men; but, as in soothfastness,

Though clerkës praisë women but a lite,2659

There can no man in humbless him acquite

As women can, nor can be half so true

As women be, but it be fall of new.2660