Heere bigynneth the Directours Tale

There came a traveler to a little glen

Where rose a gentle spring amid the fen,

Adorning all the sward with dancing drops.

He laid his head down at a wayside copse

With how complete a trunk for to recline,

One could no less than drink a skin of wine

Beneath its bough. Our traveler did commence:

For much he tarried, minding no expense

To business; surely, one clerks not for gain,

But when through patrimony he attains

The milk and mind of that aspired estate;

This how our man did liquor infiltrate.

Anon, with bleary eyes and fingers numb,

Our clerk sensed not that he was overcome

But idly gazed upon his well-trod path

Which coupled, rope-like, Boston-town and Bath.

To wit so fresh had never once appeared

Twin paradise since Eden on Earth here

Though the midday haze did obscure his view.

It was dream-like enough (so he’d tell you)

As he sat there, thinking (not very much),

In awe was he to simply witness such

A shining day. And though to him ’twas strange,

’Twas made by God, whose will shall never change

Or waver from the way of righteousness,

But sometimes no more can a man God bless

Who spurns His favors and His boons forgoes

Till God the issue of his choices shows.

Our clerk, whose graces lingered with him fast

Knew not which blessing was to be his last.

Now from the west there chanced a comely maid

Who bided breathless in the copse’s shade,

Not noting still reposed the traveler, coy,

Until he roused her. Then she cried with joy,

“Glory be! What providence, what forsight

Has crossed our journeys while remains the light!

Once charted, now far have I strayed my course.

So proud was I to go without a horse;

Now sleep I will, so devil fate conspires,

In ragged wood so lacking food and fire,

Where fiends and robbers make a steadfast haunt.

O, some better sense does a woman want!

If you, my savior, could purvey such sense

A favor I’ll bestow upon thee, hence.”

No man could see her eyes with cruel intent,

But to the rest our clerk in sorrow bent,

For clodded hung her clothes in dust of heath,

Saliva webs did bridge her even teeth

For want of drink. Perceiving sharply this,

The clerk advanced his skin, much to her bliss.

When she’d her fill (enough to drown a lake),

The clerk did say, “No favor dare I take

From one so pious, yes, so close to God

Protected goes she yet so far abroad

But since your track might well be shared by me

I welcome only gracious company

And offer, should we chance go all the way

To my road’s end, a resting place to stay

Where you might sleep an hour or night or week.

Though forthright I confess my quarters meek,

Still please it you, my weary way abridge

To humble college out in Cantabridge

Where nought have I to do but muse and sing

And hope to pass time soon with other things.”

The maid, her visage brightened with regard,

Said, “How I knew you were not but a bard!

With forthright manner, softened countenance,

A bard you surely were, or else a prince.

But woe, alas, forgive me! By my fay,

I cannot join you on your path today

For my design, (and loath am I to stall

No matter should an honest favor fall)

Lies not on this isle. See, I’m to Calais,

Where by God’s grace I’ll find Saint James’s way,

And having knelt before Saint James’s grave

Lay down my head I shall, my soul be saved,

Beneath the starry skies of Cordoba

In a lover’s arms where I might withdraw.

Yea, therein only would I know of peace.”

The traveler, struck by cunning wine’s caprice,

Yes, sights of orient’s ado withal,

Thought, “None but I should see this maiden fall!”

And said, no sooner fled her words her mouth,

“You wander east, you know, and Spain lies south!

But hold and ponder this, a drunken dream

Which I assure you your design beseems:

I now perceive that well I’ve traveled wide

But not full far, and that you lack a guide:

Except our tryst you’d soon have been a Dane,

Not much a wife away in sun-warmed Spain.

The point, I say, is that we complement

And by our union might we well prevent

What lurks aside our noble far travails:

Mine, idle madness, drowned in so much ale,

And yours, starvation, robbery, or worse.

We must go jointly, else we beg our curse,

So let us share this noble pilgrimage.”

The maiden, hearing his proposed voyage

Found reason not to challenge his request

For though he issued forth from lowly crest

So too did she, and more, her history

Had seen not one but two intendeds flee

Before a bed was ever shared, forsooth,

By faults not hers, these men were so uncouth,

Yet no less was her reputation stained.

Now prudent was she with the strong and vain

But fresh with those discreet and debonair

Whose vanities lie underneath their hair.

So did our pitied, faithful maid agree

To her companion’s swiftly conjured plea.

Their host departed for the southern port

Where built the Conqueror his grandest fort.

Not far along and did our clerk enquire

As to the wellspring of his friend’s desire

To flee her home and hearth to dwell afar,

The land of olive tree and alcazar,

More, to marry there. Then did maiden tell

Her dismal story, how she could not sell

Or even give without cost, so it seemed,

Her hand in marriage as she much had dreamed,

How chastity might e’er endure, for shame,

Long as that Queen’s from whom she took her name,

How sin of Eve might bring this great expense

Upon her, so she goes in penitence.

The clerk, whose name was Lew and who did fare

From Bibury-town in south Gloucestershire,

With patient ruth did hear that sorry tale

And thought himself how best he might avail

Her purpose. Sooth, down underneath her grime

He saw a lure seen rarely in our time.

Thought Lew, “What sort of dull, frenetic knave

Would privilege to this maiden’s fine hand waive?

Forsooth, by God’s grace should I spy the head

Which tore these villains from her marriage bed

Enamored would I surely fall down so

My legs would cease to let me come and go

And ever more would thus I moan and crawl,

So fastly would she clutch me in her thrall.

Yet beauty has its bounds, this much I know:

This maid, if not upon them, just below.

None but a fool would such a blessing spurn,

For God grants boons and asks not in return,

So man must not demand of God excess

But live in cheer for how his lot was blessed.

Hence to this virgin would I blithely vow.”

A travelers’ hostelry came to they now.

While slept the virgin, spirit bled full out

Lew to the tavern crept as does a scout

And to the host said, “Saw you, one hour old,

How fair a maiden I brought to your fold?

Sooth, loathsome knaves are rife in inns, they say:

Should ill befall us during our quiet stay

An army, hundred-strong, anon I raise

To slay the fiends and light your inn ablaze,

So heed my warning, pray you not forget.”

The host but laughed long at this dreadful threat

And said, “No trouble will come meet you here

And not for lack of villains full of beer:

When ’cross my floor did your fair maiden hie

I counted not a knave who raised an eye.

So sleep you sound, for she is plain enough

Four equals dwell in any tavern rough,

And bear themselves with less austere a fuss

And coat themselves in far less grime and dust.”

Now Lew did laugh and say, “Sir, please acquit

This exercise I used to test your wit

Of that fair wanderer who came with me.

Confused am I to such a high degree

For would you hear this history she said

Where two a special spurned her hand to wed?

It touches not my vulgar reasoning.

To my own sight she rather suits a king

Than one ill-favored clerk.” For all his stealth,

The host drew ale to drink the virgin’s health

And said, “A clerk, how could you other be?

Protect her at the university

Where study scores of men inclined to haste

Toward any pretty mare with narrow waist,

Yet when abroad abstain from jealousy.

A vulgar man turns not to such as she

But wives of spirit, strength, and solid frame,

For gentle mares like yours would be made lame

By honest working for a single day.”

The clerk said, “Pardon, thank you, Sir, and pray,

Tell not my ignorance to all your crowd

Till morning, for I fear the laughter loud

Would keep awake all night my tiring mind.

For pay, my favor will you ever find:

I ask the Lord your noble soul to save

When bend my legs before Saint James’s grave.”

The humble host said, “Pray thee not forget,

Or curse I shall with every breathe I spit

Your sorry name. And fables shall I spin

Of you to all who enter on my inn.”

Now to the maiden’s room did Lew withdraw

To find her waking, yea, and not a flaw

Could well be seen beneath her pale young brow,

So Lew thanked God for all He would allow

And begged swift journey to that distant land,

Kissed once her lips and asked her for her hand,

And not full trusting of this strange new head

But fearful always never to be wed

The virgin gave her hand in all but bliss;

The clerk responding with another kiss.

So thus the pretty two intended were.

The maiden thought it prudent to defer

The rites until was reached al-Andalus.

Said Lew, “As bard I am, thou art my muse

And sing I shall whichever song thou ask,

Or quiet me until we quit our task,

That obligation to the Saint of Spain.”

So quoth the virgin, “Brightly bear the pain

For ceremony knows a greater weight

When revelers need twice to celebrate,

For once, the union which has proven true

And once the deeds from which that union grew.

Yet for your patience, for your steadfast fay,

Let now us act as we were wed today.”

Lew Bibury could not help but to laugh.

He danced a fiddle with his walking staff

And said, “Do pardon making mockery,

You do the same if wed you wish to be,

For you know villainy and holiness

Appear in equal measure, more or less,

And while, in truth, one cannot holy be,

Yes, live a life of utmost purity,

Without encroaching God’s divinest right,

Still, can one stray so far from God’s good light?

What ceremony you would here abridge

Amounts, to me, to vicious sacrilege!

So hold your lips and be so eager not,

Or wedded will you be upon this spot.”

The virgin, sapphire-like her eyes aflame,

Said, “O, in place of ring you give me shame!

My God above all do I ever serve,

Yet God commands my being I preserve,

Which being, if you trust a learned friar,

Must be relieved or else it will expire.

I pray you not mistake my fearful sense

For what you see as bare concupiscence.”

Here Lew did feel a welcome jollity

And said, “Retain for now your chastity.

No harm shall come to you within my care

No matter what the foolish clergy swear

And once this journey do you chaste abide,

Present your ring. A finger I’ll provide,

Thus fully wedded will we ever walk,

But fie! Enough of this expectant talk,

For though it meager consolation be

In present time I have a song for thee

Which I devised as we did hasten here

Through evening winds and violent weather drear,

When hardly could we hear for sound of rain.”

This song, he said, was was called “The Queen of Spain,”

And so he sang of how he long had dreamed

To sit beside Guadalquivir, the stream

Whose banks their absolute objective made,

With faithful wife whose face no lesser shade

Dare blemished. Now how high his spirits flew

To see this fantasy incarnate due.

When finally his gentle song did end,

The virgin said, “For what I did intend

Your song no equal was, I tell you true,

Yet hear this not as an insult to you,

For I express to you my firm desire

For nothing more than kneeling to the spire

Of this, the holy church in front of me.

What song could give me greater ecstasy?

But if these songs are all you let me taste

Then glad I hear you sing them. Yet I haste

Remind you when you sing of love divine

My senses turn to love songs less benign.”

Conclude I now the starting of my tale

Where Lew was blessed with maiden kind and pale,

And loved her from a moment ere they spoke.

He asked her hand among the vulgar folk

And though she hastened not to married be,

Lew too did wait to take her chastity,

But all is well and they are winsome so;

Thus now I turn my story’s task to woe,

So let us follow them to Dover-town.

Upon arriving soon they happy found

A quiet lodging in the Maison Dieu,

That hospital which all good pilgrims knew,

And there in patience did a month await

A boat to ferry them across the strait;

But storms did rage and not a ship did sail,

So violently did roar and thrash that gale.

And never passed a day when Lew, that knave,

Did not a wedding to his virgin crave,

For lodging in that humble hostelry

Were sundry men of high nobility

From lands afar, for Canterbury bound,

All of great wealth and all of body sound.

When asked these pilgrims of the virgin’s life

Lew could not falsely say, “She is my wife,”

But only watch them as they did their part

To ask her hand and thus secure her heart

And though she spurned each noble, tall and tan,

Her nays grew weaker still with each new man,

Or so it seemed to jealous Lew’s two eyes.

Thought Lew, “O, what a woman, what a prize

That each of these fine men should covet her.

But God, what wicked feelings does it stir

In me!” And so each night it gave him pride

When he her lickerish appeals denied

And prided he in how his temperance

Exceeded hers and that of every prince

In Dover. Now his virgin, much aggrieved,

Forsooth had no intention there to cleave

That union planned for such a distant week,

Endured vexation which she could not speak:

To marry soon did seem so undeserved,

Yet far their road did stretch and much it curved;

She knew not whether she could bear the strain

Of purity till pious Lew did deign

To vanquish fast her bravely suffered ill.

One day relief came over yonder hill

By fate: A flock of pilgrims, maidens all,

Who wended now because they heard the call

To venture out from Hastings, all the nine,

And pay respects at Becket’s martyr’s shrine.

They bided briefly in the Maison Dieu;

Then said our pitied virgin fair to Lew,

“My faith, we wait here doing nothing aye

As now and quick these women pass us by.

To Canterbury wend they, so they say,

Anon to fast for three months and to pray.

I pray that I might go, this do I yearn

For once in Spain I might not e’er return.

Three months, in truth, is not so long a trip

And you could stay here and secure a ship.”

This talk put Lew into a deep despair.

“Three months without my love is much to bear,”

He said, “No, such a time I could not bide

Without you. I would rather I had died

At fresh young age. But if your wish is true,

Then why not could I come along with you?”

But these were maids of highest purity;

No men were welcome in their company.

The virgin’s mind was set: she wished to go

For short relief from Lew who tempts her so

By her desire which he will not requite,

And more, to wander once more in the light

Of maidenhood, no husband and no child

To snare her in her walk through country wild;

And so she fled, and Lew’s demean grew dim,

So carelessly had she abandoned him,

Although she promised, when she wended back,

That he would have his treasured wedding pact.

He slept for days in gloom so dolorous

He felt not hunger, thirst, nor even lust

For playing songs as he was wont to do.

He ate not of the Maison’s nightly stew

But pondered long and hard those two men cruel

Who left his maiden as she were a mule

All sick and old. And now he well decreed

That there was reason in their wicked deed,

But such a sadness he would not create,

He thought, for he was one of honor great

And more, he feared that each of her defects

Did three times over other maids infect;

This judged he from the rash and ardent haste

With which those princes touched her by the waist,

So starved they must have been of ladies fine.

Thought Lew, “I thank my God that she is mine

And bear with gladness any injury

Which she shall ever do upon to me.”

Anon to dwell there in that town there came

A maiden gracious. She pursued a claim

To three fine acres of the king’s own land.

Begin I now to tell you of her hand

Which surely equalled any, none surpassed

The grace with which it waved or tipped a glass;

And those five fingers, were they close or splayed,

No one could look upon and feel dismayed

But only image what he e’er would lack:

Those fingers tracing on his naked back,

So did she tempt with but her smallest charm.

Yet how crude seemed it near its mate, her arm,

A slender bough, so long so as to reach

Straight to the heart to grasp it as a peach

And seized alike, you would do all she bid,

To her you would reveal your secrets hid,

Just by that arm. But then her shoulder round:

A queen by that alone might she be crowned!

Its softness, beauty fully well expressed

Might be completed only by lips pressed

Into its peerless flesh so welcoming.

The end to winters would its showing bring

But too engender half a thousand wars:

Just as for Helen, men the Earth would score

For but one sight of that fair shoulder’s grace

And unlike Helen, who used all her face

To set that Menelaus’ wrath on Troy

This maiden’s arm sufficed, so hid it coy

She did. Now to her bosom follow me,

Which sat high on her chest in dignity

And carry did she all its weight, in sum,

To seem as ripe as any pear or plum.

With greater stature one was never blessed,

Yet how that form engendered wantonness

In Dover’s men! But let us look now down

To where her waist reduced beneath her gown

And where below did press her hips out wide

To such degree her gear could not them hide,

Then to her legs (and look you not askance).

Ingenious was she in the art of dance,

And legs made strong and nimble by that art

She walked upon, and who could help but start

To see them? Who could not imagine this:

The ecstasy, the highest heaven’s bliss;

O, who could not be made forever blithe

If once were wrapped around him legs so lithe?

Upon these limbs she, as to music, swayed

And where she went it seemed that music played.

And how that neck, of bearing soft and strong

Did house a voice which uttered as a song

Her every word; whose sound would hard hearts thaw

By mention of her name, Victoria,

And how the visage which that neck did bear

Was bounded thrice by locks of dancing hair

As black as night, that gleamed as any sun;

By length and burnish they were fit to stun

A warrior, or so to soothe a storm.

To see them in a summer wind, so warm,

Would be the height of any yeoman’s life.

Her vital eye, which knew not pain nor strife,

Appeared to see the hidden thoughts of men,

Laid bare largesse they never showed again.

It hinted of her stately countenance

And lightly swayed as though it were in trance

To view and pass the would-be paramours

With ardor drawn to her in tens and scores,

And though she gave not one the ground to boast,

Consideration did suffice for most.

And here her nose! And here her cheeks, so red!

All gems of heaven could not match that head;

And here her mouth, whose kiss I do maintain

Would cure a leper of his wretched pain

Or even could, if God would have it thus,

Achieve the wakening of Lazarus,

But for a lover it would do no less

Than to vouchsafe a life of no distress,

To empty him of labors and of grief.

Of her appearance I have talked in brief,

Now to her character I gladly turn,

And how her spirit did with passion burn

For all the host of pleasant fantasies

Which men have dreamed throughout our history.

With pride she loved the story of an elf

Who saved his realm. ’Twas not done all himself

But in a clan of mages, dwarves, and men;

Twice fell the land: they conquered it again.

How great a company she could delight

In telling of these doughty travelers’ plight,

Of what fraternity and fellowship

They found and cherished on their valiant trip.

If she were with us, by some cruel design,

The Tabard dinner would be hers, not mine!

And I have spoken of her dancing ere:

The way she spun and leapt up in the air

And landed soft, without a sound or flaw

So all who watched hurrahed and sighed in awe.

But even saving such abilities

Victoria was known to stir and please

By eagerness to know the world full well.

She asked each person, far as he could tell,

The sum of all the wisdom he had gained,

No matter he a prince or slave or thane,

And with what fervor, what assured intent

She listened hard for what his story meant.

Like this she came, with just an hour of care,

To know his soul as they were friends a year

And knew what words to say, and how to act,

And never of his honor would detract,

But made a king feel as he were adored

And made a vassal think he were a lord.

In short, ’tis plain from figure, mind, and face

To know this maiden was to know of grace.

So hearken now! Yes, listen, all of you,

To how she brought about the fall of Lew.

They met, this Lew and this Victoria,

In looking out above the marshy maw

Of River Dour. She asked, as was her wont

The purpose for his features sad and gaunt.

Said Lew, “Alas, your pretty face beholds

The visage of a man once young, grown old

In thirteen days, no more. That long ago

The wicked maiden whom I cherished so,

The only soul to make me gladly sing,

The only mortal worth my worshiping,

This very same to whom I bent my knee:

To Canterbury went, for hate of me.

There she remains, three months if I am blessed,

Or more if she my being seeks to wrest

From my own hands. Now how my sad heart aches

And how my yearning my undoing makes,

For but one touch, one kiss, one lovely smile!

Could e’er I tell you of a thing so vile—

I hold my tongue till drunk enough I am,

For now you think me guiltless as a lamb

But what I think and what I dare to say

Have ne’er been different as they are today.”

Victoria, when heard this plaintive tale

She had, she said, “How do I help but wail?

To hear of love, of innocence thus rent

Drives me, by nearness to it, to repent

For harms alike I may have erred to do.

But now, how might I succor offer you?”

Said Lew, “No aid do I require, I pray,

Save merry memories of this blithe day

When did appear before me, as I breathe,

A one whose head might be by halo wreathed.

It wonders me, as I am wont to dream,

My nightly visions never glow or gleam

Like you. What better succor can there be

Than sharing in your gracious company?”

Victoria did thus his aid provide

When came she did before the eventide

To take her meal inside the Maison’s hall

Each Sabbath, and the week’s fourth day withal,

And speak with Lew. She charmed with song and dance

And told of when she lived abroad, in France,

In Orleans, the town so fair and quaint

To live there made one wish to be a saint,

And spoke so pleasant in that foreign tongue

Which Lew received like church’s bells: it rung

With meaning he could never give a name,

Yet understood he fully all the same

That beauty burst from every note and chime.

Victoria said, “It should be a crime

That I cannot be some poor poet’s wife

A month, a year, or better, all my life

In such a country. O, I live to yearn

For that triumphant, shining, blithe return!”

So she lamented every time they met.

It seemed to Lew she only wished to whet

His soul to sin, but still he held it fast:

He knew his maiden would return at last

And they would live for aye in happiness.

Thought Lew, “For every time a man is blessed

A serpent lurks and waits, conspires to steal

The blessing and what else he can. The deal

Which God bestowed me, more than I deserve,

A maid of flesh and bone and blood and nerve

Whom I adore, and whom adores me so,

Is such that I should never think to go

To Orleans, by way of quaking boat

With one who has not pledged yet to devote

Her soul to me. Yes, this is Satan’s work —

Yet how I laugh each day, and how I smirk

To think my maid, recoiling from the hand

But not the prick, how she in sin does stand,

And now a maid of beauty still unmatched

Might lay her heart before my hand to catch,

And O, temptation! Might I be a fool?

Or is this pilgrimage unduly cruel

For all I’ve done, and might I better ride

To France, Victoria my cherished bride?”

So three months spent he in her secret thrall

And into sin allowed himself to fall

(That sin of heart, that covetous incline),

But kept that sin within his wicked mind.

The Sunday church bells never rang as sweet

As then, and Wednesdays did he smiling greet,

And with what fervor, as the sun went down,

Did Lew await her in her evening gown

To talk of love and marriage, death and war,

Of Spain and France and olden Saxon lore.

In short, there never was a pair I saw

Complete as Lew and this Victoria.

But once those happy months were gone and passed

A boat was ready to depart at last

And in its belly Lew secured a bay

For man and woman sailing to Calais.

When heard this news Victoria did weep

And say, “God ferry you through water deep,

But had I only means to follow you,

By God, in Orleans I’d live anew.

O, look not at me in this wretched state!”

And this is where he strikes, that prince of hate,

For now Lew formed intention cruel and vile,

So plainly Satan had his mind beguiled:

When ready was his ship to sail from port

And hearing not a sign or sweet report

From Canterbury, where his maiden hid,

Victoria he would enamored bid

To share his voyage, soon to share his bed:

For when in Orleans they would be wed.

Now listen close, and I will tell you whence

Came pride that forfeited his providence.

When in the tavern, drinking long of beer

Some idle talking did he overhear

When said a yeoman to a man of law,

“Know you the maiden called Victoria

Who with her beauty can a man undo?

She would be wedded ere the month is through,

Yes, if that man would but fulfill her aim.

I envy him who might soon make the claim

To her fine hand! I see them in our town

Two times a week, out walking. She looks down

As one so coy yet overcome by love

She cannot wait for omens from above

But knows in heart that what she wants is right.”

For hearing this, Lew hardly slept that night

Or any other night that restless week,

So sure was he Victoria did seek

His hand in marriage. Then the sun did rise

At dawn the day he aimed to say good-byes

To one poor maid, and then to marry her

Who fate would have him, he would not demur.

Then in his heart he knew the sore mistake

Which he, in recklessness, did witless make

When sped his maiden to complete her part

To come before the ship would fast depart;

And here is Lew, who knows his fatal flaw

For he would rather wed Victoria

But says his maiden, “I return at last

With news of what in Canterbury passed

To change my heart, and alter thus my path:

I pray my tidings suffer not your wrath,

But Saint James’ way is too well worn, you know,

And all these maids with whom I chose to go

To Canterbury, how devout are they;

They did induce me to amend my way,

And so, I pray you that we follow them

As noble pilgrims to Jerusalem,

Most holy city, maybe save for Rome,

Then in al-Andalus we have our home.

But for my sorrow, I have you misled,

I grant you now your just desire to wed.

O, grant me peace, and I will love you e’er!”

No sooner did these wretched words he hear

Than Lew saw walking, linking hand and hand,

Victoria and such a homely man

That seemed they as a princess and a slave.

This man, a kindly churl, not sharp or brave,

Who could not sing or write with clever pen

Yet who matched honor with the best of men,

Was set to be her husband, now and aye.

Upon this sight could Lew not help but sigh

And for his grief, or his debility,

He swooned and fell as does a rotted tree.

Now when he wakes who else is standing there

But his poor maid, her visage kind and fair?

She gives him succor, and his meals she cooks,

Yet he upon her still in hatred looks.

He will not wed her, nor yet will he deign

To end the chastity she still retains.

His cruel demurral, which he justifies

By charging her with foul and willful lies,

Does breed in her a throe of vile distress.

She cannot offer near enough redress

For her imagined sins that he amends

Their love, and to Jerusalem will wend.

Now I can tell you of the sundry crimes

Which Lew commits against his maid in time,

But doing so would take as many days

As she, dishonored, his intended stayed,

Believing she committed some misdeed.

I know not which advice I ask you heed:

Are you, like Lew, believing you are right

When in all truth you stray from God’s good light?

Or are you like his maid, confused in mind,

To think you sin when you are true and kind?

We cannot see the truth of our own lives,

And so I pray that each of you contrives

To ask (and asked, you answer honestly)

Your friends if now you live in purity

Or sin. This is the only way to know

If God His grace upon you has bestowed.

In mercy, divers sins abridge I thus,

By rating them as did Evagrius

So you will know, in not too long a tale,

How viciously his fair maid Lew assailed.

As Dante says, these sins are love corrupt

And till his death this view did interrupt

Lew’s sorry conscience, for he ever thought

That all he did to her in love was wrought.

That first sin, lechery, you ought to guess

Appeared in him in such a great excess

That he would vex her for her every flaw

And rue that she were not Victoria.

Although she was, I claim, without a peer,

Lew to her beauty offered not a care

But only dreamed of lives he may have led

Had that Victoria been his instead.

A glutton he became, and this is meet:

Few better things are there to do but eat

When forfeits one all love inside his soul

And hunger fills the weeping, empty hole.

And so he gorged, without a thought or sense

Of how perverse was his intemperance,

And he grew fat and weak on fare and mead.

So far astray was he enticed by greed,

To villain Mammon you could see him pray

In Dover’s taverns each and every day,

Where by some devil’s mischievous device

He won great wealth in playing cards and dice,

Then tempted he his maid with dreams of gold

And all those riches that she might behold

Till she believed that they could live in bliss,

If only made that way by avarice.

It chanced, by one unfavored wager grand,

Enough to let him buy a plot of land

And thus to live in comfort all his life

With his sweet maid, who he would make his wife,

He lost his wealth, and even more was owed.

Now what a fury to his maid he showed

And said, “For you alone, I ruined live!

What penitence could make your God forgive

All that befalls me since we crossed our paths?”

I cannot number all the ways his wrath

Did harm her, so this feat I will not seek

Except to say, each word that he would speak

To her was said with venom and with hate.

This savage fury never did abate

But only grew in time. Although his maid

To him the highest estimation paid,

She wept each night for want of tenderness.

But now I show you how his sloth oppressed

Her wishes, for indeed they never left

From Dover-town, and thus she was bereft

Of hopes to see Jerusalem or Spain

Though she beseeched his going, all in vain.

He but reclined in idle lassitude

And from all company they did seclude

Themselves. Endeavored he not once to work

At learning, as he did when once a clerk,

Nor earn a living in some small degree,

And so they lived together meagerly.

Yet when his maiden in that town appeared

Still all who knew her greeted her with cheer

And Europe’s princes, who were ignorant

That she as one who would be married went

About her day, still asked her for her hand,

Though she refused them, faithful to that man

Who troubled her. But when he learned his maid

Was still beloved, into envy strayed

His wretched soul. He asked her every night,

“How can they treat you as one fair and right

When you to me are but a plague, a scourge

And of you all my life I ought to purge?”

He thus tormented her, but ever pined

That like her he might be adored and fine

Not knowing for his devil-blinded eyes

His soul corrupted made him thus despised.

Arrive I now at that most base offense

Which marred Lew’s heart beyond all penitence:

The sin of pride, as I have ere expressed,

Is when one spurns how him his God has blessed

For he believes, in error and in hate,

That more is owed to him because he rates

Himself so lofty, higher than his peers.

Such men will live in envy and in fear

Of better men whom God rewards with aid,

As did He for that shining, sinless maid.

But prideful fools do not consider long

Their sundry sins; aver they God does wrong

When that they eat, but not at feasts for kings,

Or when they love, but wear not golden rings.

Thought Lew, as if it were some holy law,

That he was worthy of Victoria

(That peer to none, that angel tied to Earth),

Yet who but God can judge a mortal’s worth?

This law did Lew impose upon his maid,

And to her less and less regard he paid

So sure was he that this, our Earthly sphere,

Was not for him; he had ascended near

The highest heaven. It cannot be known

How he perceived not, nor was ever shown

The spring of all his pride and his esteem

Was that to such a maid he once had seemed

Full fit to wed (although that pledge made she,

I said, for reasons of utility).

Now know you well all these, her grievances.

Though many more there are, the essences

Suffice for telling of this tragic tale.

You may now ask why not her feet availed

Her, carrying her far away from Lew.

I say, so full did Satan him beshrew

That when she wept, or when she begged to leave

He wore a countenance as though he grieved

And cried, “My faith! My light! My turtle dove!

How can you think I hold you not in love?

That you have sinned is known to God and me,

So let this life your purgatory be,

And then to heaven will you fast ascend.

To God your virtue I shall recommend.

But even heaven is too far away:

I now assure you soon will come the day

When all your grievous crimes I shall forgive

And peacefully your husband will I live.”

These words assuaged her, though they all were lies:

He would have said them for a day or aye,

But years abided they in Dover-town

Until the day the maiden fell her down

And cried, “No more! I cannot bear but one

More injury. As yours my days are done,

Alone and virgin I would long remain

Than suffer you, this much you give me pain!

O say the day will come when all your wrath

Will vanish, yet we wend our present path

To misery, a wretched, bitter end

Which now your manner cannot but portend.

O, I grow older; shall I be a crone

Before forgiveness you to me have shown?

No, I will hasten to Jerusalem

As I have wished, and not your pleas or gems

Will lure me back to this, your wicked thrall,

And no more will you my ambition stall,

Nor will you use me for your increment.

These years of waste I ever will lament,

For though a sin or two did I commit,

Your recompense our God will not remit

And burn you will in Satan’s fire unless

You have the conscience for to fast confess.

Will you admit to me that all your deeds

Were done in service of that Satan’s greed,

Or shall you bear them till the day you die?”

Said Lew, “Then I shall bear my deeds for aye,

No sorrow have I for a sinful wench

Or one whose love for me was but a wrench.

Go now, before your fickle heart demands

You beg to suffer under my command,

And know, ere gone, if wedded we had been,

Still ne’er would you have been a wench unclean

For my desire is lean as monks in Lent,

In short, O sweet, that lust is impotent

With which you shared your bed for three long years,

And never issue would it have you bear.

This is the mockery, one full and good,

That I make of you and your maidenhood.”

Said she, “You tell me this so I shall grieve,

But how much happier am I to cleave

Our couple. Honor lies not in your breast;

How thought you worthy of a maid to test

You were, God knows. My love is not your due.

Victoria is yours, if you can woo

Her from that husbandman so strong and tall

With but your songs and stubborn spear withal.

Goodbye, Lew Bibury, and wellaway,

For nothing will my sorrow fast allay,

This for my feeling when we had our tryst

That all our lives would thus be lived in bliss.”

Then fled she, weeping, out the chamber door

And fell his eyes upon her face no more.

Two months he lingered in that very place

To take his ale inside a tavern base

Where maidens came and had such revelry

A joy it was to only watch their glee.

Yet not a one was perfect to his mind

As she whom he again would never find,

And grew he weary, yea, and soon he saw

His every sin and too his every flaw.

He wailed, “But such an unrepentant plight

Was sure engendered by a different wight

Than I, for evil have I never known;

Yet all this memory by deed was sown!

Could I, a humble clerk of Cantabridge

Commit these acts of wicked sacrilege

Against a one so pure and beauteous

That of her men would sing in faith and lust?”

And after this in grief he spent his days

And sang of nothing but that maiden’s praise,

And prayed each night before his songbook shelf

That he would wake as any but himself,

And did confess, at last, his every crime

To every priest or man who gave him time.

So heaven would he gain when dead he was,

Yet in our sphere he suffered, all because

He blindly sought from God, so like a child:

Until his soul he fully had defiled.

Now you may ask, and keenly if you do,

Why did this plaintive clerk, this wretch, this Lew

Devote himself to seeking maidens fine

When he could not their maidenhood unbind?

I tell you, Satan do you stand beneath

If you see your dear wife as but a sheath,

For matrimony is a sacrament

And more, God’s love and Jesus’ covenant

Grow strong each time you kiss or honor so

The spouse your God upon you has bestowed.

I say, if suffered you in Lew’s own wise,

That very will to love would still arise

In you, so chastise not him for his thirst

But for his sins, of which I’ve said the worst.

Without his sin, and too without a wife,

Lew languished aye in rueful, anguished strife,

And of those years I have few words to say,

For wanting love we waste in slow decay.

But of that maid, a happy end you hear:

She found a prince to be her husband dear

When not a year had passed in Dover-town,

And soon their happiness gained great renown

As wended they to where she once had sought

And he to her a husband’s virtues taught

And more, at last, he took her maidenhood

(Though privy stays the truth, just as it should,

Of if he did before they married were).

Until his death he only cherished her

In such a way as words cannot describe:

To her his happiness I do ascribe,

But this her life I leave you to conclude,

Imagining a bliss of magnitude

So great, of it you only hope or dream.

One epilogue I know my tale beseems,

Which took its place when years and years had passed

Since that our maiden fled from Lew at last.

Those days, his misery and sorrow deep

Did plague him even in his restless sleep

Until he knew despair which would not cease.

For this he went, in hope of knowing peace,

To Cordoba, the town so near his fall,

And there he stood beside the Roman wall

To finally croon a song of lame regret

And pray for succor. Still he knew his debt

Would not be paid until his timely end,

Such is the levy for to thus offend

Our God by prideful, thankless arrogance.

And here, he even has a thought to dance

A fiddle more, as he can image well

What he would do if he had come to dwell

With such a maid, but for what I have shown,

She bore him not, and e’er he goes alone.

So cherish, friends, the blessings on your heads

And covet not what you would have instead,

And to your lover may you e’er be true

As long as she will put her faith in you,

Or end as Lew: for, like my history,

His dance is done. God save our company!

Heere is ended the Directours Tale

☉