Part I. The Legend of Hypsipyle.

Thou rote of false lovers, duk Iasoun!

Thou sly devourer and confusioun

Of gentil-wommen, tender creatures,

Thou madest thy reclaiming and thy lures

To ladies of thy statly apparaunce,

And of thy wordes, farced with plesaunce,

And of thy feyned trouthe and thy manere,

With thyn obeisaunce and thy humble chere,

And with thy counterfeted peyne and wo.

Ther other falsen oon, thou falsest two!

O! ofte swore thou that thou woldest dye

For love, whan thou ne feltest maladye

Save foul delyt, which that thou callest love!

If that I live, thy name shal be shove

In English, that thy sleighte shal be knowe!

Have at thee, Iasoun! now thyn horn is blowe!

But certes, hit is bothe routhe and wo

That love with false loveres werketh so;

For they shul have wel better love and chere

Than he that hath aboght his love ful dere,

Or had in armes many a blody box.

For ever as tendre a capoun et the fox,

Thogh he be fals and hath the foul betrayed,

As shal the good-man that ther-for hath payed.

Al have he to the capoun skille and right,

The false fox wol have his part at night.

On Iasoun this ensample is wel y-sene

By Isiphile and Medea the quene.

In Tessalye, as Guido telleth us,

Ther was a king that highte Pelleus,

That had a brother, which that highte Eson;

And, whan for age he mighte unnethes gon,

He yaf to Pelleus the governing

Of al his regne, and made him lord and king.

Of which Eson this Iasoun geten was,

That, in his tyme, in al that lond, ther nas

Nat swich a famous knight of gentilesse,

Of freedom, and of strengthe and lustinesse.

After his fader deeth, he bar him so

That ther nas noon that liste been his fo,

But dide him al honour and companye;

Of which this Pelleus hath greet envye,

Imagining that Iasoun mighte be

Enhaunsed so, and put in swich degree

With love of lordes of his regioun,

That from his regne he may be put adoun.

And in his wit, a-night, compassed he

How Iasoun mighte best destroyed be

Withoute slaunder of his compasment.

And at the laste he took avisement

To senden him in-to som fer contree

Ther as this Iasoun may destroyed be.

This was his wit; al made he to Iasoun

Gret chere of love and of affeccioun,

For drede lest his lordes hit espyde.

So fil hit so, as fame renneth wyde,

Ther was swich tyding over-al and swich los,

That in an yle that called was Colcos,

Beyonde Troye, estward in the see,

That ther-in was a ram, that men mighte see,

That had a flees of gold, that shoon so brighte,

That no-wher was ther swich an-other sighte;

But hit was kept alway with a dragoun,

And many othere merveils, up and doun,

And with two boles, maked al of bras,

That spitten fyr, and moche thing ther was.

But this was eek the tale, nathelees,

That who-so wolde winne thilke flees,

He moste bothe, or he hit winne mighte,

With the boles and the dragoun fighte;

And king Oëtes lord was of that yle.

This Pelleus bethoghte upon this wyle;

That he his nevew Iasoun wolde enhorte

To sailen to that lond, him to disporte,

And seide, 'Nevew, if hit mighte be

That swich a worship mighte fallen thee,

That thou this famous tresor mightest winne,

And bringen hit my regioun with-inne,

Hit were to me gret plesaunce and honour;

Than were I holde to quyte thy labour.

And al the cost I wol my-selven make;

And chees what folk that thou wilt with thee take;

Lat see now, darstow taken this viage?'

Iasoun was yong, and lusty of corage,

And under-took to doon this ilke empryse.

Anoon Argus his shippes gan devyse;

With Iasoun wente the stronge Ercules,

And many an-other that he with him chees.

But who-so axeth who is with him gon,

Lat him go reden Argonauticon,

For he wol telle a tale long y-now.

Philotetes anoon the sail up-drow,

Whan that the wind was good, and gan him hye

Out of his contree called Tessalye.

So long he sailed in the salte see

Til in the yle Lemnoun aryved he—

Al be this nat rehersed of Guido,

Yet seith Ovyde in his Epistles so—

And of this yle lady was and quene

The faire yonge Isiphilee, the shene,

That whylom Thoas doghter was, the king.

Isiphilee was goon in her playing;

And, roming on the clyves by the see,

Under a banke anoon espyed she

Wher that the ship of Iasoun gan aryve.

Of her goodnesse adoun she sendeth blyve

To witen yif that any straunge wight

With tempest thider were y-blowe a-night,

To doon him socour; as was her usaunce

To forthren every wight, and doon plesaunce

Of veray bountee and of curtesye.

This messagere adoun him gan to hye,

And fond Iasoun, and Ercules also,

That in a cogge to londe were y-go

Hem to refresshen and to take the eyr.

The morwening atempre was and fair;

And in his wey the messagere hem mette.

Ful cunningly thise lordes two he grette,

And dide his message, axing hem anoon

Yif they were broken, or oght wo begoon,

Or hadde nede of lodesmen or vitaile;

For of socour they shulde no-thing faile,

For hit was utterly the quenes wille.

Iasoun answerde, mekely and stille,

'My lady,' quod he, 'thanke I hertely

Of hir goodnesse; us nedeth, trewely,

No-thing as now, but that we wery be,

And come for to pleye, out of the see,

Til that the wind be better in our weye.'

This lady rometh by the clif to pleye,

With her meynee, endelong the stronde,

And fynt this Iasoun and this other stonde,

In spekinge of this thing, as I yow tolde.

This Ercules and Iasoun gan beholde

How that the quene hit was, and faire her grette

Anon-right as they with this lady mette;

And she took heed, and knew, by hir manere,

By hir aray, by wordes and by chere,

That hit were gentil-men, of greet degree.

And to the castel with her ledeth she

Thise straunge folk, and doth hem greet honour,

And axeth hem of travail and labour

That they han suffred in the salte see;

So that, within a day, or two, or three,

She knew, by folk that in his shippes be,

That hit was Iasoun, ful of renomee,

And Ercules, that had the grete los,

That soghten the aventures of Colcos;

And dide hem honour more then before,

And with hem deled ever lenger the more,

For they ben worthy folk, with-outen lees.

And namely, most she spak with Ercules;

To him her herte bar, he sholde be

Sad, wys, and trewe, of wordes avisee,

With-outen any other affeccioun

Of love, or evil imaginacioun.

This Ercules hath so this Iasoun preysed,

That to the sonne he hath him up areysed,

That half so trewe a man ther nas of love

Under the cope of heven that is above;

And he was wys, hardy, secree, and riche.—

Of thise three pointes ther nas noon him liche;

Of freedom passed he, and lustihede,

Alle tho that liven or ben dede;

Ther-to so greet a gentil-man was he,

And of Tessalie lykly king to be.

Ther nas no lak, but that he was agast

To love, and for to speke shamefast.

He hadde lever him-self to mordre, and dye

Than that men shulde a lover him espye:—

'As wolde almighty god that I had yive

My blood and flesh, so that I mighte live,

With the nones that he hadde o-wher a wyf

For his estat; for swich a lusty lyf

She sholde lede with this lusty knight!'

And al this was compassed on the night

Betwixe him Iasoun and this Ercules.

Of thise two heer was mad a shrewed lees

To come to hous upon an innocent;

For to be-dote this queen was hir assent.

And Iasoun is as coy as is a maide,

He loketh pitously, but noght he saide,

But frely yaf he to her conseileres

Yiftes grete, and to her officeres.

As wolde god I leiser hadde, and tyme,

By proces al his wowing for to ryme.

But in this hous if any fals lover be,

Right as him-self now doth, right so dide he,

With feyning and with every sotil dede.

Ye gete no more of me, but ye wil rede

Thoriginal, that telleth al the cas.

The somme is this, that Iasoun wedded was

Unto this quene, and took of her substaunce

What-so him liste, unto his purveyaunce;

And upon her begat he children two,

And drow his sail, and saw her never-mo.

A lettre sente she to him certein,

Which were to long to wryten and to sein,

And him repreveth of his grete untrouthe,

And preyeth him on her to have som routhe.

And of his children two, she seide him this,

That they be lyke, of alle thing, y-wis,

To Iasoun, save they coude nat begyle;

And preyed god, or hit were longe whyle,

That she, that had his herte y-raft her fro,

Moste finden him to her untrewe al-so,

And that she moste bothe her children spille,

And alle tho that suffreth him his wille.

And trew to Iasoun was she al her lyf,

And ever kepte her chast, as for his wyf;

Ne never had she Ioye at her herte,

But dyed, for his love, of sorwes smerte.

Part II. The Legend of Medea.

To Colcos comen is this duk Iasoun,

That is of love devourer and dragoun.

As matere appetyteth forme al-wey,

And from forme in-to forme hit passen may,

Or as a welle that were botomlees,

Right so can fals Iasoun have no pees.

For, to desyren, through his appetyt,

To doon with gentil wommen his delyt,

This is his lust and his felicitee.

Iasoun is romed forth to the citee,

That whylom cleped was Iaconitos,

That was the maister-toun of al Colcos,

And hath y-told the cause of his coming

Un-to Oëtes, of that contre king,

Preying him that he moste doon his assay

To gete the flees of gold, if that he may;

Of which the king assenteth to his bone,

And doth him honour, as hit is to done,

So ferforth, that his doghter and his eyr,

Medea, which that was so wys and fair

That fairer saw ther never man with yë,

He made her doon to Iasoun companye

At mete, and sitte by him in the halle.

Now was Iasoun a semely man with-alle,

And lyk a lord, and had a greet renoun,

And of his loke as real as leoun,

And goodly of his speche, and famulere,

And coude of love al craft and art plenere

With-oute boke, with everich observaunce.

And, as fortune her oghte a foul meschaunce,

She wex enamoured upon this man.

'Iasoun,' quod she, 'for ought I see or can,

As of this thing the which ye been aboute,

Ye han your-self y-put in moche doute.

For, who-so wol this aventure acheve,

He may nat wel asterten, as I leve,

With-outen deeth, but I his helpe be.

But natheles, hit is my wille,' quod she,

'To forthren yow, so that ye shal nat dye,

But turnen, sound, hoom to your Tessalye.'

'My righte lady,' quod this Iasoun tho,

'That ye han of my dethe or of my wo

Any reward, and doon me this honour,

I wot wel that my might ne my labour

May nat deserve hit in my lyves day;

God thanke yow, ther I ne can ne may.

Your man am I, and lowly you beseche,

To been my help, with-oute more speche;

But certes, for my deeth shal I nat spare.'

Tho gan this Medea to him declare

The peril of this cas, fro point to point,

And of his batail, and in what disioint

He mote stande, of which no creature,

Save only she, ne mighte his lyf assure.

And shortly, to the point right for to go,

They been accorded ful, betwix hem two,

That Iasoun shal her wedde, as trewe knight;

And term y-set, to come sone at night

Unto her chambre, and make ther his ooth,

Upon the goddes, that he, for leef ne looth,

Ne sholde her never falsen, night ne day,

To been her husbond, whyl he liven may,

As she that from his deeth him saved here.

And her-upon, at night they mette y-fere,

And doth his ooth, and goth with her to bedde.

And on the morwe, upward he him spedde;

For she hath taught him how he shal nat faile

The flees to winne, and stinten his bataile;

And saved him his lyf and his honour;

And gat him greet name as a conquerour

Right through the sleight of her enchantement.

Now hath Iasoun the flees, and hoom is went

With Medea, and tresor ful gret woon.

But unwist of her fader is she goon

To Tessaly, with duk Iasoun her leef,

That afterward hath broght her to mescheef.

For as a traitour he is from her go,

And with her lafte his yonge children two,

And falsly hath betrayed her, allas!

And ever in love a cheef traitour he was;

And wedded yit the thridde wyf anon,

That was the doghter of the king Creon.

This is the meed of loving and guerdon

That Medea received of Iasoun

Right for her trouthe and for her kindenesse,

That loved him better than her-self, I gesse,

And lafte her fader and her heritage.

And of Iasoun this is the vassalage,

That, in his dayes, nas ther noon y-founde

So fals a lover going on the grounde.

And therfor in her lettre thus she seyde

First, whan she of his falsnesse him umbreyde,

'Why lyked me thy yelow heer to see

More then the boundes of myn honestee,

Why lyked me thy youthe and thy fairnesse,

And of thy tonge the infinit graciousnesse?

O, haddest thou in thy conquest deed y-be,

Ful mikel untrouthe had ther dyed with thee!'

Wel can Ovyde her lettre in vers endyte,

Which were as now to long for me to wryte.

1680

Now moot I seyn the exiling of kinges

Of Rome, for hir horrible doinges,

And of the laste king Tarquinius,

As saith Ovyde and Titus Livius.

But for that cause telle I nat this storie,

But for to preise and drawen to memorie

The verray wyf, the verray trewe Lucresse,

That, for her wyfhood and her stedfastnesse,

Nat only that thise payens her comende,

But he, that cleped is in our legende

The grete Austin, hath greet compassioun

Of this Lucresse, that starf at Rome toun;

And in what wyse, I wol but shortly trete,

And of this thing I touche but the grete.

Whan Ardea beseged was aboute

With Romains, that ful sterne were and stoute,

Ful longe lay the sege, and litel wroghte,

So that they were half ydel, as hem thoghte;

And in his pley Tarquinius the yonge

Gan for to iape, for he was light of tonge,

And seyde, that 'it was an ydel lyf;

No man did ther no more than his wyf;

And lat us speke of wyves, that is best;

Praise every man his owne, as him lest,

And with our speche lat us ese our herte.'

A knight, that highte Colatyne, up sterte,

And seyde thus, 'nay, for hit is no nede

To trowen on the word, but on the dede.

I have a wyf,' quod he, 'that, as I trowe,

Is holden good of alle that ever her knowe;

Go we to-night to Rome, and we shul see.'

Tarquinius answerde, 'that lyketh me.'

To Rome be they come, and faste hem dighte

To Colatynes hous, and doun they lighte,

Tarquinius, and eek this Colatyne.

The husbond knew the estres wel and fyne,

And prively into the hous they goon;

Nor at the gate porter was ther noon;

And at the chambre-dore they abyde.

This noble wyf sat by her beddes syde

Dischevele, for no malice she ne thoghte;

And softe wolle our book seith that she wroghte

To kepen her fro slouthe and ydelnesse;

And bad her servants doon hir businesse,

And axeth hem, 'what tydings heren ye?

How seith men of the sege, how shal hit be?

God wolde the walles weren falle adoun;

Myn husbond is so longe out of this toun,

For which the dreed doth me so sore smerte,

Right as a swerd hit stingeth to myn herte

Whan I think on the sege or of that place;

God save my lord, I preye him for his grace:'—

And ther-with-al ful tenderly she weep,

And of her werk she took no more keep,

But mekely she leet her eyen falle;

And thilke semblant sat her wel with-alle.

And eek her teres, ful of honestee,

Embelisshed her wyfly chastitee;

Her countenaunce is to her herte digne,

For they acordeden in dede and signe.

And with that word her husbond Colatyn,

Or she of him was war, com sterting in,

And seide, 'dreed thee noght, for I am here!'

And she anoon up roos, with blisful chere,

And kiste him, as of wyves is the wone.

Tarquinius, this proude kinges sone,

Conceived hath her beautee and her chere,

Her yelow heer, her shap, and her manere,

Her hew, her wordes that she hath compleyned,

And by no crafte her beautee nas nat feyned;

And caughte to this lady swich desyr,

That in his herte brende as any fyr

So woodly, that his wit was al forgeten.

For wel, thoghte he, she sholde nat be geten

And ay the more that he was in dispair,

The more he coveteth and thoghte her fair.

His blinde lust was al his covetinge.

A-morwe, whan the brid began to singe,

Unto the sege he comth ful privily,

And by himself he walketh sobrely,

Thimage of her recording alwey newe;

'Thus lay her heer, and thus fresh was her hewe;

Thus sat, thus spak, thus span; this was her chere,

Thus fair she was, and this was her manere.'

Al this conceit his herte hath now y-take.

And, as the see, with tempest al to-shake,

That, after whan the storm is al ago,

Yet wol the water quappe a day or two,

Right so, thogh that her forme wer absent,

The plesaunce of her forme was present;

But natheles, nat plesaunce, but delyt,

Or an unrightful talent with despyt;

'For, maugre her, she shal my lemman be;

Hap helpeth hardy man alday,' quod he;

'What ende that I make, hit shal be so;'

And girt him with his swerde, and gan to go;

And forth he rit til he to Rome is come,

And al aloon his wey than hath he nome

Unto the house of Colatyn ful right.

Doun was the sonne, and day hath lost his light;

And in he com un-to a privy halke,

And in the night ful theefly gan he stalke,

Whan every night was to his reste broght,

Ne no wight had of tresoun swich a thoght.

Were hit by window or by other gin,

With swerde y-drawe, shortly he comth in

Ther as she lay, this noble wyf Lucresse.

And, as she wook, her bed she felte presse.

'What beste is that,' quod she, 'that weyeth thus?'

'I am the kinges sone, Tarquinius,'

Quod he, 'but and thou crye, or noise make,

Or if thou any creature awake,

By thilke god that formed man on lyve,

This swerd through-out thyn herte shal I ryve.'

And ther-withal unto her throte he sterte,

And sette the point al sharp upon her herte.

No word she spak, she hath no might therto.

What shal she sayn? her wit is al ago.

Right as a wolf that fynt a lomb aloon,

To whom shal she compleyne, or make moon?

What! shal she fighte with an hardy knight?

Wel wot men that a woman hath no might.

What! shal she crye, or how shal she asterte

That hath her by the throte, with swerde at herte?

She axeth grace, and seith al that she can.

'Ne wolt thou nat,' quod he, this cruel man,

'As wisly Iupiter my soule save,

As I shal in the stable slee thy knave,

And leye him in thy bed, and loude crye,

That I thee finde in suche avouterye;

And thus thou shalt be deed, and also lese

Thy name, for thou shalt non other chese.'

Thise Romain wyves loveden so hir name

At thilke tyme, and dredden so the shame,

That, what for fere of slaundre and drede of deeth,

She loste bothe at-ones wit and breeth,

And in a swough she lay and wex so deed,

Men mighte smyten of her arm or heed;

She feleth no-thing, neither foul ne fair.

Tarquinius, that art a kinges eyr,

And sholdest, as by linage and by right,

Doon as a lord and as a verray knight,

Why hastow doon dispyt to chivalrye?

Why hastow doon this lady vilanye?

Allas! of thee this was a vileins dede!

But now to purpos; in the story I rede,

Whan he was goon, al this mischaunce is falle.

This lady sente after her frendes alle,

Fader, moder, husbond, al y-fere;

And al dischevele, with her heres clere,

In habit swich as women used tho

Unto the burying of her frendes go,

She sit in halle with a sorweful sighte.

Her frendes axen what her aylen mighte,

And who was deed? And she sit ay wepinge,

A word for shame ne may she forth out-bringe,

Ne upon hem she dorste nat beholde.

But atte laste of Tarquiny she hem tolde,

This rewful cas, and al this thing horrible.

The wo to tellen hit were impossible,

That she and alle her frendes made atones.

Al hadde folkes hertes been of stones,

Hit mighte have maked hem upon her rewe,

Her herte was so wyfly and so trewe.

She seide, that, for her gilt ne for her blame,

Her husbond sholde nat have the foule name,

That wolde she nat suffre, by no wey.

And they answerden alle, upon hir fey,

That they foryeve hit her, for hit was right;

Hit was no gilt, hit lay nat in her might;

And seiden her ensamples many oon.

But al for noght; for thus she seide anoon,

'Be as be may,' quod she, 'of forgiving,

I wol nat have no forgift for no-thing.'

But prively she caughte forth a knyf,

And therwith-al she rafte her-self her lyf;

And as she fel adoun, she caste her look,

And of her clothes yit she hede took;

For in her falling yit she hadde care

Lest that her feet or swiche thing lay bare;

So wel she loved clennesse and eek trouthe.

Of her had al the toun of Rome routhe,

And Brutus by her chaste blode hath swore

That Tarquin sholde y-banisht be ther-fore,

And al his kin; and let the peple calle,

And openly the tale he tolde hem alle,

And openly let carie her on a bere

Through al the toun, that men may see and here

The horrible deed of her oppressioun.

Ne never was ther king in Rome toun

Sin thilke day; and she was holden there

A seint, and ever her day y-halwed dere

As in hir lawe: and thus endeth Lucresse,

The noble wyf, as Titus bereth witnesse.

I tell hit, for she was of love so trewe,

Ne in her wille she chaunged for no newe.

And for the stable herte, sad and kinde,

That in these women men may alday finde;

Ther as they caste hir herte, ther hit dwelleth.

For wel I wot, that Crist him-selve telleth,

That in Israel, as wyd as is the lond,

That so gret feith in al the lond he ne fond

As in a woman; and this is no lye.

And as of men, loketh which tirannye

They doon alday; assay hem who so liste,

The trewest is ful brotel for to triste.