But on a day, agayn the even tyde,
The wynd gan chaunge, and blew right as hem leste.
Jolyf and glad they wente unto here reste,
And casten hem ful erly for to saylle;
But to that oon man fel a gret mervaylle.
That oon of hem in slepyng as he lay,
Him mette a wonder drem, agayn the day;
Him thoughte a man stood by his beddes syde,
And him comaundede, that he schulde abyde,
And sayde him thus, 'If thou to-morwe wende,
Thow schalt be dreynt; my tale is at an ende.'
He wook, and tolde his felawe what he mette,
And prayde him his viage for to lette;
As for that day, he prayde him to abyde.
His felawe that lay by his beddes syde,
Gan for to lawghe, and scornede him ful faste.
'No dreem,' quod he, 'may so myn herte agaste, That I wil lette for to do my thinges.
I sette not a straw by thy dremynges,
For swevenes been but vanitees and japes.
Men dreme al day of owles or of apes,
And eek of many a mase therwithal;
Men dreme of thing that nevere was ne schal.
But sith I see that thou wilt her abyde,
And thus forslouthe wilfully thy tyde,
God wot it reweth me, and have good day.'
And thus he took his leve, and wente his way..
But er that he hadde half his cours i-sayled,
Noot I nought why, ne what meschaunce it ayled, 280
But casuelly the schippes botme rente,
And schip and man under the water wente
In sight of othere schippes ther byside,
That with hem sailede at the same tyde.
And therfore, faire Pertelote so deere,
By suche ensamples olde maistow leere
That no man scholde be to reccheles
Of dremes, for I say the douteles,
That many a dreem ful sore is for to drede.
'Lo, in the lif of seint Kenelm, I rede,
That was Kenulphus sone, the noble king
Of Mercenrike, how Kenelm mette a thing.
A lite er he was mordred, on a day
His mordre in his avysioun he say.
His norice him expounede every del
His swevene, and bad him for to kepe him wel
For traisoun; but he nas but seven yer old,
And therfore litel tale hath he told
Of eny drem, so holy was his herte.
By God, I hadde levere than my scherte,
That ye hadde rad his legende, as have I.
Dame Pertelote, I saye yow trewely,
Macrobeus, that writ the avisioun
In Affrike of the worthy Cipioun,
Affermeth dremes, and saith that thay been
Warnyng of thinges that men after seen.
And forther more, I pray yow loketh wel
In the olde Testament, of Daniel,
If he held dremes eny vanyte.
Red eek of Joseph, and ther schul ye see
Wher dremes ben somtyme (I say nought alle)
Lo Cresus, which that was of Lyde king,
Mette he not that he sat upon a tre,
Which signifiede he schulde anhanged be?
Lo hire Andromacha, Ectores wif,
That day that Ector schulde lese his lif,
Sche dremede on the same night byforn,
How that the lif of Ector schulde be lorn,
If thilke day he wente in to bataylle;
Sche warnede him, but it mighte nought availle;
He wente for to fighte natheles,
And he was slayn anoon of Achilles.
But thilke tale is al to long to telle,
And eek it is neigh day, I may not duelle.
Schortly I saye, as for conclusioun,
That I schal han of this avisioun
Adversité; and I saye forther-more,
That I ne telle of laxatives no store,
For thay ben venymous, I wot right wel;
I hem defye, I love hem nevere a del.
'Now let us speke of mirthe, and stynte al this;
Madame Pertelote, so have I blis,
Of o thing God hath sent me large grace;
For whan I see the beauté of your face,
Ve ben so scarlet reed aboute your eyghen,
It maketh al my drede for to deyghen,
For, also siker as In principio,
Mulier est hominis confusio.
(Madame, the sentence of this Latyn is,
Womman is mannes joye and al his blis.)
I am so ful of joye and of solas
That I defye bothe swevene and drem.'
And with that word he fleigh doun fro the beem,
For it was day, and eek his hennes alle;
And with a chuk he gan hem for to calle,
For he hadde founde a corn, lay in the yerd.
Real he was, he was no more aferd;
He loketh as it were a grim lioun;
And on his toon he rometh up and doun,
Him deyneth not to sette his foot to grounde.
He chukketh, whan he hath a corn i-founde,
And to him rennen than his wives alle.
Thus real, as a prince is in his halle,
Leve I this chauntecleer in his pasture;
And after wol I telle his aventure.
Whan that the moneth in which the world bigan,
That highte March, whan God first made man,
Was complet, and y-passed were also,
Syn March bygan, thritty dayes and tuo,
Byfel that Chauntecleer in al his pride,
His seven wyves walkyng him by syde,
Caste up his eyghen to the brighte sonne,
That in the signe of Taurus hadde i-ronne
Twenty degrees and oon, and somwhat more;
He knew by kynde, and by noon other lore,
That it was prime, and crew with blisful stevene.
'The sonne,' he sayde, 'is clomben up on hevene
Fourty degrees and oon, and more i-wis.
Madame Pertelote, my worldes blis,
Ful is myn hert of revel and solaas.'
Herkneth these blisful briddes how they synge,
And seth the fressche floures how they springe;
But sodeinly him fel a sorweful caas;
For evere the latter ende of joye is wo.
Got wot that worldly joye is soone ago;
And if a rethor couthe faire endite,
He in a chronique saufly mighte it write,
As for a soverayn notabilité.
Now every wys man let him herkne me;
This story is also trewe, I undertake,
As is the book of Launcelot de Lake,
That wommen holde in ful gret reverence.
Now wol I torne agayn to my sentence.
A col-fox, ful of sleigh iniquité,
That in the grove hadde woned yeres thre,
By heigh ymaginacioun forncast,
The same nighte thurghout the hegges brast
Into the yerd, ther Chauntecleer the faire
Was wont, and eek his wyves, to repaire;
And in a bed of wortes stille he lay,
Til it was passed undern of the day,
Waytyng his tyme on Chauntecleer to falle;
As gladly doon these homicides alle,
That in awayte lyggen to mordre men.
O false mordrer lurkyng in thy den!
O newe Scariot, newe Genilon!
False dissimulour, O Greek Sinon,
That broughtest Troye al outrely to sorwe!
O Chauntecleer, accursed be that morwe,
That thou into that yerd floughe fro the bemes!
Thou were ful wel iwarned by thy dremes,
That thilke day was perilous to the.
But what that God forwot mot needes be
After the opynyoun of certeyn clerkis.
Witnesse on him, that eny perfit clerk is,
That in scole is gret altercacioun
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