Chaucer's tales have been often "translated" for the benefit of the casual reader but in so doing, the new versions lose the flavor, the rhythm and rhyme of the original verse. Some authors even go so far as to write new rhymes in place of the "old" hoping to keep the story intact but destroying the character of the story in the process. Others abandon the poetry altogether and rewrite it as prose. Herein is a different approach. The first line is as Chaucer wrote it (acknowledging that it is not in the original script and that some spelling has been changed as the story migrated to the current day), following is the best attempt at converting the meaning to that which can easily be grasp.
As one reads the poem, it is suggested that the first line be read. Then, the second line be read. As familiarity is gained with the progression of the story and when the meaning of the first line is clear as Chaucer wrote it, the repeat line can be skipped (ignored, unless there may be a question of word meaning). Best of all is to read the poem out loud and listen to the words as they were no doubt spoken to an audience of non-readers in the 1300's. Be there two of you one should read the first line and the other the second.
Enjoy!
Thou were ful wel y-warned by thy dremes
Thou were fully warned by your dreams
That thilke day was perilous to thee.
That this day was perilous to thee.
But what that God forwoot mot nedes be
But what that God forewarned, need not be
After the opynyoun of certeyn clerkis.
After the opinion of certain writers
Witnesse on hym that any parfit clerk is,
That any perfect (philosopher) writer is,
That in scole is greet altercacioun
In study of great altercations.
In this matere, and greet disputisoun,
As in this matter, in great dispute
And hath ben of an hundred thousand men.
And it were by a hundred thousand men.
But I ne kan nat bulte it to the bren
But I cannot sift the grain from the chaff.
As kan the holy doctour Augustyn
As can the holy doctor Augustine (of Hippo, died 430.)
Or Boece, or the Bisshop Bradwardyn,
Or Boethius, or the Bishop Bradwardine,
(Boethius, author of Consolations of Philosophy, died 524, Bradwardine Archbishop of Canterbury died 1349)
Wheither that Goddes worthy forewityng
Whether God had worthy foreknowledge
Streyneth me nedely for to doon a thyng�
Compels me of necessity to do a thing.
"Nedely" clepe I symple necesitee�
"Necessary" said I simple, necessity �
Or ellis, if free choys be graunted me
Or else, if free choice be granted me
To do that same thyng, or do it noght,
To do the same thing, or do it not
Though God forwoot it er that it was wroght;
Though God knew it before it was wrought.
Or if his wityng streyneth never a del
His writing compels very little
But by necesitee condicionel.
But by necessity. The conditions
I wol nat han to do of swich matere.
I would not have to explain such matters
.
My tale is of a cok, as ye may heere,
My tale is of a cock, as you may hear,
That took his conseil of his wyf, with sorwe,
That took counsel (advice) of his wife, with sorrow,
To walken in the yerd upon that morwe
To walk in the yard upon that morn
That he had met the dreem that I yow tolde.
That he had had the dream that I to you told
Wommennes conseils ben ful ofte colde.
Women's counsels are very often fatal.
Wommannes conseil broghte us first to wo
Women's counsel brought us first to woe
And made Adam fro Paradys to go,
And made Adam from Paradise go,
Ther-as he was ful myrie and wel at ese
.
There he was full of joy and well at ease
But, for I noot to whom it myghte displese
But, not a worry about whom it might displease
If I conseil of wommen wolde blame,
If I blame the council of women,
Passe over, for I seyde it in my game
.
Pass over, for I said it in sport
Rede auctours wher they trete of swich matere,
Read authors where they treat of such matter
And what they seyn of wommen ye may heere.
And what they say of women you may hear
Thise ben the cokkes wordes and nat myne;
This being the cock's words, not mine.
I kan noon harm of no womman devyne.
I can not harm any woman divine
Faire in the sond to bathe hit myrily
Fair in the sand to bath most merrily.
Lyth Pertelote, and alle hir sustres by,
Lay Pertelote, and all of her sisters,
Agayn the sonne; and Chauntecleer so free
In the sun, with Chauntecleer so free
Song myrier than the mermayde in the see,
They sang merrier than the mermaids of the sea
For Phisiologus seith sikerly
For Physiologus said certainly
How that they syngen wel and myrily.
How they sang so well and merrily
And so bifel that, as he caste his ye,
And so it befell that, as he cast his eye
Among the wortes on a boterflye,
Among the plants, a butterfly
He was war of this fox that lay ful lowe.
He was wary of this fox that lay in hiding
No thyng ne liste hym thanne for to crowe,
Nothing pleased him but to crow
But cryde anon "Cok! cok!" and up he sterte
But cried, "Cok! Cok!" and up he start
As man that was affrayed in his herte,
As man that was afraid in his heart
For naturelly a beest desireth flee
For naturally a beast desires to flee
Fro his contrarie, if he may it see,
From his opposite, if he may it see
Though he never erst had syn it with his ye.
Though he never before had seen it with his eye
This Chauntecleer, when he gam hym espye,
this Chauntecleer, when he him espied
He wolde han fled but that the foxe anon
He would have fled but that the fox who was hiding,
Seyde, "Gentil sire, allas! Wher wol ye gon?
Said, "Gentile sire, alas! Where would you be going?
Be ye affrayed of me that am your freend?
Are you afraid of me that am your friend?
Now, certes, were I worse than a feend
Now, certainly, were I worst than a friend
If I to yow wolde harm or vileynye.
If I would harm you or be a villain
I am nat come your conseil for t'espye,
I am not, come in secret to spy
But trewely the cause of my comynge
But truly the cause of my coming
Was oonly for to herkne how that ye synge,
Was only to hear how you sing
For trewely ye have as myrie a stevene
For truly, you have as merry a voice
As any aungel hath that is in hevene.
As any angel hath that is in heaven
Therwith ye han in musyk moore feelynge
Therewith you have in music, more feeling
Than hadde Boece, or any that kan synge.
Than had Boethius, or any that can sing
My lord, your fader--God his soule blesse!�
My lord, your father � God his soul blessed! �
And eek your mother, of hir gentillesse,
And also your mother, of her gentleness
Han in myn hous y-ben to my greet ese.
Have in my house, been to my great ease
And certes, sire, ful fayn wolde I yow plese.
And certainly, sire, saying would I you please
"But, for men speke of syngynge, I wol seye�
"But, as men speak of singing, I would say
So mote I brouke wel myne eyen tweye!�
So more. I enjoy very much (listening) to you
!
Save yow, I herde nevere man so synge
Save you, I have never heard a man so sing
As dide youre fader in the morwenynge.
As did you father in the morning
Certes, it was of herte, al that he song.
Certain, it was from all of his heart that he sang.
And for to make his voys the moore strong,
And for to make his voice the more strong,
He wolde so peyne hym that with bothe his yen
He would so take pains that with both his eyes
He moste wynke, so loude he wolde cryen,
He would wink, so loud he would cry
And stonden on his tiptoon ther-with-al,
And stand on his tiptoes there-with-al,
And strecche forth his nekke long and smal.
And stretch forth his neck long and small
And eek he was of swich discrecioun
And also he was of such discretion
That ther nas no man in no regioun
That there was no man in any region
That hym in song or wisdom myghte passe.
That him in song or wisdom might surpass.
I have wel rad in Daun Burnel the Asse,
I have read well in Don Burnel the Asse
(Referring to a book by Nigel Wireker from the end of the 12th century)
Among his vers, how that ther was a cok,
Among his verse, how that there was a cock,
For a preestes sone yaf hym a knok
Where a priest's gave him a knock (with a rock)
Upon his leg, while he was yong and nyce,
Upon his leg, while the priest was young and foolish,
He made hym for to lese his benefice.
He made that priest lose his benefice.
But, certeyn, ther nys no comparisoun
But, certainly, there is no comparison
Bitwix the wisdom and discrecioun
Betwix the wisdom and discretion
Of youre fader and of his subtiltee.
Of your father and of his subtlety
Now syngeth, sire, for seinte Charitee!
Now singeth, sire, for Saint Charitee!
Lat see, konne ye your fader countrefete?"
Let's see, can you your father counterfeit!" (Equal)
This Chauntecleer his wynges gan to bete
This Chauntecleer his wings began to beat
As man that koude his traysoun nat espie,
As man, that could not his Treason see,
So was he ravysshed with his flaterie.
So was he ravished with the flattery
Allas, ye lordes, many a fals flatour
Alas, yea lords, many a false flatterer
Is in your courtes, and many a losengeour
,
Is in your courts, and many a flatterer,
That plesen yow wel moore, by my feith,
That please you very much, by my faith,
Than he that soothfastnesse unto yow seith.
Than he that false truth unto you saith
Redeth Ecclesiaste of flaterye;
Read Ecclesiastes of what is said of flattery;
Beth ware, ye lordes, of hir trecherye.
Be you aware, lords, of his treachery.
This Chauntecleer stood hye upon his toos,
This Chauntecleer stood high upon his toes,
Strecchynge his nekke, and heeld his yen cloos,
Stretched long his neck, and held his eyes closed,
And gan to crowe loude for the nones.
And began to crow loud for the occasion.
And daun Russell the fox stirte up atones,
And then Russell the fox started up at once,
And by the gargat hente Chauntecleer,
And by the throat he seized Chauntecleer,
And on his bak toward the wode hym beer,
And on his back toward the wood did him bear,
For yet ne was ther no man that he sewed.
For as yet there was no one that he saw.
O destynee, that mayst nat ben eschewed!
O destiny, that may not be eschewed! (Escaped)
Allas, that Chauntecleer flewe fro the bemes!
Alas, that Chauntecleer flew from the beams!
Allas, his wif ne roghte nat of dremes!
Alas, his wife did not care for dreams!
And on a Friday fil al this meschaunce.
And on a Friday did all this mischance.
O Venus, that art goddesse of plesaunce,
O Venus, that art the goddess of pleasure,
Syn that thy servant was this Chauntecleer,
Seeing that thy servant was this Chauntecleer,
And in thy servyce dide al his power
And in thy service did he gain all his power
Moore for delit that world to multiplie,
More for the world to delights multiply
Why woldestow suffre hym on thy day to dye?
Why would you suffer upon him on your day to die!
O Gaufred, deere maister soverayn,
O Geoffrey, dear master king,
(Gaufred, Geoffrey de Vinsauf of his poem Nova Poetria, written soon after Richard I died.)
That whan thy worthy kyng Richard was slayn
That when thy worthy king Richard was slain
With shot, compleynedest his deth so sore,
With an arrow, completely his death for sure
Why ne hadde I now thy sentence and thy loore
I have now told of the judgement and the lore
The Friday for to chide, as diden ye?
The Friday for to scold, as did you?
For on a Friday, soothly, slayn was he.
For on a Friday, such, slain was he.
Than wolde I shewe yow how that I coude pleyne
Than would I show you how that I could plan
For Chauntecleres drede and for his peyne.
For Chaunteclere's dread and for his pains
Certes, swich cry ne lamentacioun
Certainly, such cries of lamenting
Was nevere of ladyes maad whan Ylioun
Was never from the ladies, when Ilium
Was wonne, and Pirrus with his streite swerd
Was wounded, and Pyrrhus with his straight sword
Whan he hadde hent kyng Priam by the berd
When he had seized king Priam by the beard
And slayn hym, as saith us Eneydos,
And slewed him, (as said in Aeneid),
As maden alle the hennes in the clos
Was made by all the hens in the pen
Whan they had seyn of Chauntecleer the sighte.
When they had seen of Chauntecleer the sight.
Buy sovereynly dame Pertelote shrighte
Sovereignly dame Pertelote shrieked
Ful louder than did Hasdrubales wyf
Full louder than did Hasdrubal the wife
Whan that hir housbonde hadde lost his lyf
When her husband lost his life
And that the Romans hadden brend Cartage;
And when the Romans burned Carthage;
She was so ful of torment and of rage
She was so full of torment and rage
That wilfully into the fyr she sterte
That wilfully into the fire she started (jumped)
And brende hirselven with a stedefast herte.
And burned herself with a steadfast heart.
O woful hennes, right so cryden ye
O woeful hens, right so cried ye
As, whan that Nero brende the citee
As, when Nero burned the city
Of Rome, cryden senatours wyves
Of Rome, cried then the senators wives
For that hir housbondes losten alle hir lyves
.
For their husbands who lost all their lives
Withouten gilt this Nero hath hem slayn.
Without gilt, this Nero hath them slain.
Now wol I turne to my tale agayn.
Now will I turn to my tale again,
The sely widwe and eek hir doghtres two
The simple widow and her daughters two
Herden thise hennes crye and make wo,
Heard these hens crying of their woe
And out at dores stirten they anon,
And out of doors started (sprang) they now,
And syen the fox toward the grove gon,
And saw the fox toward the grove going
And bar upon his bak the cok away,
And he bore upon his back, the cock away,
And criden "Out! Harrow!" and "Weilaway!"
And cried out, "Help!" and said the fox as he ran away,
Ha, ha, the fox!" And after hym they ran,
Ha, Ha!" And after him they ran,
And eek with staves many another man
.
And with staves came many another man.
Ran Colle our dogge, and Talbot, and Gerland,
Ran Colle our dog, and Talbot, and Gerland,
And Malkyn, with a distaf in hir hand.
And Malkyn, with a staff in her hand.
Ran cow, and calf, and eek the verray hogges,
Ran cow, and calf, and also the very hogs,
So fered for the berkyng of the dogges
So feared they, the barking of the dogs
And shoutyng of the men and wommen eek.
And shouting of the men and women also
They ronne so, hem thoughte hir herte breek.
They ran so, the fox thought his heart to break.
They yelleden as fendes doon in helle.
They yelled as fiends do in hell
The dokes cryden as men wolde hem quelle.
The ducks cried as if men would them kill
The gees for feere flowen over the trees.
The geese for fear flew over the trees
Out of the hyve cam the swarm of bees.
Out of the hive came a swarm of bees
So hydous was the noyse, a! benedicte!
So hideous was the noise, bless my soul!
Certes, he Jakke Straw and his meynee
Certainly, Jack Straw and his men
(Jack Straw and his crew, Peasants' Revolt of 1381.)
Ne made never shoutes half so shrille
Never made shouts half as shrill
Whan that they wolden any Flemyng kille
As when they would any Fleming kill
As thilke day was maad upon the fox.
As this day was made upon the fox
Of bras they broghten bemes, and of box,
Of brass they brought trumpets, and a box (drum)
Of horn, of boon, in whiche they blewe and powped,
Of horn, of bone, in which they blew and thumped,
And ther-with-al they skryked, and they howped.
And therewithal they shrieked, and they hopped
It semed as that heven sholde falle.
It seemed as if heaven should fall
Now goode men, I pray yow, herkneth alle.
Now good men, I pray you, listen all
Low, how Fortune turneth sodeynly
Low, how Fortune turned suddenly
The hope and pryde eek of hire enemy.
The hope and pride of her enemy
This cok that lay upon the foxes bak
This cock that lay upon the fox's back
In al his drede unto the fox he spak
In all his dread unto the fox he spoke
And seyde, "Sire, if that I were as ye,
And said, "Sire, if that I were you,
Yet sholde I seyn, (as wis God helpe me,)
Yet should I say, (wise God help me,)
'Turneth agayn, ye proude cherles alle.
"Turn again, you proud cheerless friend
A verray pestilence upon yow falle!
A virtual pestilence upon you fall!
Now I am come unto this wodes syde,
Now I am come unto this wooded side,
Maugree youre heed, the cok shal here abyde.
In spite of what your noise can do, the cock shall here abide
I wol hym ete, in feith, and that anon.'"
I will eat him, in faith, and soon."
The fox answerde, "In feith, it shal be don."
The fox answered, "In faith, it shall be done."
And as he spak that word, al sodeynly
And as he spoke that word, very suddenly
This cok brak from his mouth delyverly,
The cock broke from his mouth nimbly.
And hye upon a tree he fley anon.
And high upon a tree he flew soon (immediately)
And whan the fox say that he was gon,
And when the fox saw that he was gone,
"Allas," quod he, "O Chauntecleer, allas!
"Alas," quote he, "O Chauntecleer, alas!
I have to yow," quod he, "y-doon trespas
I have lost you," quote he, "you have trespassed
In as muche as I make yow aferd
In as much as I made you afraid
Whan I yow hente and broghte out of the yerd.
When I seized you and brought you out of the yard
But, sire, I dide it in no wikke entente.
But sire, I did it with no wicked intent.
Com doun, and I shal telle yow what I mente.
Come down, and I shall tell you just what I meant.
I shal seye sooth to yow, God help me so."
I shall say the truth to you, God help me so."
"Nay thanne," quod he, "I shrewe us bothe two.
"No thank you," quote he, "I curse us two.
And first I shrewe myself, bothe blood and bones,
And first I curse myself, both my blood and bones,
If thou bigyle me ofter than ones.
If you charm me as you did the other ones
Thou shalt namoore thurgh thy flaterye
There shalt be no more through of your flattery
Do me to synge and wynke with myn eye,
That cause me to sing and wink my eye.
For he that wynketh, whan he sholde see,
For he that closes his eyes, when he should see,
Al wilfully, God lat hym nevere thee."
All wilfully, God let him never- thrive."
"Nay," quod the fox, "but God yeve hym meschaunce
"No," quote the fox, "but God gave him mischance
That is so undiscreet of governaunce
That is so indiscreet of governance
That jangleth whan he sholde hold his pees."
That babbles when he should hold his peace."
Lo, swich it is for to be recchelees,
Lo, such it is for to be reckless,
And necligent, and truste on flaterye.
And negligent and trust to flattery"
But ye that holden this tale a folye
But you that take listen to this tale of folly
As of a fox, or of a cok and hen,
As of a fox, or of a cock and hen,
Taketh the moralitee, good men.
Taketh the moral, good men
For seint Paul seith that al that writen is,
for Saint Paul said that all that is written is,
To oure doctryne it is y-write, ywis.
To our doctrine; you write and you are wise,
Taketh the fruyt, and lat the chaf be stille.
Taketh the fruit, and let the chaff be still
(take the wheat from the chaff)
Now goode God, if that it be thy wille,
Now good God, it that it be thy will,
As seith my lord, so make us alle goode men,
So saith my Lord, so make us all good men,
And brynge us to his heye blisse. Amen.
And bring us to his heavenly bliss. Amen
***
"Sir Nonnes Preest," our hoste seydeanoon,
"Sir Nun's Priest." our host said immediately,
"Y-blessed be thy breche, and every stoon!
"Blessed be thy britches, and every stone!
This was a mery tale of Chauntecleer,
This was a merry tale of Chauntecleer,
But by my trouthe, if thou were seculer,
But by my truth, if thou were a layman,
Thou woldest been a trede-foula-right.
You would have been known as a breeder of chickens, alright
For if thou corage as thou last might.
For if you are of that disposition, as you might
Thee were nede of hennes, as I wene,
You would have need of hens, without doubt,
Ya, mo than seven tymes seventene.
Yes, more than seven times seventeen.
See, whiche braunes hath this gentil Preest,
See, what muscles has this gentle Priest.
So grreet a nekke, and swich a large breest!
Such a great neck, and such a large chest!
He loketh as a sperhauk with his yen;
He looks as a sparrow hawk, with his eyes,
Him nedeth nat his colour for to dyen
His color is not from dye
With brasil, ne with greyn of Portingale.
Of brasil-wood, or dye from Portugal.
Now sire, faire falle you for youre tale!"
Now sir, I believe in honesty, you came by your tale!"
And after that he, with ful mery chere,
And after that he, with abundant cheer,
Seide to another, as ye shullen here.
Said to another, you must go on - here.
(And then followed the Physician's Tale)
**
(1) The version followed is mostly from The Prologue and Four Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer as edited by Gordon Hall Gerould (Professor of English, Princeton University) and published by The Roland Press Company of New York in 1935. Also referenced was The Portable Chaucer, Selected, Translated and Edited by Theodore Morrison, The Viking Press, New York, 1975. And, the Oxford Standard Edition of The Complete Works of Geoffrey Chaucer, New York, Oxford University Press. Errors in translation or otherwise are my own.
The original of Chaucer's tale was a fable by Marie de France. This translation is by Harriet Spiegel (Marie de France, Fables [University of Toronto Press, 1994), which follows.
And now a cock you'll hear about;
Atop a dung heap he sang out.
Then up to him there came a fox
Who with fine words addressed the cock.
Said fox,'How lovely you are, sir!
I've never seen a nobler bird!
Your voice the dearest of them all
Save for your sire's (as I recall);
No bird could better vocalize
Than he - for he would close his eyes.
'I'11 do the same,' the cock proposed.
He flapped his wings; his eyes he closed;
He thought to make his song shine bright.
The fox leaped up and clutched him tight
And took off toward the forest; and
As he passed through some open land,
The shepherds tried to run him down;
Dogs barked at him from all around.
'Look at the fox! He's caught a cock!
If he comes near, woe to the fox!'
The cock said, 'Shout to them just so -
I'm yours and you'll not let me go!'
But as the fox began to shout,
From fox's mouth, the cock leaped out -
And up the trunk of an old tree.
And when the fox all this did see,
He felt himself most infantile
To have been duped by rooster's guile.
Outraged and in a dreadful wrath,
The fox began to curse his mouth
For speaking when it ought to hush.
The cock replied,'I'll do as much
And curse the eye that thinks to shut
When it should safeguard and watch out
Lest the seignior should suffer ill.
And thus with fools, for they all will
Speak out when they their tongues should check
And check their tongues when they should speak.
THE END, so to speak. Perhaps phonetics has a place in education after all. Gregory Chaucer certainly had no difficulty some six centuries ago in telling a story and in getting morality inserted so young and all could understand and enjoy. It's time for a few of the learned ones to approach English with a good grasp of the old. ****
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