1
The Prologue to the Squire’s Tale
2
‘Squire, come near, if your wish it be,
3
And speak somewhat of love, for certainly
4
You know as much of it as any man.’
5
‘Nay, sire,’ quoth he, ‘but what I can
6
I will right heartily, I’ll not rebel
7
Against your wish; a tale will I tell.
8
Excuse me, if I should speak amiss.
9
My intent is good; lo, my tale is this.’
1
Here begins the Squire’s Tale
1
At Sarai, in the land of Tartary,
2
There dwelt a king who warred with Muscovy,
3
In which wars died many a mighty man.
4
This noble king was called Cambiuskan,
5
Who in his time was of such great renown
6
That there was nowhere in no region found
7
So excellent a lord in everything.
8
He lacked naught that does befit a king.
9
As to the sect in which he had been born,
10
He kept the law, to serve which he had sworn;
11
Added to this he was wise, brave and rich,
12
And merciful, and just, constantly fixed
13
On truthful speech, benign and honourable,
14
As firmly set as the centre of a circle,
15
Young, fresh and strong, he war espoused
16
As keenly as any true knight of his house.
17
A fair person he was and fortunate,
18
And ever so maintained his royal state
19
That there was nowhere such another man.
20
This noble king, this Tartar, Cambiuskan,
21
Had two sons by Elpheta his wife;
22
The eldest of the two named Algarsife,
23
The other son in turn called Cambalo.
24
A daughter had this noble king also,
25
Youngest of all; her name was Canace.
26
But to tell you of all her beauty,
27
Lies not in my tongue nor understanding.
28
I dare not undertake so great a thing;
29
My English too would prove insufficient.
30
Only a rhetorician, excellent
31
In all the frills belonging to that art,
32
Could describe her to you in every part.
33
I am none; I must speak then as I can.
34
And so befell it, when this Cambiuskan
35
Had twenty winters worn his diadem,
36
He held a feast, a custom among them,
37
To celebrate his own nativity
38
Which was proclaimed through Sarai city,
39
On the Ides of March, in the new year;
40
Phoebus the sun shone bright and clear,
41
For he was near his exaltation,
42
In Mars’ face, and in his mansion
43
In Aries, the choleric hot sign.
44
Cheerful was the weather and benign,
45
So that the birds in the sun’s gleam –
46
What with the season and the fresh green –
47
Full loudly sang out their affection.
48
Feeling they had at last won protection
49
Against the sword of winter, keen and cold.
50
This Cambiuskan, of whom I have told,
51
In royal vestments sat on his dais,
52
With diadem, full high in his palace,
53
And held his feast, so solemn and so rich
54
That in this world there was none other which
55
Could match it: and if I told of its array,
56
Then would I occupy a summer’s day;
57
Nor is there reason for me to advise
58
You of the order of the meal in any wise.
59
I’ll not list the exotic dishes, swans
60
In any number, also young herons.
61
And in that land too, so say the knights old,
62
There are meats that men as dainties hold,
63
Though in this country their worth is small.
64
There is no man who could tell them all;
65
I will not delay you now, for it is prime,
66
It would be fruitless, simply wasted time;
67
To my initial theme, then, I’ll have recourse.
68
It so befell that after the third course,
69
While the King in splendour sat, I say,
70
Listening to his minstrels sing and play
71
Before him at the table, delightfully,
72
In at the hall door, all suddenly,
73
There came a knight upon a horse of brass,
74
And in his hand a mirror, broad, of glass;
75
Upon his thumb he had a golden ring,
76
And by his side a naked sword hanging,
77
And up he rode to the King’s high board.
78
In all the hall was spoken never a word
79
For wonder at this knight; him to behold
80
Full eagerly they waited, young and old.
81
The unknown knight who came thus suddenly,
82
All armed, save for his head, full richly,
83
Saluted King and Queen and lords all,
84
In order, as were seated through the hall,
85
With such deep reverence and obeisance,
86
As much in speech as in his countenance,
87
That Gawain, with his ancient courtesy,
88
Though he were come again, out of Faery,
89
Could not have bettered him in any word.
90
And after this, before the King’s high board,
91
He in a manly voice proclaimed his message,
92
According to the manner of his language,
93
Without defect of syllable or letter.
94
And that his tale might appear the better,
95
As his words did, so did his face appear,
96
Like those who learn the art of speech here.
97
And though I cannot imitate his style,
98
Nor can I climb over so high a stile,
99
Yet say I this: as to the general intent,
100
What follows next adds up to what he meant –
101
If it be that I have it still in mind.
102
He said: ‘The King of Araby and Inde,
103
My liege lord, upon this solemn day
104
Salutes you as best he can and may,
105
And sends you, in honour of your feast,
106
By me who am ready to serve your needs,
107
This horse of brass, that easily and well
108
Can in the space of one day natural –
109
That is to say, in four and twenty hours –
110
Wherever you wish, in drought or in showers,
111
Transport your body into every place
112
Where your heart wishes you to pace,
113
Without harming you, through foul and fair.
114
Or if you choose to fly as high in air
115
As an eagle does when he seeks to soar,
116
This same steed will bear you evermore,
117
Unharmed, till you are where you think best,
118
Though you sleep on his back or rest,
119
And return again, when you twist this pin.
120
Who wrought it knew many a cunning thing;
121
Through many a starry configuration
122
He waited to perform this operation,
123
And many a seal and bond did understand.
124
This mirror, too, that I have in my hand
125
Has such a power that a man may in it see
126
When will befall any adversity
127
Unto your kingdom, and to yourself also,
128
And openly who is your friend or foe.
129
And moreover, if any lady bright
130
Has set her heart on any manner of knight,
131
If he is false, she shall his treason see –
132
His new love and all his secrecy –
133
So clearly then, that he shall nothing hide.
134
Wherefore, again, this cheerful summer-tide,
135
The mirror and the ring that you can see
136
He has sent to my lady Canace,
137
Your excellent daughter sitting here.
138
The virtue of the ring, if you will hear,
139
Is this: that if she should choose to wear
140
It on her thumb, or in her purse it bear,
141
There is no bird flying in the heavens
142
Whose tongue she’ll not understand as given,
143
And know its meaning openly and plain,
144
And answer it in its language once again;
145
And every herb that grows on its root,
146
She shall know too, and whom it will suit,
147
Although his wound be ever so deep and wide.
148
This naked sword that hangs by my side
149
Such virtue has, that whoever shall you smite,
150
Through his armour it will carve and bite,
151
Though it were thick as is a branching oak.
152
And whoever is wounded by its stroke,
153
Shall never be whole till you choose, of grace,
154
To stroke him with the flat of it in the place
155
Where he is hurt; that’s as much as to say
156
You must with the flat of the sword again
157
Stroke the wound and it will swiftly close.
158
This is the truth indeed, may all men know;
159
It will not fail while it is in your hold.’
160
And when the knight had thus his tale told,
161
He rode out of the hall and did alight.
162
His horse that glittered as the sun so bright,
163
Stood in the courtyard, still as any stone.
164
The knight to a chamber was led alone,
165
His armour off, to the table then he sat.
166
The gifts were carried, royally at that –
167
That is to say, the sword and the mirror –
168
In procession into the high tower,
169
By certain officers to this so sworn.
170
And unto Canace the ring was born
171
Solemnly, to where she sat at table.
172
But assuredly, without a touch of fable,
173
The horse of brass itself could not be moved,
174
It stands as if to earth it has been glued.
175
It cannot be stirred by any man alive
176
Though with pulley and windlass they may strive.
177
And why, then? – Because they lack the skill.
178
And therefore in that place they leave it still,
179
Until the knight shall teach them the manner
180
Of moving it, as you shall shortly hear.
181
Great was the crowd that swarmed to and fro
182
To gaze at the horse that stood there so,
183
For it was that high, and broad and long,
184
And well proportioned, so that it was strong,
185
As if it had been a steed of Lombardy;
186
And withal so quick of eye and lively
187
As if it an Apulian courser were.
188
Indeed, from its tail up to its ear,
189
Nature and art could not the horse amend
190
For the better, so all said in the end.
191
But always the greatest wonder was
192
How it could move about if it were brass.
193
It was a work of faery, so it seemed.
194
Various folk, they variously scheme,
195
As many minds as heads, yet none agrees,
196
Murmuring as does a swarm of bees,
197
And think according to their fantasy,
198
Repeating fragments of old poetry,
199
Saying it is in truth like Pegasus,
200
Who fled through the air, the winged horse;
201
Or else like the Greek horse of Sinon,
202
That brought great Troy to its destruction,
203
As they had in the oldest stories read.
204
‘My heart,’ quoth one, ‘is evermore in dread;
205
I fear some men at arms lie there within,
206
Whose intent is this city for to win.
207
It would be well if we such things could know.’
208
Another whispered to his neighbour, low,
209
And said: ‘He’s wrong: it’s rather, by my logic,
210
An apparition fashioned by some magic,
211
As tricksters conjure things, at feasts of state.’
212
Of sundry doubts they chatter, and debate
213
As the unknowing will do, commonly,
214
Regarding things fashioned far more subtly
215
Than they in their ignorance can comprehend;
216
Yet leap to the wrong conclusion in the end.
217
And some of them marvelled at the mirror,
218
That had been carried to the master tower,
219
Wondering how men things in it could see.
220
Another answered and said it might well be
221
Naturally, and by combinations
222
Of angles and skilful reflections,
223
And said that in Rome was such a one,
224
They spoke of Witelo and Alhazen,
225
And Aristotle, who all left directives
226
Concerning curious mirrors and perspectives,
227
As men know who have their works explored.
228
And other folk marvelled at the sword
229
That would pierce clear through everything,
230
And spoke of Telephus the Mysian king,
231
And of Achilles with his wondrous spear,
232
For he could wound and heal, as you may hear,
233
Just in the way that men may with this sword,
234
Of which right now heard our king and lord.
235
They spoke of clever tempering of metal,
236
And spoke of the agents to be used withal,
237
And how and when it should tempered be,
238
A thing unknown – at least it is to me.
239
Then they spoke about Canace’s ring,
240
And all conceded such a wondrous thing
241
Of ring-craft they had never heard, not one,
242
Except that Moses and King Solomon
243
Were said to have true knowledge of the art;
244
Thus said the people, gathering apart.
245
And in addition, some declared, it was
246
Marvellous to make of fern-ash glass,
247
And yet glass is unlike the ash of fern,
248
Though since this was nothing new to learn,
249
Those soon ceased their chattering and wonder.
250
Some wonder just as deeply about thunder,
251
And ebb and flood, and gossamer, and mist,
252
And other things as long as doubts exist.
253
Thus they chatter, wrangle and advise,
254
Till the King from the table deigns to rise.
255
Phoebus had left the line meridional,
256
And still ascending was the beast royal,
257
The noble Lion, and his star, Aldiran,
258
When the Tartar King, Cambiuskan,
259
Rose from the table, at which sat he.
260
Before him went the sound of minstrelsy
261
Till in the state room all men were present
262
Where sounded there diverse instruments
263
That it was heavenly for them to hear.
264
Then there danced sweet Venus’ children dear,
265
For their Lady in the Fishes sat, on high,
266
And gazed on them with a friendly eye.
267
The noble King was seated on his throne;
268
The unknown knight was fetched: he alone
269
Into the dance he goes with Canace.
270
Now is there revelling and jollity
271
That no dull man might easily devise!
272
He must have known of love in every guise,
273
And be a jovial man, as fresh as May,
274
Who could devise for you a like array.
275
For who could describe for you the dances
276
So strange in form, the fresh countenances,
277
Such secret glances and dissimulations,
278
For dread of jealous men’s observations?
279
No man but Lancelot, and he long dead.
280
Therefore I pass from all this joy, instead;
281
I say no more, but in their happiness
282
I leave them, till their supper they address.
283
The steward orders spices, by and by,
284
And also wine, the minstrelsy’s ally.
285
The ushers and the squires swiftly gone,
286
The spices and the wine arrive anon.
287
They eat and drink, and when that’s at an end,
288
Unto the temple, as is right, they wend.
289
The service done, they feasted all the day.
290
What need to tell you of all this array?
291
Each man well knows, that at a king’s feast
292
There’s plenty for the greatest and the least,
293
And more dainties than are in my knowing.
294
After the supper went the noble King
295
To see the horse of brass, with a whole rout
296
Of lords and ladies gathered round about.
297
Such marvelling was there at this horse of brass
298
That, since the great siege of Troy came to pass,
299
Where men marvelled at a horse also,
300
There was never such wonder here below.
301
But finally, the King asked the knight
302
The virtues of the courser, and its might,
303
And prayed him to explain its governance.
304
The horse soon began to frisk and dance,
305
When the knight laid hand upon its rein,
306
And said: ‘Sire, there’s no more to explain
307
But, when you wish to ride off anywhere,
308
You turn the pin inserted in its ear,
309
Which I shall tell you of, between us two.
310
You must tell him the places to which you
311
Wish to go, or the country where you’d ride.
312
And when you reach a place where you would bide,
313
Bid him descend, then turn another pin –
314
For the action of the creature lies therein –
315
And he’ll descend and execute your will.
316
And in that place he will bide, quite still;
317
Though all men to the contrary be sworn,
318
He cannot be dragged from there or drawn.
319
But if you choose to bid him hence be gone,
320
Turn the pin, and he will vanish anon
321
Out of every man and woman’s sight,
322
Yet return once more, whether by day or night,
323
When you choose to summon him again,
324
In such a manner as I will explain
325
Between us two, and that full soon. Now you,
326
May ride when you wish; there’s no more to do.’
327
Informed as the King was, by the knight,
328
When he had grasped all in his mind aright
329
Both the manner and form of the whole thing,
330
Full glad and blithe, the fine and noble King
331
Repaired to his revels as before.
332
The bridle then into the tower they bore,
333
And kept it with his jewels, prized and dear;
334
The horse then vanished – how I am not clear –
335
Out of his sight; you get no more of me!
336
But thus I leave, in joy and jollity,
337
Cambuskian, with his lords a-feasting,
338
Till well nigh the day began to spring.
1
The nourisher of our digestion, Sleep,
2
Began to wink on them, and bade them keep
3
Note that much drink and labour must have rest.
4
And with a yawning mouth all there he kissed,
5
And told them all that sleep must have its hour,
6
For the humour of blood was now in power.
7
‘Cherish your blood, Nature’s friend,’ quoth he.
8
They thanked him, yawning, by two and three,
9
And everyone began to seek their rest,
10
As sleep commanded, and all thought it best.
11
Their dreams shall not be told, or not by me;
12
Their heads were those of inebriety,
13
That fashions dreams with no significance,
14
They slept till it was prime, at a glance,
15
Or most of them – except for Canace.
16
She was quite temperate, as women be;
17
For of her father she had taken leave
18
To go and rest soon after it was eve –
19
She had no wish both pale and wan to be,
20
Nor jaded the next morn, for all to see –
21
And slept her first sleep, and then awoke.
22
For such a joy in her heart now spoke,
23
Telling of her curious ring and mirror,
24
That twenty times she had changed colour.
25
And in her sleep, due to the impression
26
The mirror made on her, she had a vision.
27
Wherefore she, ere the sun began to glide
28
Skywards, called the governess at her side,
29
And told her that she wished to rise.
30
This old woman, pleased to appear wise,
31
Being her governess, answered her anon,
32
And said: ‘Madame, shall you be gone,
33
And where this early, folk are all at rest?’
34
‘I will arise,’ quoth she, ‘I think it best
35
To sleep no longer, and to walk about.’
36
The governess summoned then a great rout
37
Of women, and up they rose, ten or twelve.
38
And up rose fresh Canace herself,
39
As rosy and bright as does the new sun
40
That of the Ram has four degrees now run –
41
No higher was he when she ready was.
42
And forth she walked on an easy course,
43
Arrayed, as for the pleasant season sweet,
44
Lightly, to play and roam with idle feet,
45
And only five or six of her company,
46
By woodland path forth through the park goes she.
47
The vapours rising from the earth abroad
48
Made the sun seem redder and full broad;
49
But nonetheless it was so fair a sight
50
That it made all their hearts soar with delight,
51
What with the new season and the morning,
52
And all the birds that she heard singing,
53
For right anon she knew what they all meant
54
By their songs, and all their true intent.
55
The nub and gist of every tale that’s told,
56
If it is hidden till desire grows cold
57
In those who’ve listened to what came before,
58
The savour passes: the longer it is the more,
59
Through an abundance of prolixity.
60
And for the same reason, it seems to me,
61
I should to the nub and gist now descend,
62
And make of her walking soon an end.
63
Upon a tree, from drought as white as chalk,
64
Where Canace was idling on her walk,
65
There sat a falcon, over her head full high,
66
That with a piteous voice began to cry
67
Till all the wood resounded far and deep.
68
She had beaten herself so piteously
69
With both her wings, that the crimson blood
70
Ran crown to root of the tree on which she stood.
71
And ever and again she uttered cry and shriek,
72
And pricked and stabbed herself so with her beak
73
That there is never a tiger or cruel beast
74
That dwells in wood or forest deep at least,
75
That would not have wept, if weep it could,
76
For pity of her, shrieking where she stood.
77
For there was never yet a man alive –
78
If only I could the falcon well describe –
79
Who has heard of another of such fairness,
80
Both in her plumage and her nobleness
81
Of shape, and all things that might valued be.
82
A peregrine falcon she appeared to be,
83
From foreign lands; and ever, as she stood,
84
She swooned now and again for loss of blood,
85
Till she had well nigh fallen from the tree.
86
The King’s fair daughter, Canace,
87
Who on her finger wore the curious ring
88
By which she comrpehended everything
89
That any bird might in its language say,
90
And could give answer in the selfsame way,
91
Understood now what the falcon said,
92
And for pity of it was good as dead.
93
And to the tree she hastened rapidly,
94
And at the falcon gazed all mercifully,
95
And held her skirt out wide, for she knew
96
The falcon must fall from the branch too
97
When it next swooned, from the lack of blood.
98
A long while waiting there she stood,
99
Till at last she spoke in this manner here,
100
To the hawk, as you shall swiftly hear:
101
‘What is the reason, if you’re free to tell,
102
That you so feel the furious pains of Hell?’
103
Quoth Canace to the hawk high above.
104
‘Is it for sorrow at death or loss of love?
105
- For I think those the causes two below
106
That most may cause a noble heart woe.
107
Of other kinds of harm I need not speak,
108
For you yourself upon yourself harm wreak,
109
Which proves that it is either ire or dread
110
Provides the reason why you cried and bled,
111
Since I can see no other who does you chase.
112
For love of God, toward yourself show grace,
113
Or say how I may help? – For west or east
114
I never saw before now bird or beast
115
That behaved towards itself so piteously.
116
You slay me with your sorrow, verily,
117
I possess for you such great compassion.
118
For God’s love, from the tree now come,
119
And as I am here a king’s daughter true,
120
If that I in truth all the reason knew
121
For your distress, if it lay in my might,
122
I would ease it, before the fall of night,
123
So help me the great God of kin and kind!
124
And herbs I shall in plenty for you find,
125
To heal all your hurts, and that right swiftly.’
126
Then the falcon shrieked more piteously
127
Than before, and fell to the ground anon,
128
And lay in a swoon, dead and like a stone,
129
Till into her lap did Canace her take,
130
And she began from the swoon to wake.
131
And when that she out of her swoon awoke,
132
Then in her hawk’s language thus she spoke:
133
‘That pity flows readily in gentle heart,
134
Feeling its likeness in another’s smart,
135
Is proved every day, as men may see,
136
As well by practice as authority,
137
For gentle heart reveals its gentleness.
138
I see indeed, you show for my distress
139
Compassion, now, my fair Canace,
140
Out of true womanly benignity
141
Nature in your character has set there.
142
And not in any hope my fate to better,
143
But replying to your generosity,
144
And so that others may be warned by me,
145
As by the puppy’s punishment the lion,
146
For that reason and to that conclusion,
147
While I have opportunity and space,
148
I will confess my hurt, as I die apace.’
149
And all the while the one her sorrow told,
150
The other wept, as if turned to water cold,
151
Until the falcon bade her to be still;
152
And with a sigh thus she spoke her will.
153
‘Where I was bred – alas, that bitter day! –
154
And fostered on a rock of marble grey,
155
So tenderly that nothing troubled me,
156
I never knew a day’s adversity
157
Till I could fly high beneath the sky.
158
There dwelt a male falcon close nearby,
159
Who seemed the well of all gentleness.
160
Yet was he full of treason and falseness,
161
That was cloaked so by a humble manner
162
And the hue of truth, beneath the banner
163
Of pleasantries, and his taking every pain,
164
That no one would have known how he could feign,
165
So deeply ingrained appeared his colours.
166
Just as a serpent lurks beneath the flowers
167
And waits the time its evil to commit,
168
Just so this God of Love’s hypocrite
169
Did so with ceremony and obeisance,
170
Kept up appearances with due observance,
171
Consistent with the courtesies of love.
172
As in a tomb all seems fair above,
173
While beneath it is the corpse, as you know,
174
Such was this hypocrite, both hot and cold.
175
And in this way pursued he his intent,
176
That, save the fiend, none knew what he meant,
177
Till he so long had wept and complained,
178
And many a year his service to me feigned,
179
Until my heart, too merciful and foolish,
180
All innocent then of his crowned malice,
181
Fearful of his death, as it seemed to me,
182
Given his oaths, and from false security,
183
Granted him its love, on this condition:
184
That evermore my honour and renown
185
Be guaranteed, privately and apart.
186
That is to say, I gave him all my heart
187
According to his deserts, and all my thought –
188
God knew, and he, otherwise I would not –
189
Took his heart in exchange for mine, I say.
190
But truth it is, and has been many a day,
191
A true man and a thief think not as one.
192
And when he saw that things so travelled on
193
That I had fully granted him my love,
194
In such manner as I have said above,
195
And given him my true heart as free
196
As he swore he had given his to me,
197
Anon this tiger, full of deceitfulness,
198
Fell on his knees, in devout humbleness,
199
With such deep reverence, seemed there
200
So like a noble lover in his manner,
201
So ravished, it appeared then, by joy
202
That neither Jason nor Paris at Troy –
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Jason, I say? For sure, no other man
204
Since Lamech, he who at first began
205
To love two women, as was said of yore –
206
No never, since the first man was born,
207
Could man contrive the twenty thousandth part
208
Of the false sophistry of all his art,
209
None were worthy to lace his shoe,
210
When false duplicity was there to do,
211
Nor one who could pay thanks as he to me!
212
His manners were so heavenly to see
213
To any woman: were she ever so wise;
214
So painted he and polished to the eye
215
His speech as fine as was his countenance.
216
And I so loved him then for his obeisance,
217
And for the truth I thought was in his heart,
218
If there was anything that caused him smart,
219
However slight it was, I could ne’er resist
220
The pain, and felt how death my heart did twist.
221
And briefly, so far now this matter went,
222
That my will was his will’s instrument;
223
That is to say, my will obeyed his will
224
In everything that was also reasonable,
225
Keeping the limits of my honour ever,
226
Never was anyone so dear, none dearer,
227
Than he to me, none shall be so, God knows.
228
This lasted longer than a year or so,
229
With I believing of him naught but good.
230
Yet finally, so at the last it stood,
231
That Fortune herself no longer wished him
232
To dwell in the same location I was in.
233
Whether I felt woe, is not in question;
234
I cannot give you any true description,
235
But one thing I’ll say boldly, I
236
Know what the pain of death is thereby.
237
Such pain I felt, so deeply did I grieve.
238
Thus on that day of me he took his leave,
239
So sorrowfully too, I thought verily
240
That he had felt the hurt as deep as me,
241
When I heard him speak, saw his pale hue.
242
For despite all, I thought that he was true,
243
And also thought that he’d return again
244
Within a little while, I should explain –
245
And there were reasons why he had to go
246
Matters of honour: it often happens so –
247
So I made virtue of necessity,
248
And took it well, since thus it had to be.
249
As I best might, I hid from him my sorrow,
250
And took his hand, Saint John keep all us so,
251
And said to him thus: “Lo, I am yours, in all.
252
Be such as I have been to you, evermore.”
253
What he replied, I need not now rehearse.
254
Who spoke better than him? Who acted worse?
255
After he’d spoken well, came evil soon!
256
Therefore is she in need of a long spoon,
257
Who sups with the devil; so I’ve heard say.
258
Well, in the end he set forth on his way,
259
And forth he fled, till where it pleased him best
260
He chose a place, and there he took his rest.
261
I think he must have had this text in mind,
262
That “everything according to its own kind
263
Takes its delight” – thus men say: I guess,
264
Men by their nature love new-fangledness,
265
As a bird does that in a cage they feed;
266
For though night and day they give him heed
267
Strew his cage as fair and soft as silk,
268
And give him sugar, honey, bread, and milk,
269
Yet, on the instant that his door is up,
270
He with his feet will kick away the cup,
271
And to the wood he’ll fly and worms eat.
272
So newfangled are they in their meat,
273
Novelty love, by nature and by kind;
274
No nobleness of blood has power to bind.
275
Such was this tierce, this falcon, woe the day!
276
Though he was gentle born, and fresh, I say,
277
And goodly for to see, humble and free,
278
He saw one day a kite all swiftly flee,
279
And all at once he loved this kite so
280
That all his love from me did swiftly go,
281
And thus he broke his word in that wise.
282
Now has the kite my love before her eyes,
283
And I am lost, and there’s no remedy!’
284
And the falcon cried at that with misery,
285
And swooned away next on Canace’s arm.
286
Great was the sorrow at the hawk’s harm,
287
That Canace and all her women betrayed.
288
They knew not how the falcon might be saved;
289
But Canace bore her homeward in her lap,
290
And softly in bandages then did her wrap,
291
Wherever she with her beak had hurt herself.
292
Now Canace must seek for herbs and delve
293
Them out of the ground, and make salves new
294
Of herbs both potent and of finest hue
295
To heal the hawk; to and fro day and night
296
She works the business and with all her might.
297
And by her bed-head she wrought a mew,
298
To house the hawk, covered with velvet blue,
299
The colour of constancy in women seen.
300
And all without the mew was painted green,
301
In which were pictured all the false fowls,
302
Such as the titmice are, tierces and owls,
303
And magpies, to screech at them and chide,
304
Out of spite were painted alongside.
305
So I leave Canace her hawk nursing.
306
I will say no more now about her ring
307
Till it should serve my purpose to explain
308
How the falcon claimed her love again
309
Repentant, for the story tells us so,
310
Through the good offices of Cambalo,
311
The King’s son of whom I have you told.
312
But henceforth I will my tale unfold,
313
By speaking of adventures and of battles,
314
Of which were never heard greater marvels.
315
First will I tell you of Cambiuskan,
316
Who in his day many a city won;
317
And afterwards I’ll speak of Algarsife,
318
And how he won Theodora to wife,
319
For whom he often in great peril was,
320
For which he sought help of the horse of brass;
321
And after will I speak of Cambalo,
322
Who in the lists, her two brothers’ foe,
323
Fought for Canace, ere he might her win.
324
And where I left off, I’ll again begin.
1
Apollo whirled his chariot up so high,
2
Into the god’s house, Mercury the sly –
3
The end of the Squire’s Tale, which Chaucer left unfinished
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