Neither in bed ne in non other place;
God fhilde I fhulde it tellen for his grace:
A wif ne fha! not fayn of hire hufbond
But all honour, as I can understond;
Save unto you thus moch I tellen fhal:
As helpe me God he is nought worth at all,
In no degree the value of a fiie.

But yet me greveth most his nigardie:
And wel ye wot that women naturally
Defiren thinges fixe as well as I;
They wolden that hir hufbondes fhulden be
Hardy, and wife, and riche, and therto free,
And buxome to his wif, and fresh a-bedde.
But by that ilke Lord that for us bledde,
For his honour myfelven for to array,
A Sonday next I mufte nedes pay
An hundred franks, or elles am I lorne;
Yet were me lever that I were unborne
Than were don a felandre or vilanie.
And if min hufbond eke might it efpie
I n'ere but loft; and therfore I you prey
Lene me this fumme, or elles mote I dey:
Dan John, I fay, lene me this hundred frankes;
Parde I wol not faille you my thankes,
If that you lift to do that I you pray;
For at a certain day I wol you pay,
And do to you what plefance and fervice
That I may don, right as you lift devife;
And but I do God take on me vengeance
As foul as ever had Genelon of France.

This gentil monk answered in this manere;
Now trewely, min owen lady dere!

I have (quod he) on you fo grete a routhe,
That I your fwere, and plighte you my trouthe,
That whan your hufbond is to Flandres fare
I wol deliver you out of this care,
For I wol bringen you an hundred frankes.
And with that word he caught her by the flankes,
And hire embraced hard, and kifte hire oft.
Goth now your way, qued he, al itille and soft,
And let us dine as fone as that ye may,
For by my kalender it is prime of day:
Goth now, and beth as trewe as I fhal be.

Now elles God forbede, Sire, quod fhe.
And forth fhe goth as joly as a pie,
And bad the cokes that they fhuld hem hie,
So that men mighten dine, and that anon.
Up to hire hufbond is this wif ygon,
And knocketh at his countour boldely.
Qui eft la? quod he; Peter, it am I,
Quod fhe. What, Sire, how longe wol ye faft?
How longe time wol ye reken and caft
Your fummes, and your bookes, and your thinges?
'The devil have part of all fwiche rekeninges!
Ye han ynough parde of Goddes fonde.
Come doun to-day, and let your bages ftonde.
Ne be ye not afhamed that Dan John
Shal faiting all this day elenge gon?
What! let us here a maffe, and go we dine.
Wif, quod this man, litel canft thou divine
The curious befineffe that we have;
For of us chapmen, all fo God me fave,
And by that lord that cleped is Seint Ive,
Scarfly amonges twenty ten fal thrive

Continuelly, lafting unto oure age.

We moun wel maken chere and good vifage
And driven forth the world as it may be,
And kepen oure eftat in privetee
Til we be ded, or elles that we play
A pilgrimage, or gon out of the way:
And therfore have I gret neceffitee
Upon this queinte world to avifen me;
For evermore mote we ftond in drede
Of hap and fortune in our chapman hede.

To Flanders wol I go to-morwe at day,
And come agein as fone as ever I may,
For which, my dere wif! I thee befeke
As be to every wight buxom and meke,
And for to kepe our good be curious,
And honeftly governe wel our hous.
Thou haft ynough in every maner wife
That to a thrifty houfhold may suffice.
Thee lacketh non array ne no vitaille;
Of filver in thy purse shalt thou not faille.
And with that word his countour dore he fhette,
And doun he goth; no lenger wold he lette;
And haftily a maffe was ther faide,
And fpedily the tables were ylaide,
And to the diner fafte they hem fpedde,
And richely this monk the chapman fedde.
And after diner Dan John fobrely
This chapman toke apart, and prively
He faid him thus; Cofin, it ftondeth fo
That we! I fee to Brugges ye wol go;
God and Scint Austin fpede you and gide!
I pray you, cofin, wifely that ye ride
Governeth you alfo of your diete
Attemprely, and namely in this hete.
Betwix us two nedeth no ftrange fare:
Farewel, cofin, God fhilde you fro care!
If any thing ther be by day or night,
If it lie in my power and my might,
That ye me wol command in any wife,
It fhal be don right as ye wol devife.

But o thing or ye go, if it may be;
I wolde prayen you for to lene me
An hundred frankes for a weke or tweye,
For certain beftes that I mufte beye,
To ftoren with a place that is oures,
(God help me fo I wold that it were youres)

I fhal not faille furely of my day,

Not for a thoufand frankes, a mile way.
But let this thing be fecree, I you preye;
For yet to-night thise bestes mote I beye.
And fare now wel, min owen cofin dere!
Grand mercy of your coft and of your chere.

This noble marchant gentilly anon
Anfwerd and faid, O cofin min, Dan John!
Now fikerly this is a fmal requeste;
My gold is youres, whan that it you lefte,
And not only my gold but my chaffare:
Take what you left, God fhilde that ye fpare,
But o thing is, ye know it wel ynough
Of chapmen that hir money is hir plough:
We moun creancen while we han a name,
But goodles for to ben it is no game.
Pay it agen whan it lith in your efe:
After my might ful fayn wold I you plesc.

Thife hundred frankes fet he forth anon, And prively he toke hem to Dan John: No wight in al this world wift of this lone Saving this marchant and Dan John alone. They drinke, and fpeke, and rome a while and Til that Dan John rideth to his abbeye. [pleye, The morwe came, and forth this marchant rideth To Flandres ward; his prentis wel him gideth Til he came in to Brugges merily. Now goth this marchant fafte and befily About his nede, and bieth, and creanceth; He neither playeth at the dis ne danceth, But as a marchant, fhortly for to tell, He ledeth his lif; and ther I let him dwell.

The Sonday next the marchant was agon
To Seint Denis ycomen is Dan John,
With croune and berde all freth and newe yfhave.
In all the hous ther n'as fo litel a knave,
Ne no wight elles, that he n'as ful fain
For that my Lord Dan John was come again.
And shortly to the point right for to gon,
This faire wif accordeth with Dan John
That for thise hundred frankes he huld all night
Haven hire in his armes bolt upright:
And this accord parformed was in dede.
lu mirth all night a befy lif they lede
Til it was day, that Dan John yede his way,
And bad the meinie farewel, have good day:
For non of hem, ne no wight in the toun,
Hath of Dan John right non fufpectioun:
And forth he rideth home to his abbey,
Or wher him lifte; no more of him I fey.
This marchant, whan that ended was the faire,
To Seint Denis he gan for to repaire,
And with his wif he maketh fefte and chere,
And telleth hire that chaffare is fo dere
That nedes mufte he make a chevifance
For he was bonde in a recognifance
To payen twenty thousand fheldes anon:
For which this marchant is to Paris gon
To borwe of certain frendes that he hadde
A certain frankes, and fom with him he ladde.
And whan that he was come in to the toun,
For gret chiertee and gret affectioun
Unto Dan John he goth him firft to pleye,
Not for to axe or borwe of him moneye,
But for to wete and feen of his welfare,
And for to tellen him of his chaffare,
As frendes don whan they ben mette in fere.
Dan John him maketh fefte and mery chere,
And he him tolde agen ful specially
How he had wel! ybought and graciously
(Thanked be God) all hole his marchandife,
Save that he must in alle manere wife
Maken a chevifance, as for his beste,
And than he fhulde ben in joye and refte.
Dan John anfwered, Certes I am fain
That ye in hele be comen home again;
And if that I were riche, as have I bliffe,

Of twenty thousand fheldes fhuld ye not miffe,
For ye fo kindely this other day
Lente me gold, and as I can and may

I thanke you, by God and by Scint Jame.
Et natheles I toke unto our dame,

Your wif, at home, the fame gold again
Upon your benche; fhe wote it wel certain,
By certain tokenes that I can hire tell.
Now by your leve I may no lenger dwell;
Our abbot wol out of this toun anon,
And in his compagnie I mufte gon.
Grete wel our dame, min owen nece fwete!
And farewel, dere cofin! til we mete.

This marchant, which that was ful ware and
Creanced hath, and paide eke in Paris [wife,
To certain Lumbardes, redy in hir hond,
The fumme of gold, and gate of hem his bond,
And home he goth mery as a popingay,
For wel he knew he ftood in fwiche array
That nedes mufte he winne in that viage
A thousand frankes above all his coftage.

His wif ful redy mette him at the gate,
As fhe was wont of old ufage algate;
And all that night in mirthe they ben fette,
For he was riche, and clerely out of dette,
Whan it was day, this marchant gan embrace
His wif all newe, and kifte hire in hire face,
And up he goth, and maketh it ful tough.
No more, quod fhe; by God ye have ynough;
And wantonly agen with him the plaide,
Til at the laft this marchant to hire faide:

By God, quod he, I am a litel wrothe
With you my wif, although it be me lothe;
And wote ye why? by God, as that I geff
That ye han made a manere ftrangeneffe
Betwixen me and my cofin Dan John.
Ye fhuld have warned me or I had gon
That he you had an hundred frankes paide
By redy token, and held him evil apaide
For that I to him fpake of chevisance.
(Me femed fo as by his contenance)
But natheles, by God our heven king
I thought not to axe of him no thing.
I pray thee, wif, ne do thou no more fo:
Tell me alway, er that I fro thee go.
If any dettour hath in min abfence
Ypaid thee, left thurgh thy negligence

I might him axe a thing that he hath paide,
This wif was not aferde ne affraide,
But boldely the faid, and that anon,
Mary! I defie that false monk Dan John;
I kepe not of his tokenes never a del:
He toke me certain gold, I wote it wel.
What! evil thedome on his monkes fnoute;
For God it wot I wend withouten doute
That he had yeve it me becaufe of you,
To don therwith min honour and my prow
For cofinage and eke for belle chere
That he hath had ful often times here:
But fith I fee I ftonde in fwiche disjoint
I wol anfwere you fhortly to the point.
Ye have mo flakke dettours than am I¿
For I wol pay you wel and redily
Fro day to day; and if fo be I faille,

I am your wif, fcore it upon my taile,
And I fhal pay as fone as ever I may;
For by my trouth I have on min array,
And not in wafte, beftowed it every del;
And for I have beftowed it fo wel

Hj

For your honour, for Goddes fake I say
As beth not wrothe, but let us laugh and play :
Ye fhal my joly body han to wedde;
By God I n'ill not pay you but a-bedde:
Foryeve it me, min owen spouse dere!
Turne hitherward, and maketh better chere.
This marchant faw ther was no remedy,
And for to chide it n'ere but a foly,

Sith that the thing may not amended be.
Now wif, he faid, and I foryeve it thee;
But by thy lif be ne no more fo large;
Kepe bet my good; this yeve I thee in charge.
Thus endeth now my Tale, and God us fende
Taling ynough unto our lives ende.

WEL faid, by corpus Domini, quod our Hofte;
Now longe mote thou failen by the cofte,
Thou gentil maifter, gentil marinere.
God give the monke a thousand last quad yere.
A ha! felawes, beth ware of swiche a jape.
The monke put in the mannes hode an ape,
And in his wifes eke, by Seint Austin.
Draweth no monkes more into your in.

But now paffe over, and let us feek aboute Who fhall now tellen firft of all this route

Another Tale: and with that word he said,
As curteily as it had been a maid;

My Lady Prioreffe, by your leve,
So that I wift I fhuld you not agreve,
I wolde demen that ye tellen fhold
A Tale next, if fo were that
ye wold.
Now wol ye vochesauf, may Lady dere?
Gladly, quod fhe; and faide as ye fhul here.

O Lord our Lord! thy name how merveillous
Is in this large world yfprad! (quod fhe)
For not al only thy laude precious
Parfourmed is by men of dignitec,
But by the mouth of children thy bountee
Parfourmed is, for on the breft fouking
Sometime fhewen they thin herying.
Wherfore in laude, as I can best and may,
Of thee and of the white lily flour
Which that thee bare, and is a maide alway,
To tell a ftorie I will do my labour;
Not that I may encrefen hire honour,
For the herfelven is honour and rote
Of bountee, next hire fone, and foules bote.
O mother maide! o maide and mother fre!
O bushe unbrent! brenning in Moyfes fight,
That ravishedeft doun fro the deitee,

Thurgh thin humbleffe, the goft that in the alight
Of whos vertue, whan he thin herte light,
Conceived was the fathers fapience,
Helpe me to tell it in thy reverence.
Lady! thy bountee, thy magnificence,

Thy vertue and thy gret humilitee,

A miracle of a Chriftian child murdered by the Jews. / Urry.

Ther may no tongue expreffe in no science;
For Somtime, Lady! or men pray to thee
Thou goft beforn of thy benignitee
And geteft us the light of thy prayere
To giden us unto thy fone fo dere.

My conning is fo weke, o blisful Quene!
For to declare thy grete worthineffe,
That I ne may the weighte not sustene;
But as a child of twelf moneth old or leffe,
That can unnethes any word expreffe,
Right fo fare I, and therefore I you pray
Gideth my fong that I fhal of you fay.

Ther was in Afie, in a gret citee,
Amonges Criften folk a Jewerie,
Suftened by a lord of that contree,
For foule ufure and lucre of vilanie
Hateful to Crift and to his compagnie,
And thurgh the ftrete men mighten ride and wende,
For it was free, and open at eyther ende.

A litel fcole of Criften folk ther stood Doun at the ferther end, in which ther were Children an hepe comen of Criften blood, That lerned in that fcole yere by yere

Swiche manere doctrine as men used there;

This is to fay, to fingen and to rede,
As fmale children don in hir childhede.

Among thife children was a widewes fone,
A litel clergion, sevene yere of age,
That day by day to fcole was his wone,
And eke alfo, wheras he fey the image
Of Criftes moder, had he in usage,

As him was taught, to knele adoun, and fay
Ave Marie as he goth by the way.

Thus hath this widewe hire litel fone ytaught
Our blisful Lady, Criftes mother dere,
To worship ay, and he forgate it naught,
For fely childe wol away fone lere.
But aye whan I remembre on this matere
Seint Nicholas ftant ever in my prefence,
For he fo yong to Crift did reverence,

This litel childe his litel book lerning,
As he fat in the scole at his primere,
He Alma Redemptoris herde fing,
As children lered hir antiphonere,

And as he dorst he drow him nere and nere,
And herkened ay the words and the note,
Til he the firfte vers coude al by rote.

Nought wift he what this Latin was to say,
For he fo yonge and tendre was of age;
But on a day his felaw gan he pray

To expounden him this fong in his language,
Or telle him why this fong was in ufage:
This prayde he him to conftrue and declare
Ful oft time upon his knees bare.

His felaw, which that elder was than he,
Answered him thus; This fong I have herd fay,
Was maked of our blisful Lady fre,
Hire to falue, and eke hire for to prey

To ben our help and focour whan we dey.
I can no more expound in this matere:
I lerne fong; I can but fmal grammere.
And is this fong maked in reverence
Of Criftes moder? faid this innocent:
Now certes I wol don my diligence
To conne, it all or Criftemaffe be went,
Though that I for my primer fhal be shent,
And fhal be beten thries in an houre.
I wol it conne our Ladie for to honoure.
His felaw taught him homeward prively
Fro day to day til he coude it by rote,
And than he fong it wel and boldely
Fro word to word according with the note:
Twies a day it paffed thurgh his throte,
To fcoleward and homeward whan he wente;
On Criftes moder fet was his entente.

As I have faid, thurghout the Jewerie
This litel child, as he came to and fro,
Ful merily than wold he fing and crie
O Alma Redemptoris ever mo.
The fweteneffe hath his herte perfed fo
Of Criftes moder, that to hire to pray
He cannot flint of finging by the way,

Our firite fo, the ferpent Sathanas,
That hath in Jewes herte his wafpes neft,
Up fwale and faid, O Ebraike peple, alas!
Is this to you a thing that is honeft.
That fwiche a boy fhal watken as him leste
In your defpit, and fing of fwiche fentence,
Which is again our lawes reverence?

From thennesforth the Jewes han confpirce
This innocent out of this world to chace :
And homicide thereto han they hired,
That in an aleye had a privee place,
And as the child gan forthby for to pace
This curfed Jew him hent and held him fast,
And cut his throte, and in a pit him caft.

I say that in a wardrope they him threwe
Wher as thife Jewes purgen hir entraille.
O curfed folk! of Herodes alle-newe,
What may your evil entente you availle?
Mordre wol out, certein it wol not faille;
And namely ther the honour of God fhal fprede
The blood out crieth on your curfed dede.

O martyr fouded in virginitee!
Now maift thou finge and folwen ever in on
The white Lamb celeftial, quod fhe,

Of which the gret evangelist Seint John

In Pathmos wrote, which fayth that they that gon
Beforn this Lamb, and sing a song al newe,
That never flefhly woman they ne knewe.

This poure widewe awaiteth al that night
After hire litel childe, and he came nought,
For which as fone as it was dayes light,
With face pale of drede and befy thought
She hath at fcole and elles wher him fought,
Til finally the gan fo fer afpie

That he laft feen was in the Jewerie.

With modres pitee in hire breft enclosed
She goth, as the were half out of hire minde,
To every place wher she hath supposed
By likelihed hire litel child to finde;
And ever on Criftes moder meke and kinde
She cried, and at the lafte thus fhe wrought,
Among the curfed Jewes fhe him sought.

She freyneth and she praieth pitoufly
To every Jew that dwelled in thilke place
To telle hire of hire child went ought forth by
They fayden Nay; but Jefu of his grace
Yave in hire thought, within a little space,
That in that place after hire fone the cride
Ther he was caften in a pit befide.

O grete God, that parformeft thy laude
By mouth of innocentes, lo here thy might
This gem of chastitee, this emeraude,
And cke of martirdome the rubie bright,
Ther he with throte ycorven lay upright
He Alma Redemptoris gan to finge
So loude, that all the place gan to ringe.

The Criften folk that thurgh the strete wente
In comen for to wondre upon this thing,
And haftifly they for the provoft fente:
He came anon withouten tarying,
And herieth Crift, that is of heven king,
And eke his moder, honour of mankind,
And after that the Jewes let he binde

This child with pitous lamentation
Was taken up, finging his fong alway,
And with honour and gret proceffion
They carien him unto the next abbey;
His moder fwouning by the bere lay:
Unnethes might the peple that was there
This newe Rachel bringen fro his bere.

With turment and with fhameful deth eche on This provoft doth thife Jewes for to fterve