Thay were glad for pees unto him sende.'
The pride of man and bost he layd adoun,
Wher so he cam, unto the worldes ende.

Comparisoun yit mighte never be maked
Bitwen him and noon other conquerour;
For al this world for drede of him hath quaked.
He was of knyghthod and of fredam flour;
Fortune him made the heir of hir honour;
Save wyn and wymmen, no thing might aswage
His heigh entent in armes and labour,
So was he ful of leonyne2 corage.

yow

What pris3 were it to him, though I
Of Darius, and an hundred thousand mo
Of kynges, princes, dukes, eorles bolde,
Which he conquered and brought unto wo?
I say, as fer as men may ryde or go,

tolde

The world was his, what schold I more devyse?
For though I write or tolde you evermo
Of his knighthood, it mighte nought suffise.
Twelf yer he regned, as saith Machabe;*
Philippes son of Macedon he was,
That first was king in Grece that contre.
O worthy gentil Alisaundre, alas!
That ever schulde falle such a caas!
Empoysoned of thin oughne folk thou were;
Thyn sis fortune is torned into an aas,3

5

And right for the ne wepte sche never a teere.
Who schal me give teeres to compleigne

The deth of gentiles and of fraunchise,
That al the worlde had in his demeigne;

1 That is, They were glad to send to him to entreat peace.

2 This reading is adopted from Tyrwhitt, as much better than lumyne, the reading of the Harl., or lovenge, that of the Lansd. MS.

3 The Harl. MS. reads pité, which is unintelligible. Pris is from Speght and Tyrwhitt; and the meaning is, What advantage, what increase of honour, would it be to him though I told you, &c.

4 Maccab. i. 8.

5 That is, Thy fortune, which was once the highest on the dice (sis, or size), was changed into the lowest (ace).

VOL. II.

P

And yit him thought it mighte nought suffice,
So ful was his corage of high emprise.
Allas! who schal helpe me to endite
Fals infortune, and poysoun to devyse,
The whiche two of al this wo I wyte.

JULIUS CESAR.1

By wisedom, manhod, and by gret labour,
Fro humblehede to royal mageste
Up roos he, Julius the conquerour,
That wan al thoccident by land and see,
By strengthe of hond or elles by trete,
And unto Rome made hem contributarie,
And siththe of Rome themperour was he,
Til that fortune wax his adversarie.

O mighty Cesar, that in Thessalie
Agains Pompeus, fader thin in lawe,
That of the orient had al the chivalrie,
Als fer as that the day bigynnes to dawe,

Thorugh thi knighthod thou hast him take and slawe,
Save fewe folk that with Pompeus fledde;

Thurgh which thou puttist al thorient in awe;
Thanke fortune that so wel the spedde.

But now a litel while I wil bywaile
This Pompeus, the noble governour
Of Rome, which that flowe fro this bataile;
Alas! I say, oon of his men, a fals traitour,
His heed of smoot, to wynne his favour
Of Julius, and him the heed he brought.
Alas! Pompeus, of the orient conquerour,
That fortune to such a fyn the brought.

To Rome agayn repaireth Julius,
With his triumphe lauriel ful hye.
But on a tyme Brutus and Cassius,
That ever had to his estat envye,
Ful prively hath made conspiracie

1 For the tragedy of Julius Cæsar, Chaucer quotes Lucan, Suetonius, and Valerius Flaccus.

Agains this Julius in subtil wise;

And cast the place in which he schulde dye
With boydekyns, as I schal yow devyse.

This Julius to the capitoile went
Upon a day, as he was wont to goon;
And in the capitoil anoon him hent
This false Brutus, and his other foon,
And stiked him with boydekyns anoon
With many a wounde, and thus thay let him lye.
But never gront he at no strook but oon,
Or elles at tuo, but if the storie lye.

So manly was this Julius of hert,
And so wel loved estatly honeste,
That though his deedly woundes sore smert,
His mantil over his hipes caste he,
For no man schulde seen his privete.
And as he lay deyinge in a traunce,
And wiste wel that verrayly deed was he,
Of honeste yet had he remembraunce.

Lucan, to the this story I recomende,
And to Swetoun and to Valirius also,
That al the story writen word and ende,
How to these grete conqueroures tuo
Fortune was first frend and siththen fo.
No man trust upon hir favour longe,
But have hir in awayt for evermo,
Witnesse on alle thise conqueroures stronge.

This riche Cresus, whilom king of Lyde,
Of which Cresus Cirus him sore dradde,
Yet was he caught amyddes al his pride,

In the open

1 The Harl. MS. for Cresus reads Gresus throughout. ing of this story,' says Tyrwhitt, our author has plainly copied the following passage in his own version of Boethius, b. ii. pro. 2: Weste thou not how Cresus, King of Lydiens, of whiche King Cyrus was ful sore agaste a litel before,' &c. But the greatest part is taken from the Roman de la Rose.

And to the fuyr to brenne him men him ladde.
But such a rayn doun fro the heven schadde,
That slough the fuyr and made him to eschape.
But to be war yet grace noon he hadde,
Til fortune on the galwes made him gape.

Whan he was eschaped, he couth nought stent
For to bygynne a newe werre agayn;
He wende wel, for that fortune him sent
Such hap that he eschaped thurgh the rayn,
That of his foos he mighte not be slayn.
And eek a sweven upon a night he mette,
Of which he was so proud and eek so fayn,
That in vengeaunce he al his herte sette.

Upon a tree he was set, as him thought,
Wher Jubiter him wissch bothe bak and side,
And Phebus eek a fair towail him brought
To drye him with, and therfore wax his pride;
And to his doughter that stood him biside,
Which that he knew in heigh science abounde,
And bad hire telle what it signifyde,

And sche his dreem right thus gan expounde.
'The tree,' quod sche, 'the galwes is to mene,
And Jubiter betokenith snow and rayn,
And Phebus with his toweil so clene,
Tho ben the sonne stremes, soth to sayn.
Thow schalt enhangid ben, fader, certayn;
Rayn schal the wasch, and sonne schal the drye.'
Thus warned sche him ful plat and ek ful playn,
His doughter, which that called was Phanie.
And hanged was Cresus this proude king,
His real trone might him not availe.
Tragedie is non other maner thing,
Ne can in singing crien ne bewaile,1
But for that fortune wil alway assayle

1 Tyrwhitt's reading is here adopted in preference to bat of the

Harl. MS.:

'Tragedis, ne noon other maner thing,

Ne can I singe, crie, ne biwayle,'

With unwar strook the regnes that ben proude ;
For whan men trusteth hir, than wil sche faile,
And cover hir brighte face with a clowde.

THE PROLOGE OF THE NONNE PRESTES TALE.

'H%

O, sire!' quod the Knight, 'no more of this;
That ye had said is right y-nough I wys,

And mochil mor; for litel hevynesse

Is right i-nough for moche folk, I gesse.

I

say for me, it is a gret disease,

Wher as men han ben in gret welthe and ease,

To hieren of her sodeyn fal, allas!

And the contraire is joye and gret solas;
As whan a man hath ben in pore estate,
And clymbith up, and wexeth fortunate,
And ther abydeth in prosperite;

Such thing is gladsom, as1 it thinkith me,
And of such thing were goodly for to telle.'
'Ye,' quod oure Host, 'by seint Paules belle,
Ye say right soth; this monk hath clappid lowde;
He spak, how fortune was clipped with a clowde,
I not never what, and als of tregedie

Right now ye herd; and pardy! no remedye

It is for to bywayle or compleyne

That that is doon; and also it is a peyne,

As ye han said, to hiere of hevynesse.

Sire monk, no more of this, so God yow blesse;
Your tale anoyeth al this compaignie;

Such talkyng is nought worth a boterflye,

which appears to be unintelligible. Tyrwhitt supposes that this reflection was suggested by the passage just quoted from Boethius. 'What other thing bewaylen the cryinges of tragedyes but onely the dedes of fortune, that with an aukewarde stroke overtourneth the realmes of grete nobleye.'

1 Tyrwhitt's reading has been adopted as better than that of the Harl. MS., which reads and.