which Chaucer had reached the summit of his worldly fortunes. Until then he had enjoyed what was probably regarded at that period as a large yearly income, derived from a variety of sources, pensions and annuities to himself and his wife from the king and John of Gaunt; wages received from time to time for state services; and salary paid to him as Comptroller of Customs, etc., in the port of London. After 1386, these means of livelihood being curtailed, Chaucer fell by degrees into extreme poverty, and it was not until Henry IV.'s accession in 1399 that his pensions were renewed. This was only one year before his death. The Canterbury Tales were at that date still in progress, and a number of tales, and the Epilogue, remained unwritten when Chaucer died at Westminster in 1400.
Chaucer wrote in almost all the metres till then in use, and did great service to our later literature by educating the national ear to the enjoyment of a finer and more varied rhythmic music than it had yet heard. The eight-syllabled rhyming measure was common to many French romances. It was employed by Chaucer in the Romaunt of the Rose, the Death of Blanche the Duchess, and the House of Fame, by Barbour in the Bruce, and by Gower in the Confessio Amantis. Chaucer's other measures consist, with a few unimportant exceptions, of ten-syllabled lines, arranged either in rhymed couplets, as in the Prologue of the Canterbury Tales, and in many of the tales themselves, or in the stanza known as "Rhyme-royal,” or Chaucer's stanza," ," used in Troilus and
FROM THE DEATH OF BLANCHE THE DUCHESS.
THE DREAM-CHAMBER.
Me thought thus that it was May,
And in the dawning there I lay. Me met1 thus in my bed all naked, And looked forth; for I was waked With smallè fowlès a great heap, That had affrayed me out of my sleep
Through noise and sweetness of their song. And, as me met, they sat among Upon my chamber-roof without, Upon the tiles over-all about; And everich songe1 in his2 wise The mostè solempnè3 servise By note that ever man, I trow, Had heard; for some of them song low, Some high, and all of one accord. To tellè shortly at one word,
Was never heard so sweet a steven1 But it had been a thing of Heaven. So merry a sound, so sweet entunes, That, certes, for the town of Tunis I n' old but I had heard them sing; For all my chamber gan to ring Through singing of their armony. For instrument nor melody
Was nowhere heard yet half so sweet Nor of accordè half so meet;
For there was none of them that feigned To sing; for each of them him pained To find out merry crafty notes; They ne spared not their throats.
And, sooth to sayn, my chamber was Full well depainted, and with glass Were all the windows well y-glased Full clear, and not an hole y-crased,7 That to behold it was great joy. For wholly all the story of Troy Was in the glasing y-wrought thus,- Of Hector and of King Priamus, Of Achilles and of King Laomedon, And eke of Medea and of Jason, Of Paris, Helen, and of Lavine. And all the walls with colours fine Were painted, bothè text and glose, And all the Romaunce of the Rose.
My windows weren shut each one, And through the glass the sonnè shone Upon my beddè with bright beams, With many gladde gildy streams.
And eke the welkin was so fair; Blue, bright, clear was the air, And full attemper,1 forsooth, it was, For neither too cold ne hot it was, Ne in all the welkin was a cloud.
And as I lay thus, wonder loud Methought I heard a hunter blow, To assay his horn, and for to know Whether it were clear or hoarse of soun. And I heard going both up and down Men, horse, houndes, and other thing, And all men speakè of hunting,
How they would slee the hart with strength, And how the hart had upon length So much embosed,2-I n'ot3 now what. Anon right when I heardè that, How that they would on hunting gon,4 I was right glad, and up anon; Took my horse, and forth I went Out of my chamber. I never stent Till I come to the field without. There overtook I a great rout Of hunters and eke foresters, And many relays and limers,7 And hied them to the forest fast And I with them. So at the last I asked one lad, a limere ;8 "Say, fellow, who shall huntè here?" Quoth I. And he answered again; 66 Sir, the Emperor Octavien," Quoth he, "and is here fast by."
A God's half, in good time," quoth I;
"Go we fast!" and gan to ride.
When we came to the forest side, Every man did right anon
As10 to hunting fell to done.
The maister hunt, anon, foot hotell
With a great horn blew three mote12
6 Fresh horses.
9 With God's favour.
2 Embosqué, i.e. gone 4 Go.
7 Blood-hounds.
10 Immediately.
deep into the wood.
5 Open country. 8 A dog-boy. 11 Quickly.
At the uncoupling of his houndis. Within a while the hartè found is ; Y-hallowed1 and re-chased1 fast Long timè; and so, at the last, This hartè rused1 and stole away Fro all the hounds a privy way. The hounds had overshot him all, And were on a default y-fall ;2 Therewith the hunter wonder fast Blew a forloin3 at the last.
I was go walked fro my tree; And as I went there came by me A whelp, that fawned me as I stood, That had y-followed, and coud no good. It came, and crept to me as low Right as it haddè me y-know,
Held down his head and joined his ears And laid all smoothè down his hairs. I would have caught it; and anon It fleddè, and was fro me gone. As I him followed, and it forth went : Down by a flowery green it went, Full thick of grass, full soft and sweet, With flowers fele fair under feet, And little used it seemèd thus ; For both Flora and Zephyrus, They two that maken flowers grow, Had made their dwelling there, I trow. For it was on to behold
As though the earth envyè wold9
To be gayer than the heaven,
To have mo flowers suchè seven10 As in the welkin starrès be.
It had forgot the poverty
That winter through his coldè morrows Had made it suffer, and his11 sorrows,― All was forgotten; and that was seen, For all the wood was waxen green; Sweetness of dew had made it wax.1 12
2 Fallen on a false scent. 4 As if it had known me. 7 The flowery green. 8 To look on.
3 A hunting term signifying that the game is far off.
5 Quickly. 9 Would aspire. 10 Seven times more flowers than there are stars in the welkin.
THE LADY BLANCHE.1
I saw her dance so comelily, Carol and sing so sweetèly, Laugh and play so womanly, And look so debonairely,
So goodly speak and so friendly, That, certes, I trow that nevermore N'as seen so blissful a tresore. For every hair on her head Sooth to say, it was not red, Ne neither yellow, ne brown it was ; Me thought most like gold it was... I have no wit that can suffice To comprehende her beauty; But this much dare I sayn, that she Was ruddy, fresh, and lovely hued, And every day her beauty newed. And nigh her face was alder best ;2 For, certes, Nature had such lest3 To make that fair, that truly she Was her chief pattern of beauty, And chief ensample of all her work And monstre 4 for, be it never so derk,5 Methinketh I see her evermo.
And yet, moreover, though all tho That ever lived were now alive, Ne wold have found they to descrive In all her face a wicked sign, For it was sad, simple, and benign. And such a goodly softè speech Had that sweet, my lifè's leech,8 So friendly, and so well y-grounded Upon all reason, so well y-founded, And so tretable9 to all good,
That I dare swear well by the rood10 Of eloquence was never found
So sweet a souning facound,1
Ne truer tongued, ne scornèd less, . . Ne less flattering in her word; That purely her simple record
1 This was the wife of John of Gaunt, who died 1369, after ten years of marriage. The husband is here supposed to be lamenting her loss and recounting
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