The Prologue
“Sir Clerk of Oxenford,” our Hostë said,
“Ye ride as still and coy, as doth a maid
That were new spoused, sitting at the board:
This day I heard not of your tongue a word.
I trow ye study about some sophime:
But Solomon saith, every thing hath time.
For Goddë’s sake, be of better cheer,
It is no timë for to study here.
Tell us some merry talë, by your fay;
For what man that is entered in a play,
He needës must unto that play assent.
But preachë not, as friars do in Lent,
To make us for our oldë sinnës weep,
Nor that thy talë make us not to sleep.
Tell us some merry thing of áventures.
Your terms, your colourës, and your figúres,
Keep them in store, till so be ye indite
High style, as when that men to kingës write.
Speakë so plain at this time, I you pray,
That we may understandë what ye say.”
This worthy Clerk benignëly answér’d;
“Hostë,” quoth he, “I am under your yerd,
Ye have of us as now the governánce,
And therefore would I do you obeisánce,
As far as reason asketh, hardily:
I will you tell a talë, which that I
Learn’d at Padova of a worthy clerk,
As proved by his wordës and his werk.
He is now dead, and nailed in his chest,
I pray to God to give his soul good rest.
Francis Petrarc’, the laureate poét,
Hightë this clerk, whose rhetoric so sweet
Illumin’d all Itále of poetry,
As Linian did of philosophy,
Or law, or other art particulére:
But death, that will not suffer us dwell here
But as it were a twinkling of an eye,
Them both hath slain, and allë we shall die.
“But forth to tellen of this worthy man,
That taughtë me this tale, as I began,
I say that first he with high style inditeth
(Ere he the body of his talë writeth)
A proem, in the which describeth he
Piedmont, and of Saluces the countrý,
And speaketh of the Pennine hillës high,
That be the bounds of all West Lombardy:
And of Mount Vesulus in special,
Where as the Po out of a wellë small
Taketh his firstë springing and his source,
That eastward aye increaseth in his course
T’ Emilia-ward, to Ferraro, and Veníce,
The which a long thing werë to devise.
And truëly, as to my judgëment,
Me thinketh it a thing impertinent,
Save that he would conveyë his mattére:
But this is the tale, which that ye shall hear.”