The Prioress’s Tale
The Prologue
“Well said, by corpus Domini,” quoth our Host;
“Now longë may’st thou sailë by the coast,
Thou gentle Master, gentle Marinére.
God give the monk a thousand last quad year!
Aha! fellows, beware of such a jape.
The monk put in the mannë’s hood an ape,
And in his wifë’s eke, by Saint Austin.
Drawë no monkës more into your inn.
But now pass over, and let us seek about,
Who shall now tellë first of all this rout
Another tale;” and with that word he said,
As courteously as it had been a maid;
“My Lady Prioressë, by your leave,
So that I wist I shouldë you not grieve,
I wouldë deemë that ye tellë should
A talë next, if so were that ye would.
Now will ye vouchësafe, my lady dear?”
“Gladly,” quoth she; and said as ye shall hear.
The Tale
O Lord our Lord! thy name how marvellous
Is in this largë world y-spread! (quoth she)
For not only thy laudë precious
Performed is by men of high degree,
But by the mouth of children thy bounté
Performed is, for on the breast sucking
Sometimës showë they thy herying.
Wherefore in laud, as I best can or may
Of thee, and of the whitë lily flow’r
Which that thee bare, and is a maid alway,
To tell a story I will do my laboúr;
Not that I may increasë her honoúr,
For she herselven is honoúr and root
Of bounté, next her son, and soulës’ boot.
O mother maid, O maid and mother free!
O bush unburnt, burning in Moses’ sight,
That ravished’st down from the deity,
Through thy humbless, the ghost that in thee light;
Of whose virtúe, when he thine heartë light,
Conceived was the Father’s sapience;
Help me to tell it to thy reverence.
Lady! thy bounty, thy magnificence,
Thy virtue, and thy great humility,
There may no tongue express in no science:
For sometimes, Lady! ere men pray to thee,
Thou go’st before, of thy benignity,
And gettest us the light, through thy prayére,
To guiden us unto thy son so dear.
My conning is so weak, O blissful queen,
For to declarë thy great worthiness,
That I not may the weight of it sustene;
But as a child of twelvemonth old, or less,
That can unnethës any word express,
Right so fare I; and therefore, I you pray,
Guidë my song that I shall of you say.
There was in Asia, in a great citý,
Amongës Christian folk, a Jewery,
Sustained by a lord of that countrý,
For foul usure, and lucre of villainy,
Hateful to Christ, and to his company;
And through the street men mightë ride and wend,
For it was free, and open at each end.
A little school of Christian folk there stood
Down at the farther end, in which there were
Children an heap y-come of Christian blood,
That learned in that schoolë year by year
Such manner doctrine as men used there;
This is to say, to singen and to read,
As smallë children do in their childhead.
Among these children was a widow’s son,
A little clergion, seven year of age,
That day by day to scholay was his won,
And eke also, whereso he saw th’ image
Of Christë’s mother, had he in uságe,
As him was taught, to kneel adown, and say
Ave Maria, as he went by the way.
Thus had this widow her little son y-taught
Our blissful Lady, Christë’s mother dear,
To worship aye, and he forgot it not;
For sely child will always soonë lear.
But aye when I remember on this mattére,
Saint Nicholas stands ever in my presence;
For he so young to Christ did reverence.
This little child his little book learning,
As he sat in the school at his primére,
He Alma redemptoris heardë sing,
As children learned their antiphonere;
And as he durst, he drew him nere and nere,
And hearken’d aye the wordës and the note,
Till he the firstë verse knew all by rote.
Nought wist he what this Latin was to say,
For he so young and tender was of age;
But on a day his fellow gan he pray
To éxpound him this song in his languáge,
Or tell him why this song was in uságe:
This pray’d he him to construe and declare,
Full oftentime upon his kneës bare.
His fellow, which that elder was than he,
Answér’d him thus: “This song, I have heard say,
Was maked of our blissful Lady free,
Her to salute, and ekë her to pray
To be our help and succour when we dey.
I can no more expound in this mattére:
I learnë song, I know but small grammére.”
“And is this song y-made in reverence
Of Christë’s mother?” said this innocent;
“Now certes I will do my diligence
To conne it all, ere Christëmas be went;
Though that I for my primer shall be shent,
And shall be beaten thriës in an hour,
I will it conne, our Lady to honoúr.”
His fellow taught him homeward privily
From day to day, till he coud it by rote,
And then he sang it well and boldëly
From word to word according with the note;
Twice in a day it passed through his throat;
To schoolë-ward, and homeward when he went;
On Christ’s mother was set all his intent.
As I have said, throughout the Jewery,
This little child, as he came to and fro,
Full merrily then would he sing and cry,
O Alma redemptoris, evermo’;
The sweetness hath his heartë pierced so
Of Christë’s mother, that to her to pray
He cannot stint of singing by the way.
Our firstë foe, the serpent Satanas,
That hath in Jewës’ heart his waspë’s nest,
Upswell’d and said, “O Hebrew people, alas!
Is this to you a thing that is honést,
That such a boy shall walken as him lest
In your despite, and sing of such senténce,
Which is against your lawë’s reverence?”
From thencëforth the Jewës have conspired
This innocent out of the world to chase;
A homicidë thereto have they hired,
That in an alley had a privy place,
And, as the child gan forth by for to pace,
This cursed Jew him hent, and held him fast,
And cut his throat, and in a pit him cast.
I say that in a wardrobe they him threw,
Where as the Jewës purged their entrail.
O cursed folk! O Herodës all new!
What may your evil intentë you avail?
Murder will out, certáin it will not fail,
And namely where th’ honoúr of God shall spread;
The blood out crieth on your cursed deed.
O martyr souded to virginity,
Now may’st thou sing, and follow ever-in-one
The whitë Lamb celestial (quoth she),
Of which the great Evangelist Saint John
In Patmos wrote, which saith that they that gon
Before this Lamb, and sing a song all new,
That never fleshly woman they ne knew.
This poorë widow waited all that night
After her little child, but he came not;
For which, as soon as it was dayë’s light,
With facë pale, in dread and busy thought,
She hath at school and ellëswhere him sought,
Till finally she gan so far espy,
That he was last seen in the Jewerý.
With mother’s pity in her breast enclosed,
She went, as she were half out of her mind,
To every placë, where she hath supposed
By likelihood her little child to find:
And ever on Christ’s mother meek and kind
She cried, and at the lastë thus she wrought,
Among the cursed Jewës she him sought.
She freined, and she prayed piteously
To every Jew that dwelled in that place,
To tell her, if her childë went thereby;
They saidë, “Nay;” but Jesus of his grace
Gave in her thought, within a little space,
That in that place after her son she cried,
Where he was cast into a pit beside.
O greatë God, that pérformest thy laud
By mouth of innocents, lo here thy might!
This gem of chastity, this emeraud,
And eke of martyrdom the ruby bright,
Where he with throat y-carven lay upright,
He Alma redemptoris gan to sing
So loud, that all the place began to ring.
The Christian folk, that through the streetë went,
In camë, for to wonder on this thing:
And hastily they for the provost sent.
He came anon withoutë tarrying,
And heried Christ, that is of heaven king,
And eke his mother, honour of mankind;
And after that the Jewës let he bind.
With torment, and with shameful death each one
The provost did these Jewës for to sterve
That of this murder wist, and that anon;
He wouldë no such cursedness observe;
Evil shall have that evil will deserve;
Therefore with horses wild he did them draw,
And after that he hung them by the law.
The child, with piteous lamentatión,
Was taken up, singing his song alway:
And with honoúr and great processión,
They carry him unto the next abbay.
His mother swooning by the bierë lay;
Unnethës might the people that were there
This newë Rachel bringë from his bier.
Upon his bierë lay this innocent
Before the altar while the massë last’;
And, after that, th’ abbót with his convént
Have sped them for to bury him full fast;
And when they holy water on him cast,
Yet spake this child, when sprinkled was the water,
And sang, O Alma redemptoris mater!
This abbot, which that was a holy man,
As monkës be, or ellës ought to be,
This youngë child to conjure he began,
And said; “O dearë child! I halsë thee,
In virtue of the holy Trinity;
Tell me what is thy cause for to sing,
Since that thy throat is cut, to my seemíng.”
“My throat is cut unto my neckë-bone,”
Saidë this child, “and, as by way of kind,
I should have diëd, yea long time agone;
But Jesus Christ, as ye in bookës find,
Will that his glory last and be in mind;
And, for the worship of his mother dear,
Yet may I sing O Alma loud and clear.
“This well of mercy, Christë’s mother sweet,
I loved alway, after my conníng:
And when that I my lifë should forlete,
To me she came, and bade me for to sing
This anthem verily in my dying,
As ye have heard; and, when that I had sung,
Me thought she laid a grain upon my tongue.
“Wherefore I sing, and sing I must certáin,
In honour of that blissful maiden free,
Till from my tongue off taken is the grain.
And after that thus saidë she to me;
‘My little child, then will I fetchë thee,
When that the grain is from thy tonguë take:
Be not aghast, I will thee not forsake.’ ”
This holy monk, this abbot him mean I,
His tongue out caught, and took away the grain;
And he gave up the ghost full softëly.
And when this abbot had this wonder seen,
His saltë tearës trickled down as rain:
And groff he fell all flat upon the ground,
And still he lay, as he had been y-bound.
The convent lay eke on the pavëment
Weeping, and herying Christ’s mother dear.
And after that they rose, and forth they went,
And took away this martyr from his bier,
And in a tomb of marble stonës clear
Enclosed they his little body sweet;
Where he is now, God lene us for to meet.
O youngë Hugh of Lincoln! slain also
With cursed Jewës—as it is notáble,
For it is but a little while ago—
Pray eke for us, we sinful folk unstable,
That, of his mercy, God so merciáble
On us his greatë mercy multiply,
For reverence of his mother Marý.