I.

=The Flower and the Leaf.=

This charming fairy tale of Chaucer has never yet, it is believed, been reprinted entire in America. The poem, complete, in its quaint, original garb, has been placed among these selections with the hope that its intrinsic beauty and its rarity may alike prove sources of interest to the reader. Unfortunately there is much of Chaucer which will not bear to be generally read—much against which we are justly cautioned. But the grossness with which he is reproached must have been rather the fault of the age to which he belonged, than of the man himself, for the passages open to us are full of sweetness and delicacy, so fresh and original, so quaintly fanciful, so altogether delightful, that one can never cease to deplore that all his pages should not be equally fair and clean. Here, however, we have a complete work of the old master quite free from objection; in this instance the delicacy of the fancy appears to have shielded him from the prevailing coarseness

of the period in which he wrote. The uncouth old spelling need not deprive any one of the pleasure of enjoying the poem, as a few minutes’ practice will accustom the eye and the ear to the strangeness of the orthography and rhythm. It would have been very easy to obviate those last obstacles entirely by giving the reader Dryden’s version, instead of the original; but there are a thousand charming touches in Chaucer quite peculiar to himself, and which Dryden, with all his higher polish, could never really improve. Every original work of a man of genius, even when imperfect and faulty, must always possess a life and reality which no imitation, even the most finished, can hope to equal; and in this, as in every other instance, we have preferred carrying our bucket to the fountain head. Let us hope the reader will enjoy the draught offered to him from

“Dan Chaucer, well of English undefiled.”

THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF.

ARGUMENT.

A gentlewoman out of an arbour in a grove, seeth a great companie of knights and ladies in a daunce upon the greene grasse: the which being ended, they all kneele downe, and do honour to the daisie, some to the flower, and some to the leafe. Afterward this gentlewoman learneth by one of these ladies the meaning hereof, which is this: They which honour the flower, a thing fading with every blast, are such as looke after beautie and worldly pleasure. But they that honour the leafe, which abideth with the root, notwithstanding the frosts and winter stormes, are they which follow vertue and during qualities, without regard of worldly respects.

Whan that Phebus his chair of golde so hie, Had whirled up the sterry sky aloft, And in the Boole was entred certainly, When shoures sweet of raine descended soft, Causing the ground fele times and oft, Up for to give many an wholsome aire, And every plaine was clothed faire

With new greene, and maketh small floures To springen here and there in field and in mede, So very good and wholsome be the shoures, That it renueth that was old and dede, In winter time; and out of every sede Springeth the hearbe, so that every wight Of this season wexeth glad and light,

And I so glad of the season swete Was happed thus upon a certaine night, As I lay in my bed, sleepe full unmete Was unto me, but why that I ne might Rest, I ne wist: for there n’as earthly wight As I suppose had more herts ease Than I; for I n’ad sicknesse nor disease.

Wherefore I mervaile greatly of my selfe, That I so long withouten sleepe lay, And up I rose three houres after twelfe, About the springing of the daye; And I put on my geare and my arraye, And to a pleasaunt grove I gan passe, Long er the bright Sunne up risen was.

In which were okes great, streight as a line, Under the which the grasse so fresh of hew, Was newly sprong, and an eight foot or nine Every tree well fro his fellow grew, With branches brode, laden with leves newe That sprongen out ayen the sunne-shene Some very red, and some a glad light grene.

Which as me thought was right a pleasant sight, And eke the briddes songe for to here, Would have rejoiced any earthly wight, And I that couth not yet in no manere, Heare the nightingale of all the yeare, Ful busily herkened with herte and with eare, If I her voice perceive coud any where.

And, at the last, a path of little brede I found, that greatly had not used be, For it forgrowen was with grasse and weede. That well unneth a wighte might it se: Thought I, this path some winder goth, pardè; And so I followed, till it me brought To right a pleasaunt herber well ywrought,

That benched was, and with turfes new Freshly turved, whereof the grene gras, So small, so thicke, so shorte, so fresh of hew, That most like unto green wool wot I it was: The hegge also that yede in compas,

And closed in all the greene herbere, With sicamour was set and eglatere;

Wrethen in fere so well and cunningly, That every branch and leafe grew by mesure, Plaine as a bord, of an height by and by, I sie never thing I you ensure, So well done; for he that tooke the cure It to make ytrow, did all his peine To make it passe all tho that men have seine.

And shapen was this herber roof and all, As a prety parlour; and also The hegge as thicke as a castle wall, That who that list without, to stond or go, Though he would all day prien to and fro, He should not see if there were any wight Within or no; but one within well might

Perceive all tho thot yeden there without In the field, that was on every side Covered with corn and grasse, that out of doubt, Though one would seeke all the world wide, So rich a fielde coud not be espide On no coast, as of the quantity, For of all good thing there was plenty.

And I that all this pleasaunt sight sie, Thought sodainly I felt so sweet an aire Of the eglentere, that certainely, There is no hert, I deme, in such dispaire, Ne with thoughts froward, and contraire, So overlaid, but it should soon have bote, If it had ones felt this savour sote.

And as I stood and cast aside mine eie, I was ware of the fairest medler tree, That ever yet in all my life I sie, As full of blossomes as it might be, Therein a goldfinch leaping pretile Fro bough to bough; and, as him list, he eet Here and there of buds and floures sweet.

And to the herber side was joyning This faire tree, of which I have you told, And at the last the bird began to sing, Whan he had eaten what he eat wold;

So passing sweetly, that by manifold It was more pleasaunt than I coud devise, And whan his song was ended in this wise,

The nightingale with so merry a note, Answered him, that all the wood rong So sodainly, that as it were a sote, I stood astonied, so was I with the song Thorow ravished, that till late and long, I ne wist in what place I was, ne where; And ayen, me thought, she song ever by mine ere.

Wherefore I waited about busily On every side, if I her might see; And, at the last, I gan full well aspy Where she sat in a freshe grene laurer tree, On the further side even right by me, That gave so passing a delicious smell, According to the eglentere full well.

Whereof I had so inly great pleasure, That, as me thought, I surely ravished was Into Paradise, where my desire Was for to be, and no ferther passe, As for that day, and on the sote grasse I sat me downe, for as for mine entent, The birdes song was more convenient,

And more pleasaunt to me by many fold, Than meat or drinke, or any other thing, Thereto the herber was so fresh and cold, The wholesome savours eke so comforting, That, as I demed, sith the beginning Of the world was never seene er than So pleasaunt a ground of none earthly man.

And as I sat the birds hearkening thus, Me thought that I heard voices sodainly, The most sweetest and most delicious That ever any wight I trow truly Heard in their life, for the armony And sweet accord was in so good musike, That the voice to angels most was like.

At the last, out of a grove even by, That was right goodly and pleasaunt to sight,

I sie where there came singing lustily, A world of ladies; but, to tell aright Their great beauty, it lieth not in my might, Ne their array; neverthelesse I shall Tell you a part, though I speake not of all.

The surcotes white of velvet wele sitting, They were in cladde; and the semes echone, As it were a manere garnishing, Was set with emerauds one and one, By and by; but many a riche stone Was set on the purfiles, out of dout, Of colors, sleves, and traines round about.

As great pearles round and orient, Diamonds fine, and rubies red, And many another stone of which I went The names now; and everich on her head A rich fret of gold, which without dread Was full of stately riche stones set, And every lady had a chapelet

On her head of branches fresh and grene, So wele wrought and so marvelously That it was a noble sight to sene, Some of laurer, and some full pleasauntly Had chapelets of woodbind, and sadly Some of _agnus castus_ were also Chapelets fresh; but there were many of tho

That daunced and eke song full soberly, But all they yede in manner of compace, But one there yede in mid the company, Sole by herselfe, but all followed the pace That she kepte, whose heavenly figured face So pleasaunt was, and her wele shape person, That of beauty she past hem everichon.

And more richly beseene, by many fold, She was also in every maner thing, On her head full pleasaunt to behold, A crowne of golde rich for any king, A braunch of _agnus castus_ eke bearing In her hand; and to my sight truly, She lady was of the company.

And she began a roundell lustely, That “_Suse le foyle, devers moy_,” men call, “_Siene et mon joly couer est endormy_,” And than the company answered all With voices sweet entuned, and so small, That me thought it the sweetest melody That ever I heard in my life soothly.

And thus they came, dauncing and singing, Into the middes of the mede echone, Before the herber where I was sitting, And, God wot, me thought I was wel bigone, For than I might avise hem one by one, Who fairest was, who coud best dance and sing, Or who most womanly was in all thing.

They had not daunced but a little throw, When that I hearde ferre off sodainly, So great a noise of thundering trumpes blow, As though it should have departed the skie; And after that within a while I sie From the same grove where the ladies came out, Of men of armes comming such a rout,

As all men on earth had been assembled In that place, wele horsed for the nones, Stering so fast, that all the earth trembled: But for to speake of riches, and of stones, And men and horse, I trow the large wones, Of Pretir John, ne all his tresory, Might not unneth have boght the tenth party

Of their array: who so list heare more, I shall rehearse, so as I can, a lite. Out of the grove, that I spake of before, I sie come first of all in their clokes white, A company, that ware for their delite, Chapelets fresh of okes seriall. Newly sprong, and trumpets they were all.

On every trumpe hanging a broad banere Of fine tartarium were full richely bete; Every trumpet his lords armes bere About their neckes with great pearles sete Collers brode, for cost they would not lete,

As it would seem, for their schochones echone, Were set about with many a precious stone.

Their horse harneis was all white also, And after them next in one company, Came kings of armes, and no mo In clokes of white cloth of gold richly; Chapelets of greene on their heads on hie, The crowns that they on their scochones bere, Were set with pearle, ruby, and saphere,

And eke great diamonds many one, But all their horse harneis and other geare, Was in a sute according everichone, As ye have heard the foresaid trumpets were; And by seeming they were nothing to lere, And their guiding they did so manerly, And after hem came a great company

Of heraudes and pursevauntes eke, Arraied in clothes of white velvet, And hardily they were nothing to seke, How they on them should the harneis set; And every man had on a chapelet, Scochones and eke harneis indede, They had in sute of hem that 'fore hem yede.

Next after hem came in armour bright, All save their heades, seemely knightes nine, And every claspe and naile, as to my sight, Of their harneis were of red golde fine, With cloth of gold, and furred ermine Were the rich trappoures of their stedes strong, Wide and large, that to the ground did hong.

And every bosse of bridle and paitrell That they had, was worth, as I would wene, A thousand pound; and on their heades well Dressed were crownes of laurer grene, The best made that ever I had sene, And every knight had after him riding Three henchemen on him awaiting.

Of which every first on a short tronchoun His lordes helme bare, so richly dight, That the worst was worthe the ransoun

Of any king; the second a shield bright Bare at his backe; the thred bare upright A mighty spere, full sharpe ground and kene, And every childe ware of leaves grene

A fresh chapelet upon his haires bright; And clokes white of fine velvet they ware, Their steeds trapped and raied right Without difference as their lordes were, And after hem on many a fresh corsere, There came of armed knights such a rout, That they bespread the large field about.

And all they ware after their degrees, Chapelets newe made of laurer grene, Some of the oke, and some of other trees, Some in their honds bare boughes shene, Some of laurer, and some of okes keene, Some of hauthorne, and some of the woodbind, And many mo which I had not in mind.

And so they came, their horses freshly stering, With bloody sownes of hir trompes loud; There sie I many an uncouth disguising In the array of these knightes proud, And at the last as evenly as they coud, They took their places in middes of the mede, And every knight turned his horses hede

To his fellow, and lightly laid a spere In the rest; and so justes began On every part about here and there; Some brake his spere, some drew down hors and man, About the field astray the steedes ran; And to behold their rule and governaunce, I you ensure it was a great pleasaunce.

And so the justes last an houre and more; But tho, that crowned were in laurer grene, Wan the prise; their dints was so sore, That there was none ayent hem might sustene, And the justing all was left off clene, And fro their horse the ninth alight anone, And so did all the remnant everichone.

And forth they yede togider, twain and twain, That to behold it was a worthy sight,

Toward the ladies on the greene plain, That song and daunced as I said now right: The ladies as soone as they goodly might, They brake of both the song and dance, And yede to meet hem with ful glad semblaunce.

And every lady took full womanly By the hond a knight, and forth they yede Unto a faire laurer that stood fast by, With levis lade the boughes of great brede; And to my dome there never was indede Man, that had seene halfe so faire a tre; For underneath there might it well have be

A hundred persons at their owne plesaunce, Shadowed fro the heat of Phebus bright, So that they should have felt no grevaunce Of raine ne haile that hem hurte might, The savour, eke, rejoice would any wight That had be sicke or melancolious; It was so very good and vertuous.

And with great reverence they enclined low To the tree so soot and faire of hew; And after that, within a little throw, They began to sing and daunce of new, Some song of love, some plaining of untrew, Environing the tree that stood upright; And ever yede a lady and a knight.

And at the last I cast mine eye aside, And was ware of a lusty company That come roming out of the field wide, Hond in hond a knight and a lady; The ladies all in surcotes, that richely Purfiled were with many a rich stone, And every knight of green ware mantles on,

Embrouded well so as the surcotes were, And everich had a chapelet on her hed, Which did right well upon the shining here, Made of goodly floures white and red; The knightes eke that they in honde led, In sute of hem ware chapelets everichone, And before hem went minstrels many one,

As harpes, pipes, lutes, and sautry, Alle in greene; and on their heades bare Of divers floures made full craftely, All in a sute goodly chapelets they ware; And so dauncing into the mede they fare In mid the which they found a tuft that was All oversprad with floures in compas.

Whereto they enclined everichone With great reverence, and that full humbly; And, at the last, there began, anone, A lady for to sing right womanly, A bargeret in praising the daisie; For as me thought among her notes swete, She said “_Si douce est la Margarete_.”

Than they alle answered her in fere, So passingly well, and so pleasauntly, That it was a blisful noise to here, But I n’ot how it happed, suddainly, As about noone, the Sunne so fervently Waxe hote, that the prety tender floures Had lost the beauty of hir fresh coloures.

Forshronke with heat, the ladies eke to-brent, That they ne wist where they hem might bestow; The knightes swelt for lack of shade nie shent, And after that, within a little throw, The wind began so sturdily to blow, That down goeth all the floures everichone, So that in all the mede there left not one;

Save such as succoured were among the leves Fro every storme that might hem assaile, Growing under the hegges and thicke greves; And after that, there came a storme of haile, And raine in fere, so that withouten faile, The ladies ne the knightes n’ade o threed Drie on them, so dropping was hir weed.

And whan the storm was cleane passed away, Tho in white that stood under the tree, They felt nothing of the great affray, That they in greene without had in ybe To them they yede for routh and pite, Them to comfort after their great disease, So faine they were the helplesse for to ease.

Than I was ware how one of hem in grene Had on a crowne rich and well sitting, Wherefore I demed well she was a quene, And tho in grene on her were awaiting; The ladies then in white that were comming Toward them, and the knights in fere, Began to comfort hem, and make hem chere.

The queen in white, that was of great beauty, Took by the hond the queen that was in grene, And said, “Suster, I have right great pity Of your annoy, and of the troublous tene, Wherein ye and your company have bene So long, alas! and if that it you please To go with me, I shall do you the ease,

“In all the pleasure that I can or may;” Whereof the other humbly as she might, Thanked her; for in right ill array She was with storm and heat I you behight, And every lady then anone right That were in white, one of them took in grene By the hond, which whan the knights had sene,

In like wise ech of them tooke a knight Cladde in greene, and forth with hem they fare, To an hegge, where they anon right To make their justs they would not spare Boughes to hew down, and eke trees square, Wherwith they made hem stately fires great, To dry their clothes that were ringing weat.

And after that of hearbes that there grew, They made for blisters of the Sunne brenning, Very good and wholesome ointments new, Where that they yede the sick fast anointing; And after that they yede about gadering Pleasaunt salades which they made hem eat, For to refresh their great unkindly heat.

The lady of the Leafe than began to pray Her of the Floure (for so to my seeming They should be as by their array) To soupe with her, and eke for any thing, That she should with her all her people bring; And she ayen in right goodly manere, Thanked her of her most friendly cheare,

Saying plainely, that she would obay With all her hert, all her commaundement; And then, anon, without lenger delay The lady of the Leafe hath one ysent, For a palfray, after her intent, Arrayed well and faire in harneis of gold, For nothing lacked, that to him long shold.

And after that to all her company She made to purvey horse and every thing That they needed, and than full lustily, Even by the herber where I was sitting They passed all so pleasantly singing, That it would have comforted any wight; But then I sie a passing wonder sight.

For then the nightingale, that all the day Had in the laurer sate, and did her might The whole service to sing longing to May, All sodainly began to take her flight; And to the lady of the Leafe forthright She flew, and set her on her hond softly, Which was a thing I marveled of greatly.

The goldfinch eke, that fro the medler tree Was fled for heat into the bushes cold, Unto the lady of the Flower gan flee, And on her hond he sit him as he wold, And pleasauntly his winges gan to fold; And for to sing they pained hem both as sore, As they had do of all the day before.

And so these ladies rode forth a great pace, And all the rout of knightes eke in fere; And I that had seen all this wonder case, Thought I would assay in some manere, To know fully the trouth of this matere; And what they were that rode so pleasantly: And whan they were the herber passed by,

I drest me forth, and happed to mete, anone, Right a faire lady, I do you ensure; And she came riding by herselfe alone, Alle in white, with semblance ful demure, I salued her, and bad good aventure Might her befall, as I coud most humbly; And she answered, “My doughter, gramercy!”

“Madame,” quoth I, “if that I durst enquere Of you, I would faine of that company Wite what they be that past by this arbere?” And she ayen answered right friendly; “My faire doughter, all tho that passed hereby In white clothing, be servaunts everichone Unto the Leafe, and I my selfe am one.”

“See ye not her that crowned is,” quoth she, “All in white?”—“Madame,” quoth I, “yes:” “That is Diane, goddesse of chastite, And for because that she a maiden is, In her hond the braunch she beareth this, That _agnus castus_ men call properly, And all the ladies in her company,

“Which ye se of that hearbe chapelets weare Be such as han kept alway hir maidenheed: And all they that of laurer chapelets beare, Be such as hardy were, and manly in deed, Victorious name which never may be dede! And all they were so worthy of hir hond, In hir time that none might hem withstond.

“And tho that weare chapelets on their hede Of fresh woodbind, be such as never were To love untrue in word, thought, ne dede, But aye stedfast, ne for pleasaunce, ne fere, Though that they should their hertes all to-tere, Would never flit but ever were stedfast, Till that their lives there asunder brast.”

“Now fair madame,” quoth I, “yet I would pray Your ladiship, if that it mighte be, That I might knowe by some maner way, Sith that it hath liked your beaute, The trouth of these ladies for to tell me, What that these knightes be in rich armour, And what tho be in grene and weare the flour?

“And why that some did reverence to that tre, And some unto the plot of floures faire?” “With right good will my fair doughter,” quoth she “Sith your desire is good and debonaire, Tho nine crowned, be very exemplaire, Of all honour longing to chivalry, And those certaine be called the Nine Worthy,

“Which ye may see now riding all before, That in hir time did many a noble dede, And for their worthines full oft have bore The crown of laurer leaves on their hede, As ye may in your old bookes rede; And how that he that was a conquerour, Had by laurer alway his most honour.

“And tho that beare boughes in their hond Of the precious laurer so notable, Be such as were, I woll ye understond, Noble knightes of the round table, And eke the Douseperis honourable, Which they beare in signe of victorye; It is witnesse of their deeds mightily.

“Eke there be knightes old of the garter, That in hir time did right worthily, And the honour they did to the laurer, Is for by it they have their laud wholly, Their triumph eke, and martiall glory; Which unto them is more parfite richesse, Than any wight imagine can or guesse.

“For one leafe, given of that noble tree To any wight that hath done worthily, And it be done soe as it ought to be, Is more honour than any thing earthly. Witnes of Rome that founder was truly Of all knighthood and deeds marvelous, Record I take of Titus Livius.

“And as for her that crowned is in greene, It is Flora, of these floures goddesse, And all that here on her awaiting beene, It are such folk that loved idlenesse, And not delite in no businesse, But for to hunt and hauke, and pley in medes, And many other suchlike idle dedes.

“And for the great delite and pleasaunce They have to the floure, and so reverently They unto it do such obeisaunce, As ye may se.”—“Now faire Madame,” quoth I, “If I durst aske what is the cause and why, That knightes have the ensigne of honour, Rather by the leafe than the flour?”

“Soothly doughter,” quod she, “this is the trouth; For knightes ever should be persevering, To seeke honour without feintise or slouth; Fro wele to better in all manner thing; In signe of which with leaves aye lasting, They be rewarded after their degre, Whose lusty green May may not appaired be,

“But aie keping their beautie fresh and greene, For there n’is storme that may hem deface, Haile nor snow, winde nor frosts keene, Wherfore they have this property and grace; And for the floure, within a little space Woll be all lost, so simple of nature They be, that they no greevance may endure.

“And every storme will blow them soone away, Ne they last not but for a season; That is the cause, the very trouth to say, That they may not by no way of reason Be put to no such occupation.” “Madame,” quoth I, “with all mine whole servise I thanke you now, in my most humble wise.

“For now I am ascertained throughly, Of every thing that I desired to know.” “I am right glad that I have said sothly, Ought to your pleasure, if ye will me trow,” Quod she ayen, “but to whom do ye owe Your service? And which will ye honour, Tel me I pray, this yere? the Leafe or the Flour?”

“Madame,” quoth I, “though I least worthy, Unto the Leafe I owe mine observaunce:” “That is,” quod she, “right well done certainly; And I pray God to honour you avaunce, And kepe you fro the wicked remembraunce Of Malebouch, and all his crueltie, And all that good and well conditioned be.

“For here may I no lenger now abide, I must follow the great company, That ye may see yonder before you ride.” And forth as I couth most humbly, I tooke my leve of her, as she gan hie, After them as fast as ever she might, And I drow homeward, for it was nigh night,

And put all that I had seene in writing, Under support of them that lust it to rede. O little booke, thou art so unconning, How darst thou put thy self in prees for drede? It is wonder that thou wexest not rede! Sith that thou wost full lite who shall behold Thy rude langage, full boistously unfold. GEOFFREY CHAUCER, 1328–1399.