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A full comely creature, truth she hight,

For the virtue that her followed afeard was she never.
When these maidens mette, Mercy and Truth,
Either axed other of this great wonder,

Of the din and of the darkness, &c.

[Covetousness is thus personified.]

And then came Covetise, can I him not descrive,
So hungrily and hollow Sir Hervey him looked;
He was beetle-browed, and babberlipped also,
With two bleared een as a blind hag,

And as a leathern purse lolled his cheeks,

Well syder than his chin,' they shriveled for eld:
And as a bondman of his bacon his beard was be-
drivelled,2

With an hood on his head and a lousy hat above.
And in a tawny tabard of twelve winter age,

Al so-torn and baudy, and full of lice creeping;
But if that a louse could have loupen the better,
She should not have walked on the welt, it was so
threadbare.

[The existing condition of the religious orders is delineated in the following allegorical fashion. It might be supposed that the final lines, in which the Reformation is predicted, was an interpolation after that event; but this has been ascertained not to have been the case.]

Ac now is Religion a rider, a roamer about,
A leader of lovedays,3 and a lond-buyer,
A pricker on a palfrey from manor to manor.

An heap of hounds [behind him] as he a lord were:
And but if his knave4 kneel that shall his cope bring,
He loured on him, and asketh him who taught him
courtesy ?

Little had lords to done to give lond from her heirs
To religious, that have no ruth though it rain on her
altars.

In many places there they be parsons by hemself at

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tractions which followed, and the paucity of any striking poetical genius for at least a century and a half after his death, too truly exemplify the fine simile of Warton, that Chaucer was like a genial day in an English spring, when a brilliant sun enlivens the face of nature with unusual warmth and lustre, but is succeeded by the redoubled horrors of winter, and those tender buds and early blossoms which were called forth by the transient gleam of a temporary sunshine, are nipped by frosts and torn by tempests.'

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Chaucer was a man of the world as well as a

student; a soldier and courtier, employed in public affairs of delicacy and importance, and equally acquainted with the splendour of the warlike and magnificent reign of Edward III., and with the bitter reverses of fortune which accompanied the subsequent troubles and convulsions. He had partaken freely in all; and was peculiarly qualified to excel in that department of literature which alone can be universally popular, the portraiture of real life and genuine emotion. His genius was not, indeed, fully developed till he was advanced in years. His early pieces have much of the frigid conceit and pedantry of his age, when the passion of love was erected into a sort of court, governed by statutes, and a system of chivalrous mythology (such as the poetical worship of the rose and the daisy) supplanted the stateliness of the old romance. In time he threw off these conceits

When about sixty, in the calm evening of a busy

He stoop'd to truth, and moralised his song.

With these imperfect models as his only native guides, arose our first great author, GEOFFREY CHAUCER, distinctively known as the Father of English poetry. Though our language had risen into importance with the rise of the Commons in the time of Edward I., the French long kept possession of the court and higher circles, and it required a genius like that of Chaucer-familiar with different modes of life both at home and abroad, and openly patronised by his sovereign-to give literary permanence and consistency to the language and poetry of Eng-life, he composed his Canterbury Tales, simple and land. Henceforward his native style, which Spenser varied as nature itself, imbued with the results terms the pure well of English undefiled,' formed of extensive experience and close observation, and a standard of composition, though the national dis- coloured with the genial lights of a happy temperament, that had looked on the world without austerity, and passed through its changing scenes without losing the freshness and vivacity of youthful feeling and imagination. The poet tells us himself (in his Testament of Love) that he was born in London, and the year 1328 is assigned, by the only authority we possess on the subject, namely, the inscription on his tomb, as the date of his birth. One of his poems

1 Hanging wider than his chin.

2 As the mouth of a bondman or rural labourer is with the bacon he eats, so was his beard beslabbered-an image still

familiar in England.

3 Loveday is a day appointed for the amicable settlement of

differences.

A male servant.

5 Nuns.

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And right anon as I the day espied,
No longer would I in my bed abide,
I went forth myself alone and boldely,
And held the way down by a brook side,
Till I came to a land of white and green,
So fair a one had I never in been.
The ground was green y-powdered with daisy,
The flowers and the groves alike high,

All green and white was nothing else seen.

is signed Philogenet of Cambridge, Clerk,' and hence he is supposed to have attended the University there; but Warton and other Oxonians claim him for the rival university. It is certain that he accompanied the army with which Edward III. invaded France, and was made prisoner about the year 1359, at the siege of Retters. At this time the poet was honoured with the steady and effective patronage of John of Gaunt, whose marriage with Blanche, heiress of Lancaster, he commemorates in his poem of the Dream. Chaucer and 'time-honoured Gaunt' became closely connected. The former married Philippa Pyckard, or De Rouet, daughter of a knight of Hainault, and maid of honour to the queen, and a sister of this lady, Catherine Swinford (widow of Sir John Swinford) became the mistress, and ulti-lend poetic and historical interest to the spot. The mately the wife, of John of Gaunt. The fortunes of the poet rose and fell with those of the prince, his patron. In 1367, he received from the crown a grant of twenty marks, equal to about £200 of our present money. In 1372, he was a joint envoy on a mission to the Duke of Genoa; and it has been conjectured that on this occasion he made a tour of the northern states of Italy, and visited Petrarch at Padua. The only proof of this, however, is a casual allusion in the Canterbury Tales, where the clerk of Oxford says of his tale

Learned at Padua of a worthy clerk-
Francis Petrarch, the laureat poet,
Hight this clerk, whose rhetoric sweet
Enlumined all Italy of poetry.

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The destruction of the Royal Manor at Woodstock, and the subsequent erection of Blenheim, have changed the appearance of this classic ground; but the poet's morning walk may still be traced, and some venerable oaks that may have waved ever him, opening of the reign of Richard II. was unpropitious to Chaucer. He became involved in the civil and religious troubles of the times, and joined with the party of John of Northampton, who was attached to the doctrines of Wickliffe, in resisting the measures of the court. The poet fled to Hainault (the country of his wife's relations), and afterwards to Holland. He ventured to return in 1386, but was thrown into the Tower, and deprived of his comptrollership. In May 1388, he obtained leave to dispose of his two patents of twenty marks each; a measure prompted, no doubt, by necessity. He obtained his release by impeaching his previous associates, and confessing to his misdemeanours, offering also to prove the truth of his information by entering the lists of combat with the accused parties. The tale thus learned is the pathetic story of Patient How far this transaction involves the character of Grisilde, which, in fact, was written by Boccaccio, the poet, we cannot now ascertain. He has painted and only translated into Latin by Petrarch. Why,' his suffering and distress, the odium which he inasks Mr Godwin, did Chaucer choose to confess curred, and his indignation at the bad conduct of his his obligation for it to Petrarch rather than to Boc- former confederates, in powerful and affecting lancaccio, from whose volume Petrarch confessedly guage in his prose work, the Testament of Love. The translated it? For this very natural reason-be- sunshine of royal favour was not long withheld after cause he was eager to commemorate his interview this humiliating submission. In 1389, Chaucer is with this venerable patriarch of Italian letters, and registered as clerk of the works at Westminster; to record the pleasure he had reaped from his society.' and next year he was appointed to the same office at We fear this is mere special pleading; but it would Windsor. These were only temporary situations, be a pity that so pleasing an illusion should be dis- held about twenty months; but he afterwards repelled. Whether or not the two poets ever met, the ceived a grant of £20, and a tun of wine, per anItalian journey of Chaucer, and the fame of Petrarch, num. The name of the poet does not occur again must have kindled his poetical ambition and refined for some years, and he is supposed to have retired his taste. The Divine Comedy of Dante had shed a to Woodstock, and there composed his Canterbury glory over the literature of Italy; Petrarch received Tales. In 1398, a patent of protection was granted his crown of laurel in the Capitol of Rome only five to him by the crown; but, from the terms of the years before Chaucer first appeared as a poet (his deed, it is difficult to say whether it is an amnesty Court of Love was written about the year 1346); and for political offences, or a safeguard from creditors. Boccaccio (more poetical in his prose than his verse) In the following year, still brighter prospects opened had composed that inimitable century of tales, his on the aged poet. Henry of Bolingbroke, the son Decameron, in which the charms of romance are of his brother-in-law, John of Gaunt, ascended the clothed in all the pure and sparkling graces of com- throne: Chaucer's annuity was continued, and forty position. These illustrious examples must have in-marks additional were granted. Thomas Chaucer, spired the English traveller; but the rude northern speech with which he had to deal, formed a chilling contrast to the musical language of Italy!, Edward III. continued his patronage to the poet. He was made comptroller of the customs of wine and wool in the port of London, and had a pitcher of wine daily from the royal table, which was afterwards commuted into a pension of twenty marks. He was appointed a joint envoy to France to treat of a marriage between the Prince of Wales and Mary, the daughter of the French king. At home, he is supposed to have resided in a house granted by the king, near the royal manor at Woodstock, where, according to the description in his Dream, he was surrounded with every mark of luxury and distinc-The character of Chaucer may be seen in his tion. The scenery of Woodstock Park has been works. He was the counterpart of Shakspeare in described in the Dream with some graphic and pic- cheerfulness and benignity of disposition.-no enemy turesque touches :to mirth and joviality, yet delighting in his books,

whom Mr Godwin seems to prove to have been the poet's son, was made chief butler, and elected Speaker of the House of Commons. The last time that the poet's name occurs in any public document, is in a lease made to him by the abbot, prior and convent of Westminster, of a tenement situate in the garden of the chapel, at the yearly rent of 53s. 4d. This is dated on the 24th of December 1399; and on the 25th of October 1400, the poet died in London, most probably in the house he had just leased, which stood on the site of Henry VII.'s chapel. He was buried in Westminster Abbey-the first of that illustrious file of poets whose ashes rest in the sacred edifice.

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and studious in the midst of an active life. He was period of their sojourn; and we have thus a hundred an enemy to superstition and priestly abuse, but stories, lively, humorous, or tender, and full of chaplayful in his satire, with a keen sense of the ludi-racteristic painting in choice Italian. Chaucer seems crous, and the richest vein of comic narrative and to have copied this design, as well as part of the delineation of character. He retained through life Florentine's freedom and licentiousness of detail; a strong love of the country, and of its inspiring and but he greatly improved upon the plan. There is invigorating influences. No poet has dwelt more something repulsive and unnatural in a party of fondly on the charms of a spring or summer morn- ladies and gentlemen meeting to tell loose tales of ing; and the month of May seems to have been successful love and licentious monks while the plague always a carnival in his heart and fancy. His re- is desolating the country around them. The tales tirement at Woodstock, where he had indulged the of Chaucer have a more pleasing origin. A compoetical reveries of his youth, and where he was pany of pilgrims, consisting of twenty-nine sundry crowned with the latest treasures of his genius, was folk, meet together in fellowship at the Tabard Inn, exactly such an old age as could have been desired Southwark,* all being bent on a pilgrimage to the for the venerable founder of our national poetry. shrine of Thomas à Becket at Canterbury. These pilgrimages were scenes of much enjoyment, and even mirth; for, satisfied with thwarting the Evil One by the object of their mission, the devotees did not consider it necessary to preserve any religious

bold of his speech, and wise and well taught ') is appointed to be judge and reporter of the stories. The characters composing this social party are inimitably drawn and discriminated. We have a knight, a mirror of chivalry, who had fought against the Heathenesse in Palestine; his son, a gallant young squire with curled locks, laid in presse' and all manner of debonair accomplishments; a nun, or prioress, beautifully drawn in her arch simplicity and coy reserve; and a jolly monk, who boasted a dainty, well-caparisoned horse

And when he rode men might his bridle hear Gingling in a whistling wind as clear, And eke as loud as doth the chapel bell. *The house is supposed still to exist, or an inn built upon the site of it, from which the personages of the Canterbury Tales set out upon their pilgrimage. The sign has been converted by a confusion of speech from the Tabard-" a sleeveless coat worn in times past by noblemen in the wars," but now hound; and the following inscription is to be found on the only by heralds (Speght's Glossary)-to the Talbot, a species of spot:-"This is the inn where Geoffrey Chaucer and nine-andtwenty pilgrims lodged on their journey to Canterbury in 1383." The inscription is truly observed by Mr Tyrrwhit to be modern, and of little authority.'-Godwin's Life of Chaucer.

A wanton friar is also of the party-full of sly and solemn mirth, and well beloved for his accommodating disposition

Full sweetly heard he confession,

And pleasant was his absolution.

We have a Pardoner from Rome, with some sacred
relics (as part of the Virgin Mary's veil, and part of
the sail of St Peter's ship), and who is also brim-
ful of pardons come from Rome all hot.' In satirical
contrast to these merry and interested churchmen,
we have a poor parson of a town, rich in holy
thought and work,' and a clerk of Oxford, who was
skilled in logic-

Sounding in moral virtue was his speech,
And gladly would he learn and gladly teach.

ral objects and scenery, in Chaucer's clear and simple style. The tales of the miller and reve are coarse, but richly humorous. Dryden and Pope have honoured the Father of British verse by paraphrasing some of these popular productions, and stripping them equally of their antiquated style and the more gross of their expressions, but with the sacrifice of most that is characteristic in the elder bard. In a volume edited by Mr R. H. Horne, under the title of Chaucer Modernised, there are specimens of the poems altered with a much more tender regard to the original, and in some instances with considerable success; but the book by which ordinary readers of the present day, who are willing to take a little trouble, may best become acquainted with this great light of the fourteenth century, is one entitled the Riches of Chaucer, by C. C. Clarke (two volumes,

Yet, with all his learning, the clerk's coat was thread-1835), in which the best pieces are given, with only bare, and his horse was 'lean as is a rake.' Among the other dramatis personæ are, a doctor of physic, a great astronomer and student, whose study was but little on the Bible;' a purse-proud merchant; a sergeant of law, who was always busy, yet seemed busier than he was; and a jolly Franklin, or freeholder, who had been a lord of sessions, and was fond of good eating

the spelling modernised. An edition of the Can-
terbury Tales was published, with a learned commen-
tary, by Thomas Tyrwhitt, Esq. (5 vols. 1778).
The verse of Chaucer is, almost without excep-
tion, in ten-syllabled couplets, the verse in which
by far the largest portion of our poetry since that
time has been written, and which, as Mr Southey
has remarked, may be judged from that circum-
stance to be best adapted to the character of our
speech. The accentuation, by a license since aban-
doned, is different in many instances from that of
common speech: the poet, wherever it suits his con-
veniency, or his pleasure, makes accented syllables
short, and short syllables emphatic. This has been
not only a difficulty with ordinary readers, but a
subject of perplexity amongst commentators; but
the principle has latterly been concluded upon as of
the simple kind here stated. Another peculiarity
is the making silent e's at the end of words tell in
the metre, as in French lyrical poetry to this day:
for example-

ance of the same principle, a monosyllabic noun, as beam, becomes the dissyllable beames in the plural. When these peculiarities are carefully attended to, much of the difficulty of reading Chaucer, even in the original spelling, vanishes.

Withouten baked meat never was his house, Of fish and flesh, and that so plenteous; It snowed in his house of meat and drink. This character is a fine picture of the wealthy rural Englishman, and it shows how much of enjoyment and hospitality was even then associated with this station of life. The Wife of Bath is another lively national portrait: she is shrewd and witty, has abundant means, and is always first with her offering at church. Among the humbler characters are, a stout carl' of a miller, a reve or bailiff, and a sompnour or church apparitor, who summoned offenders before the archdeacon's court, but whose Full well she sangé the service divine. fire-red face and licentious habits contrast curiously with the nature of his duties. A shipman, cook, Here 'sangé' is two syllables, while service furhaberdasher, &c., make up the goodly company-nishes an example of a transposed accent. In pursuthe whole forming such a genuine Hogarthian picture, that we may exclaim, in the eloquent language of Campbell, 'What an intimate scene of English life in the fourteenth century do we enjoy in these tales, beyond what history displays by glimpses through the stormy atmosphere of her scenes, or the antiquary can discover by the cold light of his researches !' Chaucer's contemporaries and their successors were justly proud of this national work. Many copies existed in manuscript, and when the art of printing came to England, one of the first duties of Caxton's press was to issue an impression of those tales which first gave literary permanence and consistency to the language and poetry of England. All the pilgrims in the Canterbury Tales do not relate stories. Chaucer had not, like Boccaccio, finished his design; for he evidently intended to have given a second series on the return of the company from Canterbury, as well as an account of the transactions in the city when they reached the sacred shrine. The concluding supper at the Tabard, when the successful competitor was to be declared, would have afforded a rich display for the poet's peculiar humour. The parties who do not relate tales (as the poem has reached us) are the yeoman, the ploughman, and the five city mechanics. The squire's tale is the most chivalrous and romantic, and that of the clerk, containing the popular legend of Patient Grisilde, is deeply affecting for its pathos and simplicity. The Cock and the Fox,' related by the nun's priest, and January and May, the merchant's tale, have some minute painting of natu

In the extracts which follow, we present, first, a specimen in the original spelling; then various specimens in the reduced spelling adopted by Mr Clarke, but without his marks of accents and extra syllables, except in a few instances; and, finally, one specimen (the Good Parson), in which, by a few slight changes, the verse is accommodated to the present fashion.

[Select characters from the Canterbury Pilgrimage.]
A Knight ther was, and that a worthy man,
That fro the time that he first began
To riden out, he loved chevalrie,
Trouthe and honour, fredom and curtesie.
Ful worthy was he in his lordes werre;
And, therto, hadde he ridden, none more ferre,
As wel in Cristendom as in Hethenesse,
And ever honoured for his worthinesse.

Though that he was worthy he was wise;
And of his port, as meke as is a mayde:
He never yet no vilainie ne sayde,
In all his lif, unto no manere wight,
He was a veray parfit gentil knight.
But, for to tellen you of his araie,-
His hors was good, but he ne was not gaie.
Of fustian he wered a gipon!
Alle besinatred with his habergeon,

1 A short cassock.

15

For he was late ycome fro his viage, And wente for to don his pilgrimage.

With him, ther was his sone, a yonge Squier,
A lover, and a lusty bacheler;

With lockes crull as they were laide in presse.
Of twenty yere of age he was, I gesse.
Of his stature he was of even lengthe;
And wonderly deliver, and grete of strengthe,
And he hadde be, somtime, in chevachier
In Flaundres, in Artois, and in Picardie,
And borne him wel, as of so litel space,
In hope to standen in his ladies grace.

Embrouded was he, as it were a mede
All full of freshe floures, white and rede.
Singing he was, or floyting all the day:
He was as freshe as is the moneth of May.
Short was his goune, with sleves long and wide.
Wel coude he sitte on hors, and fayre ride,
He coude songes make, and wel endite ;

Juste and eke dance; and wel pourtraie and write :
So hote he loved, that by nightertale2
He slep no more than doth the nightingale :
Curteis he was, lowly and servisable;
And carf before his fader at the table.

A Yeman hadde he; and servantes no mo
At that time; for him luste to ride so:
And he was cladde in cote and hode of grene;
A shefe of peacock arwes bright and kene
Under his belt he bare ful thriftily;
Wel coude he dresse his takel yemanly:
His arwes drouped not with fetheres lowe,
And in his hand he bare a mighty bowe.
A not-hed3 hadde he with a broun visage,
Of wood-craft coude he wel alle the usage.
Upon his arme, he bare a gaie bracer;4
And by his side, a swerd and a bokeler;
And on that other side, a gaie daggere,
Harneised wel, and sharpe as point of spere:
A Cristofre on his brest of silver shene.
An horne he bare, the baudrik was of grene.
A forster was he, sothely, as I gesse.

Ther was also a Nonne, a Prioresse,
That of hire smiling was full simple and coy;
Hire gretest othe n'as but by Seint Eloy ;
And she was cleped 5 Madame Eglentine.
Ful wel she sange the service devine,
Entuned in hire nose ful swetely;
And Frenche she spake ful fayre and fetisly,
After the scole of Stratford atte Bowe,
For Frenche of Paris was to hire unknowe.
At mete was she wele ytaughte withalle;
She lette no morsel from her lippes falle,
Ne wette hire fingres in hire sauce depe.
Wel coude she carie a morsel, and wel kepe,
Thatte no drope ne fell upon hire brest.
In curtesie was sette ful moche hire lest.7
Hire over-lippe wiped she so clene,
That in hire cuppe was no ferthing sene
Of grese, whan she dronken hadde hire draught.
Ful semely after hire mete she raught.9
And sikerly she was of grete disport,
And ful plesant, and amiable of port,
And peined 10 hire to contrefeten 11 chere
Of court, and ben estatelich of manere,
And to ben holden diguel2 of reverence.

But for to speken of hire conscience,
She was so charitable and so pitous,
She wolde wepe if that she saw a mous
Caughte in a trappe, if it were ded or bledde.
Of smale houndes hadde she, that she fedde

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With rosted flesh, and milk, and wastel brede.
But sore wept she if on of hem were dede,
Or if men smote it with a yerdel smerte:2
And all was conscience and tendre herte.

Ful semely hire wimple ypinched was;
Hire nose tretis ;3 hire eyen grey as glas;
Hire mouth ful smale, and thereto soft and
red;

But sikerly she hadde a fayre forehed.
It was almost a spanne brode I trowe;
For hardily she was not undergrowe.4

Ful fetise5 was hire cloke, as I was ware.
Of smale corall aboute hire arm she bare
A pair of bedes, gauded all with grene;
And thereon heng a broche of gold ful shene,
On whiche was first ywriten a crouned A,
And after, Amor vincit omnia.
Another Nonne also with hire hadde she,
That was hire chapelleine, and Preestes thre.
A Monk ther was, a fayre for the maistrie,
An out-rider, that loved venerie;

A manly man, to ben an abbot able.
Ful many a deinte hors hadde he in stable;
And when he rode, men mighte his bridel here
Gingeling, in a whistling wind, as clere
And eke as loude as doth the chapell belle,
Ther as this lord was keper of the celle.

The reule of Seint Maure and of Seint Beneit,
Because that it was olde and somdele streit,
This ilke monk lette olde thinges pace,
And held after the newe world the trace.
He yave not of the text a pulled hen,
That saith that hunters ben not holy men;
Ne that a monk, whan he is rekkeles,
Is like to a fish that is waterles;
(This is to say, a monk out of his cloistre);
This ilke text he held not worth an oistre.
Therfore he was a prickasoure7 a right:
Greihoundes he hadde as swift as foul of flight:
Of pricking, and of hunting for the hare
Was all his lust; for no cost wolde he spare.
I saw his sleves purfiled at the hond
With gris, and that the finest of the lond,
And, for to fasten his hood, under his chinne
He hadde, of gold ywrought, a curious pinne,-
A love-knotte in the greter ende ther was.
His hed was balled, and shone as any glas,
And eke his face, as it hadde ben anoint.
He was a lord ful fat and in good point.
His eyen stepe, and rolling in his hed,
That stemed as a furneis of a led;
His bootes souple, his hors in gret estat;
Now certainly he was a fayre prelat.
He was not pale as a forpined gost.
A fat swan loved he best of any rost.
His palfrey was as broun as is a bery.

A Marchant was ther with a forked berd, In mottelee, and highc on hors he sat, And on his hed a Flaundrish bever hat, His bootes clapsed fayre and fetisly, His resons spake he ful solempnely, Souning alway the encrese of his winning. He wold the see were kept, for any thing, Betwixen Middleburgh and Orewell. Wel coud he in eschanges sheldes selle. This worthy man ful wel his wit besette; Ther wiste no wight that he was in dette, So stedfastly didde he in his governance, With his bargeines, and with his chevisance.10 Forsothe he was a worthy man withalle. But soth to sayn, I no't how men him calle.

1 Rod. * Smartly, adv. 5 Neat. 6 Hunting.

9 French crowns. money.

3 Straight. 4 Of low stature. 7 A hard rider. 8 Fur. 10 An agreement for borrowing

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