Legend of Good Women Read Online

Legend of Philomene

Incipit legenda Philomene.

Deus dator formarum.

Thow yiver of the formes that hast wroght

The faire worlde, and bare hit in thy thoght

Eternally, or thow thy werk began,

Why madest thow, unto the sklaundre of man,

Or – al be that hit was not thy doynge,

As for that fyn to make such a thynge –

Why suffrest thow that Tereus was bore,

That is in love so fals and so forswore,

That fro thys world up to the firste hevene

Corrumpeth whan that folk his name nevene?

And, as to me, so grisly was his dede

That whan that I his foule story rede,

Myn eyen wexen foule and sore also –

Yet laste the venym of so longe ago,

That hit infecteth him that wol beholde

The story of Tereus, of which I tolde.

Of Trase was he lorde, and kynne to Marte,

The cruelle god that stant with blody darte,

And wedded had he with a blisful chere

Kyng Pandyones faire doghter dere,

That hyghte Proygne, floure of hir contree,

Thogh Juno list nat at the feste bee,

Ne Ymeneus, that god of weddyng is;

But at the feste redy ben, ywis,

The furies thre with al her mortel brond.

The owle al nyght about the balkes wond,

That prophet is of woo and of myschaunce.

This revel, ful of songe and ful of daunce,

Laste a fourtenyght, or lytel lasse.

But shortly of this story for to passe –

For I am wery of him for to telle –

Fyve yere his wyf and he togedir dwelle,

Til on a day she gan so sore longe

To seen her suster that she saugh nat longe,

That for desire she nyste what to sey.

But to hir husbond gan she for to prey,

For Goddys love, that she moste ones goon

Hir suster for to seen, and come anoon,

Or elles but she moste to hir wende,

She preyde him that he wolde after hir sende;

And this was, day be day, al hir prayere

With al humblesse of wyfhod, worde and chere.

This Tereus let make his shippes yare,

And into Grece himself is forth yfare

Unto his fader-in-lawe, and gan him prey

To vouchesauf that for a moneth or twey,

That Philomene, his wyfes suster, myght

On Proigne his wyf but ones have a syght –

»And she shal come to yow agayne anoon.

Myself with hir I wil bothe come and goon,

And as myn hertes lyf I wol hir kepe.«

This olde Pandeon, this kyng, gan wepe

For tendernesse of herte for to leve

His doghter goon, and for to yive hir leve.

Of al this world he loved nothing soo.

But at the laste leve hath she to goo,

For Philomene with salte teres eke

Gan of her fader grace to beseke

To seen her suster that hir longeth soo,

And him enbraceth with hir armes twoo.

And therwithal, so yong and fair was she

That whan that Tereus sawgh hir beautee,

And of array that ther was noon hir lyche,

And yet of bountee was she two so ryche,

He caste his firy herte upon hir soo

That he wol have hir, how soo that hit goo,

And with his wiles kneled and so preyde,

Til at the laste Pandeon thus seyde,

»Now, sone,« quod he, »that art to me so dere,

I the betake my yonge doghter here,

That bereth the key of al my hertes lyf.

And grete wel my doghter and thy wyf,

And yeve hir leve somtyme for to pleye,

That she may seen me oones or I deye.«

And sothly, he hath made him ryche feste,

And to his folk, the moste and eke the leste,

That with him com; and yaf him yiftes grete,

And him conveyeth thurgh the maister-strete

Of Athenes, and to the see him broghte,

And turneth home – no malice he ne thoghte.

The ores pulleth forth the vessel faste,

And into Trace arryveth at the laste,

And up into a forest he hir ledde,

And into a cave pryvyly him spedde;

And in this derke cave, yif hir leste,

Or leste noght, he bad hir for to reste;

Of which hir hert agrose, and seyde thus,

»Wher is my suster, brother Tereus?«

And therwithal she wepte tenderly,

And quoke for fere, pale and pitously,

Ryght as the lamb that of the wolf is byten,

Or as the colver that of the egle is smyten,

And is out of his clawes forth escaped,

Yet hit is aferde and awhaped

Lest hit be hent eft-sones, so sat she.

But utterly hit may non other be:

By force hath he, this traytour, done that dede,

That he hath reft hir of hir maydenhede,

Maugree hir hede, by strengthe and by his myght.

Loo, here a dede of men, and that a ryght!

She crieth »Suster!« with ful loude stevene,

And »Fader dere!« and »Help me, God in Hevene!«

Al helpeth nat; and yet this false thefe

Hath doon this lady get a more myschefe,

For fere lest she sholde his shame crye,

And done him openly a vilanye,

And with his swerd hir tonge of kerveth he,

And in a castel made hir for to be

Ful privily in prison evermore,

And kept hir to his usage and to his store,

So that she myghte him nevermore asterte.

O sely Philomene, woo is in thyn herte;

God wreke the, and send the thy bone!

Now is hit tyme I make an ende sone.

This Tereus is to his wyf ycome,

And in his armes hath his wyf ynome,

And pitously he wepe, and shook his hede,

And swor hir that he fond hir suster dede,

For which the sely Proigne hath suche woo

That nygh hir sorwful herte brak atwoo.

And thus in teres lat I Proigne dwelle,

And of hir suster forth I wol yow telle.

This woful lady ylerned had in yowthe

So that she werken and enbrowden cowthe,

And weven in her stole the radevore

As hit of wymen hath be woved yore.

And, shortly for to seyn, she hath hir fille

Of mete and drynke, of clothing at hir wille,

And koude eke rede wel ynogh and endyte,

But with a penne koude she nat wryte;

But lettres kan she weven to and froo,

So that by that the yere was agoo

She had ywoven in a stamen large

How she was broght from Athenes in a barge,

And in a cave how that she was broght;

And al the thing that Tereus hath wroght,

She wave hit wel, and wrote the story above,

How she was served for hir suster love.

And to a knave a ryng she yaf anoon,

And prayed him, by sygnes, for to goon

Unto the queene, and beren hir that clothe,

And by sygne sworne many an othe

She shulde him yeve what she geten myghte.

This knave anoon unto the queene him dyght,

And toke hit hir, and al the maner tolde.

And whan that Proigne hath this thing beholde,

No word she spak, for sorwe and eke for rage,

But feyned hir to goon a pilgrimage

To Bachus temple, and in a lytel stounde

Hir dombe suster sytting hath she founde,

Weping in the castel hirself aloon.

Allas, the woo, the compleint, and the moon

That Proigne upon hir dombe suster maketh!

In armes everych of hem other taketh,

And thus I lat hem in her sorwe duelle.

The remenant is no charge for to telle,

For this is al and somme, thus was she served

That never harm agylte ne deserved

Unto this cruelle man that she of wyste.

Ye may bewar of men, yif that yow lyste.

For al be that he wol nat, for his shame,

Doon so as Tereus, to lese his name,

Ne serve yow as a morderere or a knave,

Ful lytel while shul ye trewe hem have.

That wol I seyn, al were he now my brother,

But hit so be that he may have non other.

Explicit legenda Philomene.

VIII. Legend of Phyllis

Incipit legenda Phillis.

By preve as wel as by auctoritee,

That wikked frute cometh of a wikked tree,

That may ye fynde, if that hit lyketh yow.

But for this ende I speke this as now,

To telle you of fals Demophon.

In love a falser herde I never non,

But if hit were his fader Theseus.

God, for his grace, fro suche oon kepe us –

Thus may these wymen prayen that hit here.

Now to th'effect turne I of my matere.

Destroyed is of Troye the citee.

This Demophon come sayling in the see

Towarde Athenes, to his paleys large.

With him come many a shippe and many a barge

Ful of his folk, of which ful many oon

Is wounded sore, and seke, and woo begoon,

And they han at the sege longe ylayne.

Behynde come a wynde and eke a rayne

That shofe so sore his saylle might not stonde.

Him were lever than al the world alonde,

So hunteth him the tempest to and fro.

So derk hit was, he kouth nowher go,

And with a wawe brosten was his stere.

His shippe was rent so lowe in suche manere

That carpenter ne koude hit nat amende.

The see by nyght as any torche brende

For wode, and posseth him now up now doun,

Till Neptunius hath of him compassyoun –

And Thetis, Chorus, Triton, and they alle –

And maden him upon a lond to falle

Wherof that Phillis lady was and quene,

Ligurgus doghter, fayrer on to sene

Than is the flour ageyn the bryghte sonne.

Unnethe is Demophon to londe ywonne,

Wayk and eke wery, and his folk forpyned

Of werynesse, and also enfamyned,

And to the dethe he was almost ydreven.

His wise folk to conseyl han him yeven

To seken help and socour of the quene,

And loken what his grace myghte bene,

And maken in that lond somme chevissaunce

To kepen him fro woo and fro myschaunce.

For seke he was, and almost at the dethe;

Unneth myghte he speke or drawe brethe;

And lyeth in Rodopeya him for to reste.

Whan he may walke, him thought hit was the beste

Unto the court to seken for socour.

Men knewe him wel, and diden him honour,

For at Athenes duke and lord was he,

As Theseus his fader hadde ybe,

That in his tyme was of grete renoun,

No man so grete in al his regyoun,

And lyk his fader of face and of stature –

And fals of love. Hit came him of nature

As dooth the fox Renard, the foxes sone.

Of kynde he koude his olde fadres wone

Withoute lore, as kan a drake swimme

Whan hit is kaught and caried to the brymme.

This honourable Phillis doth him chere,

Hir lyketh wel his porte and his manere –

But for I am agroted here beforne

To write of hem that in love ben forsworne,

And eke to haste me in my legende,

Which to performe God me grace sende,

Therfore I passe shortly in this wyse:

Ye han wel herd of Theseus devyse

In the betraysing of fair Adriane,

That of hir pite kepte him fro his bane.

At shorte wordes, ryght so Demophon

The same wey, the same path hath gon

That did his false fader Theseus.

For unto Phillis hath he sworne thus,

To wedden hir, and hir his trouthe plyght,

And piked of hir al the good he myght,

Whan he was hole and sound and had his reste,

And doth with Phillis whatso that him leste.

And wel kouth I, yif that me lest soo,

Tellen al his doing to and froo.

He sayde to his contree moste hym saylle

For ther he wolde hir wedding apparayle

As fille to hir honour and his also.

And openly he took his leve tho,

And to hir sworne he wolde nat sojourne,

But in a moneth he wolde ageyn retourne.

And in that lond let make his ordynaunce

As verray lord, and toke the obeisaunce

Wel and homely, and let his shippes dyght,

And home he gooth the nexte wey he myght.

But unto Phillis yet ne come he noght,

And that hath she so harde and sore yboght,

Allas, that, as the storye us recorde,

She was hir owne dethe ryght with a corde,

Whan that she segh that Demophon hir trayed.

But to him first she wrote and faste him prayed

He wolde come and delyver hir of peyne,

As I reherse shal oo word or tweyne.

Me lyste nat vouchesauf on him to swynke,

Dispenden on him a penne ful of ynke,

For fals in love was he, ryght as his syre –

The devel set her soules both on fire!

But of the letter of Phillis wol I wryte

A word or tweyne, althogh hit be but lyte.

»Thyn hostesse,« quod she, »O Demophon,

Thi Phillis, which that is so woobegon,

Of Rodopeye, upon yow mot compleyne

Over the terme sette betwix us tweyne,

That ye ne holden forward, as ye seyde.

Your anker, which ye in oure haven leyde,

Hyghte us that ye wolde comen, out of doute,

Or that the mone ones went aboute.

But tymes foure the mone hath hid hir face

Syn thylke day ye wente fro this place,

And foure tymes lyght the world ageyn.

But for al that, yif I shal soothly seyn,

Yet hath the streme of Sitho nat ybroght

From Athenes the shippe; yet cometh hit noght.

And yif that ye the terme rekne wolde,

As I or other trewe lovers sholde,

I pleyne nat, God wot, beforn my day.«

But al hir letter writen I ne may

By ordre, for hit were to me a charge.

Hir letter was ryght long and therto large.

But here and there in ryme I have hit layde,

Ther as me thoghte that she wel hath sayde.

She seyde, »Thy saylles comen nat ageyn,

Ne to thy word ther nys no fey certeyn;

But I wot why ye come nat,« quod she,

»For I was of my love to yow so fre.

And of the goddes that ye han forswore,

Yf that her vengeaunce fal on yow therfore,

Ye be nat suffisaunt to bere the peyne.

To moche trusted I, wel may I pleyne,

Upon youre lynage and youre faire tonge,

And on youre teres falsly out ywronge.

How kouth ye wepe soo be craft?« quod she.

»May ther suche teres feyned be?

Now certes, yif ye wolde have in memorye,

Hit oghte be to yow but lytel glorye

To have a sely mayde thus betrayed!

To God,« quod she, »prey I, and ofte have prayed,

That hit be now the grettest prise of alle,

And moste honour that ever yow shal befalle.

And when thyn olde auncestres peynted be,

In which men may her worthynesse se,

Than, pray I God, thow peynted be also,

That folk may reden, forthby as they go,

›Lo, this is he, that with his flaterye

Betrayed hath and doon her vilanye

That was his trewe love in thoghte and dede.‹

But sothely, of oo poynt yet may they rede,

That ye ben lyke youre fader as in this,

For he begiled Adriane, ywis,

With suche an art and suche soteltee

As thou thyselven hast begiled me.

As in that poynt, althogh hit be nat fayr,

Thou folwest him, certeyn, and art his eyr.

But syn thus synfully ye me begile,

My body mote ye seen within a while

Ryght in the haven of Athenes fletinge,

Withouten sepulture and buryinge,

Thogh ye ben harder then is any ston!«

And whan this letter was forth sent anon,

And knew how brotel and how fals he was,

She for dispeyr fordide hirself, allas.

Suche sorowe hath she for she beset hir so.

Bewar, ye wymmen, of your sotil fo,

Syn yet this day men may ensample se –

And, as in love, trust no man but me.

Explicit legenda Phillis.

IX. Legend of Hypermnestra

Incipit legenda Ypermystre.

In Grece whilom weren brethren two

Of whiche that oon was called Danao,

That many a sone hath of his body wonne,

As suche false lovers ofte konne.

Among his sones alle ther was oon

That aldermost he loved of everychon.

And whan this child was born, this Danao

Shope him a name, and called him Lyno.

That other brother called was Egiste,

That was in love as fals as ever him lyste,

And many a doghtre gat he in his lyve,

Of which he gat upon his righte wyve

A doghter dere, and dide hir for to calle

Ypermystra, yongest of hem alle.

The whiche childe of hir natyvite

To al good thewes born was she,

As lyked to the goddes or she was borne

That of the shefe she shulde be the corne.

The Wirdes, that we clepen Destanee,

Hath shapen hir that she most nedes be

Pitouse, sadde, wise, trewe as stele,

And to this woman hit acordeth wele.

For though that Venus yaf hir grete beaute,

With Jupiter compouned so was she

That conscience, trouthe, and drede of shame,

And of her wyfehod for to kepe hir name,

This thoghte hir was felicite as here.

And rede Mars was that tyme of the yere

So feble that his malice is him rafte;

Repressed hath Venus his cruelle crafte.

What with Venus and other oppressyoun

Of houses, Mars his venym is adoun

That Ypermystra dar nat handel a knyf

In malyce thogh she shulde lese hir lyf.

But natheles, as heven gan thoo turne,

To badde aspectes hath she of Saturne,

That maked her to deyen in prisoun,

As I shal after make mencioun.

To Danao and Egistes also –

Althogh so be that they were brethren two,

For thilke tyme nas spared no lynage –

Hit lyketh hem to maken mariage

Betwix Ypermystra and him Lyno,

And casten suche a day hit shal be so.

And ful acorded was hit uttirly:

The array is wroght, the tyme is faste by.

And thus Lyno hath of his fadres brother

The doghter wedded, and eche of hem hath other.

The torches brennen and the lampes bryght,

The sacrifices ben ful redy dyght,

Th'encence out of the fire reketh sote,

The flour, the lefe is rent up by the rote

To maken garlands and corounes hye,

Ful is the place of soun of mynstralcye,

Of songes amorouse of mariage,

As thilke tyme was the pleyn usage.

And this was in the paleys of Egiste,

That in his hous was lord ryght as him liste.

And thus the day they dreven to an ende;

The frendes taken leve, and home they wende.

The nyght is comen, the bride shal go to bed.

Egiste to his chambre fast him sped,

And prively he let his doghter calle.

Whan that the hous was voyded of hem alle,

He loked on his doghter with glad chere,

And to hir spak as ye shal after here.

»My righte doghter, tresour of myn hert,

Syn first that day that shapen was my shert,

Or by the fatal sustren hadde my dom,

So ny myn herte never thing me com

As thou, myn Ypermystra, doghter dere!

Tak heed what I thy fader sey thee here,

And wirk aftir thy wiser evermoo.

For alderfirste doghter, I love thee soo

That al the world to me nys halfe so lefe,

Ne I nolde rede the to thy myschefe

For al the goode under the colde moone.

And what I mene, hit shal be seyd ryght soone,

With protestacioun, as in this wyse,

That but thou do as I shal the devyse,

Thou shalt be ded, by Him that al hath wrought!

At shorte wordes, thow nescapest nought

Out of my paleys or that thou be deed,

But thou consente and werke after my rede –

Tak this to the for ful conclusioun.«

This Ypermystra caste hir eyen doun,

And quoke as dooth the lefe of aspe grene.

Ded wex hir hewe, and lyk as ash to sene,

And seyde, »Lord and fader, al your wille

After my myght, God wot, I shal fulfille,

So hit to me be no confusioun.«

»I nyl,« quod he, »have noon excepcioun.«

And out he kaughte a knyf, as rasour kene,

»Hyd this,« quod he, »that hit be nat ysene,

And whan thyn housbond is to bed ygo,

While that he slepeth, kut his throte atwo.

For in my dremes hit is warned me

How that my nevywe shal my bane be,

But which I not, wherfor I wol be siker.

Yif thou sey nay, we two shal have a biker

As I have seyd, by Him that I have sworn.«

This Ypermystra hath nygh hir wytte forlorn,

And for to passen harmelesse of that place,

She graunted him; ther was noon other grace.

And therwythal a costrel taketh he tho

And seyde, »Herof a draught or two

Yif him to drynke whan he gooth to reste,

And he shal slepe as longe as ever the leste,

The narcotiks and opies been so stronge.

And goo thy wey, lest that him thynke longe.«

Out cometh the bride and with ful sobre chere,

As is of maydens ofte the manere.

To chambre is brought with revel and with songe,

And shortly, lest this tale be to longe,

This Lyno and she ben broght to bedde,

And every wight out at the dore him spedde.

The nyght is wasted, and he felle aslepe.

Ful tenderly begynneth she to wepe.

She rist her up, and dredefully she quaketh,

As doth the braunche that Zephirus shaketh,

And husht were al in Argon that citee.

As colde as any frost now wexeth she,

For pite by the herte hir streyneth so,

And drede of deth doth hir so moche woo,

That thries doun she fel in swich a were.

She ryst hir up and stakereth here and there,

And on hir handes faste loketh she.

»Allas, and shal myn handes blody be?

I am a mayd, and as by my nature,

And by my semblant, and by my vesture,

Myn handes ben nat shapen for a knyf,

As for to reve no man fro his lyf.

What devel have I with the knyf to do?

And shal I have my throte korve atwo?

Than shal I blede, allas, and me beshende.

And nedes cost this thing not have an ende;

Or he or I mot nedes lese oure lyf.

Now certes,« quod she, »syn I am his wyf,

And hath my feyth, yet is hit bet for me

For to be ded in wyfly honeste

Than be a traytour lyving in my shame.

Be as be may, for erneste or for game,

He shal awake and ryse and go his way

Out at this goter or that hit be day!« –

And wept ful tenderly upon his face,

And in hir armes gan him to embrace,

And him she roggeth and awaketh softe.

And at the window lepe he fro the lofte

Whan she hath warned him, and doon him bote.

This Lyno swyfte was, and lyght of fote,

And from his wyf he ran a ful good pas.

This sely woman is so wayk, allas,

And helples so that or that she fer went,

Her crwel fader did hir for to hent.

Allas, Lyno, why art thou so unkynde?

Why ne haddest thou remembred in thy mynde

And taken hir, and ledde hir forth with the?

For whan she saw that goon awey was he,

And that she myghte nat so faste go,

Ne folwen him, she sate her doun ryght tho,

Til she was kaught and fetered in prisoun.

This tale is seid for this conclusion.