To maken me a wicked wight" (quod she)
"Lo, he dissimuleth here in audience,
He stareth and wodeth in his advertence."
To whom Almachius said; "Unsely wretch,
Ne wost thou not how far my might may stretch?
"Han not our mighty princes to me yeven Ya bothe power and eke auctoritee
To maken folk to dien or to liven?
Why spekest thou so proudly than to me?"
"I ne speke nought but stedfastly," quod she,
"Not proudely, for I say, as for my side,
We haten dedly thilke vice of pride.
"And if thou drede not a soth for to here,
Than wol I shewe al openly by right,
That thou hast made a ful gret lesing here.
Thou saist, thy princes han thee yeven might
Both for to slee and for to quiken a wight,
Thou that ne maist but only lif bereve,
Thou hast non other power ne no leve.
"But thou maist sayn, thy princes han thee maked Ministre of deth; for if thou speke of mo, Thou liest; for thy power is ful naked." "Do way thy boldnesse," said Almachius tho, "And sacrifice to our goddes, er thou go. I recke not what wrong that thou me proffre, For I can suffre it as a philosophre.
"But thilke wronges may I not endure,
That thou spekest of our goddes here," quod he Cecile answerd; "O nice creature,
Thou saidest no word sin thou spake to me,
That I ne knew therwith thy nicetee,
And that thou were in every maner wise
A lewed officer, a vain justice.
"Ther lacketh nothing to thin utter eyen
That thou n'art blind; for thing that we seen alle
That is a ston, that men may wel espien,
That ilke ston a god thou wolt it calle.
I rede thee let thin hond upon it falle,
And tast it wel, and ston thou shalt it find,
Sin that thou seest not with thin eyen blind.
"It is a shame that the peple shal
So scornen thee, and laugh at thy folie:
For comunly men wot it wel over al,
That mighty God is in his Hevens hie;
And thise images, wel maist thou espie,
To thee ne to hemself may not profite,
For in effect they be not worth a mite."
Thise and swiche other wordes saide she,
And he wex wroth, and bade men should hire lede
Home til hire house, “and in hire hous” (quod he)
"Brenne hire right in a bath, with flames rede.”
And as he bade, right so was don the dede;
For in a bathe they gonne hire faste shetten,
And night and day gret fire they under betten.
The longe night, and eke a day also,
For all the fire, and eke the bathes hete,
She sate al cold, and felt of it no wo,
It made hire not a drope for to swete:
But in that bath hire lif she muste lete,
For he Almache, with a ful wicke entent,
To sleen hire in the bath his sonde sent.
Three strokes in the nekke he smote hire tho
The turmentour, but for no maner chance
He mighte not smite all hire nekke atwo:
And for ther was that time an ordinance
That no man shulde don man swiche penance,
The fourthe stroke to smiten, soft or sore,
This turmentour ne dorste do no more;
But half ded, with hire nekke ycorven ther
He left hire lie, and on his way is went.
The cristen folk, which that aboute hire were,
With shetes han the blood ful faire yhent:
Three dayes lived she in this turment,
And never cesed hem the faith to teche,
That she had fostred hem, she gan to preche.
And hem she yaf hire mebles and hire thing,
And to the pope Urban betoke hem tho,
And said; "I axed this of Heven king,
To have respit three dayes and no mo,
To recommend to you, or that I go,
Thise soules, lo, and that I might do werche
Here of min hous perpetuellich a cherche."
Seint Urban, with his dekenes prively
The body fette, and buried it by night
Among his other seintes honestly:
Hire hous the cherche of Seinte Cecile hight;
Seint Urban halowed it, as he wel might,
In which unto this day in noble wise
Men don to Crist and to his seinte servise.
CHANONES YEMANNES PROLOGUE.
WHAN that tolde was the lif of Seinte Cecile,
Er we had ridden fully five mile,
At Boughton under Blee us gan atake
A man, that clothed was in clothes blake,
And undernethe he wered a white surplis.
His hakeney, which that was al pomelee gris,
So swatte, that it wonder was to see,
It semed as he had priked miles three.
The horse eke that his Yeman rode upon,
So swatte, that unnethes might he gon.
About the peytrel stood the fome ful hie,
He was of fome as flecked as a pie.
A male tweifold on his croper lay,
It semed that he caried litel atray,
Al light for sommer rode this worthy man.
And in my herte wondren I began
What that he was, til that I understode,
How that his cloke was sowed to his hode;
For which whan I had long avised me,
I demed him some chanon for to be.
His hat heng at his back doun by a las,
For he had ridden more than trot or pas,
He had ay priked like as he were wode.
A clote-lefe he had laid under his hode
For swete, and for to kepe his hed fro hete.
But it was joye for to seen him swete;
His forehed dropped, as a stillatorie
Were ful of plaintaine or of paritorie.
And whan that he was come, he gan to crie,
"God save" (quod he) "this joly compagnie.
Fast have I priked" (quod he) "for your sake,
Because that I wolde you atake,
To riden in this mery compagnie."
His Yeman was eke ful of curtesie,
And saide; "Sires, now in the morwe tide
Out of your hostelrie I saw you ride,
And warned here my lord and soverain,
Which that to riden with you is ful fain,
For his disport; he loveth daliance."
"Frend, for thy warning God yeve thee good chance,"
Than said our Hoste; "certain it wolde seme
Thy lord were wise, and so
may wel deme; He is ful joconde also dare I leye:
Can he ought tell a mery tale or tweie,
With which he gladen may this compagnie ?" "Who, sire? my lord? Ye, sire, withouten lie,
He can of mirth and eke of jolitee
Not but ynough; also, sire, trusteth me,
And ye him knew al so wel as do I,
Ye wolden wondre how wel and craftily
He coude werke, and that in sondry wise.
He hath take on him many a gret emprise,
Which were ful harde for any that is here
To bring about, but they of him it lere.
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