The Prologue

THIS WORTHY LIMITOUR,¹ THIS noble Friar,

He looked always with a sort of scowl

Upon the Summoner, but for politeness’ sake

No unpleasant words to him yet spoke he.

But at last he said unto the wife,

“Dame,” said he, “God give you right good life!

You have here touched upon, as I swear to thee,

Questions difficult for scholars worthy.

You have said many things right well, I say;

But dame, here as we ride right by the way,

We need not speak but in play,

And leave citing authorities, in God’s name,

To preaching and to schools of clergy.²

But if it is pleasing to this company,

I will you of a summoner tell a story.

By God, you may well know by the name

That of a summoner no good may be said;

I pray that none of you be displeased.

A summoner is a runner up and down

With summonses for fornication,

And is beaten at every town’s end.”

Our Host then spoke, “Ah, sir, you should be pleasant

And courteous, as a man of your estate;

In company we will have no debate.

Tell your tale, and let the Summoner be.”

“Nay,” said the Summoner, “let him say to me

What he wishes; when it comes to my lot,

By God, I shall get even to the last grot.

I shall tell him what a great honor

It is to be a flattering limitour,

And of many other crimes

That we need not mention at this time;

And I shall surely tell how he does his job.”

Our Host answered, “Peace, no more of this!”

And after this he seyde un-to the Frere,

“Tel forth your tale, leve maister deere.”

The Tale

Whilom ther was dwellinge in my contree

An erchedeken, a man of heigh degree,

That boldely dide execucioun

In punisshinge of fornicacioun,

Of wicchecraft, and eek of bauderye,

Of diffamacioun, and avoutrye,

Of chirche-reves, and of testaments,

Of contractes, and of lakke of sacraments,

And eek of many another maner cryme

Which nedeth nat rehercen at this tyme;

Of usure, and of symonye also.

But certes, lechours dide he grettest wo;

They sholde singen, if that they were hent;

And smale tytheres weren foule y-shent.

If any persone wolde up-on hem pleyne,

Ther mighte asterte him no pecunial peyne.

For smale tythes and for smal offringe

He made the peple pitously to singe.

For er the bisshop caughte hem with his hook,

They weren in the erchedeknes book.

Thanne hadde he, thurgh his jurisdiccioun,

Power to doon on hem correccioun.

He hadde a Somnour redy to his hond,

A slyer boy was noon in Engelond;

For subtilly he hadde his espiaille,

That taughte him, wher that him mighte availle.

He coude spare of lechours oon or two,

To techen him to foure and twenty mo.

For thogh this Somnour wood were as an hare,

To tell his harlotrye I wol nat spare;

For we been out of his correccioun;

They han of us no jurisdiccioun,

Ne never shullen, terme of alle hir lyves.

“Peter! so been the wommen of the styves,”

Quod the Somnour, “y-put out of my cure!”

And after this he said unto the Friar,

“Tell forth your tale, my master dear.”

The Tale

Once there was dwelling in my territory

An archdeacon, a man of high degree,³

Who boldly did execution

In punishing of fornication,

Of witchcraft, and also of solicitation,

Of defamation, and of embezzlement, and adultery,

And of violation of wills and contracts for marriage,

Of failure to observe the sacraments,

And also of many another crime

Which we need not rehearse at this time;

Of usury and of simony⁴ too.

But certainly, to lechers did he greatest woe;

They had to plead if they were seized;

And unpaid tithes⁵ and offerings were punished severely,

If any parson would of them complain.

They would escape no pecuniary pain.

For unpaid tithes and short offerings

He made the people piteously to beg,

For before the bishop caught them with his crook,

They were in the archdeacon’s book.

Then had he, through his jurisdiction,

Power to do on them correction.

He had a summoner ready to his hand;

A slyer boyo was none in England;

Full subtly he made use of a ring of spies,

Who let him know where profit might reside.

He could spare of lechers one or two,

To lead him to four and twenty more.

For though this Summoner may go mad as a March hare,

To tell his whoring I will not spare;

For we be exempt from his power.

They have over us no jurisdiction,

Nor ever shall, long as they live.

“By Saint Peter! so be women of the brothels,”

Said the Summoner, “put beyond our power!”

“Pees, with mischance and with misaventure,”

Thus seyde our host, “and lat him telle his tale.

Now telleth forth, thogh that the Somnour gale,

Ne spareth nat, myn owene maister dere.”

This false theef, this Somnour, quod the Frere,

Hadde alwey baudes redy to his hond,

As any hauk to lure in Engelond,

That tolde him al the secree that they knewe:

For hir acqueyntance was nat come of-newe.

They weren hise approwours prively;

He took him-self a greet profit therby;

His maister knew nat alwey what he wan.

With-outen mandement, a lewed man

He coude somne, on peyne of Cristes curs,

And they were gladde for to fille his purs,

And make him grete festes atte nale.

And right as Judas hadde purses smale,

And was a theef, right swich a theef was he;

His maister hadde but half his duëtee.

He was, if I shal yeven him his laude,

A theef, and eek a Somnour, and a baude.

He hadde eek wenches at his retenue,

That, whether that sir Robert or sir Huwe,

Or Jakke, or Rauf, or who-so that it were,

That lay by hem, they tolde it in his ere;

Thus was the wenche and he of oon assent.

And he wolde fecche a feyned mandement,

And somne hem to the chapitre bothe two,

And pile the man, and lete the wenche go.

Thanne wolde he seye, “frend, I shal for thy sake

Do stryken hir out of our lettres blake;

Thee thar na-more as in this cas travaille;

I am thy freend, ther I thee may availle.”

Certeyn he knew of bryberyes mo

Than possible is to telle in yeres two.

For in this world nis dogge for the bowe,

That can an hurt deer from an hool y-knowe,

Bet than this Somnour knew a sly lechour,

Or an avouter, or a paramour.

“Peace! for you mischance and misadventure!”

Thus said our Host, “and let him tell his tale,

Now tell forth, though the Summoner blows a gale;

Nothing spare, my own master dear!”

This false thief, this summoner, said the Friar,

Had always pimps ready to his hand,

As any hawk to lure in England,

They told him all the secrets that they knew,

For their acquaintance did not come of new.

They were full secretly his agents.

He took himself thereby a great profit.

His master knew not ever what he took from it.

Without a true summons a lewd⁶ man

He could summon, on pain of Christ’s curse,

And they were glad to fill his purse

And make him great feasts at the alehouse.

And right as Judas he had small sums to him entrusted,

And was a thief, right such a thief was he;

His master received but half what was to him due.

He was, if I shall give him fair credit,

A thief, and a summoner, and a pimp.

He had also wenches in his service,

Who, whether sir Hugh or sir Robert,

Or Jack, or Ralph, or whoso it was

Who lay by them, they told it in his ear.

Thus were the wench and he in league,

And he would fetch a feigned summons,

And summon them to archdeacon’s court the two,

And rob the man, and let the wench go.

Then would he say, “Friend, I shall for your sake

Do strike her out of our letters black;

You thereby will no more be troubled by this case.

I am your friend, thereby I may you assist.”

Certainly he knew of briberies more

Than is possible to tell in years four.

For certainly there is no hunting hound

That a wounded deer from an unhurt deer can tell

Better than this summoner knew a sly lecher,

Or an adulterer, or a paramour.

And, for that was the fruit of al his rente,

Therfore on it he sette al his entente.

And so bifel, that ones on a day

This Somnour, ever waiting on his pray,

Rood for to somne a widwe, an old ribybe,

Feyninge a cause, for he wolde brybe.

And happed that he saugh bifore him ryde

A gay yeman, under a forest-syde.

A bowe he bar, and arwes brighte and kene;

He hadde up-on a courtepy of grene;

An hat up-on his heed with frenges blake.

“Sir,” quod this Somnour, “hayl! and wel-a-take!”

“Wel-come,” quod he, “and every good felawe!

Wher rydestow under this grene shawe?”

Seyde this yeman, “wiltow fer to day?”

This Somnour him answerde, and seyde, “nay;

Heer faste by,” quod he, “is myn entente

To ryden, for to reysen up a rente

That longeth to my lordes duëtee.”

“Artow thanne a bailly?” “Ye!” quod he.

He dorste nat, for verray filthe and shame,

Seye that he was a somnour, for the name.

“Depardieux,” quod this yeman, “dere brother,

Thou art a bailly, and I am another.

I am unknowen as in this contree;

Of thyn aqueyntance I wolde praye thee,

And eek of brotherhede, if that yow leste.

I have gold and silver in my cheste;

If that thee happe to comen in our shyre,

Al shal be thyn, right as thou wolt desyre.”

“Grantmercy,” quod this Somnour, “by my feith!”

Everich in otheres hand his trouthe leith,

For to be sworne bretheren til they deye.

In daliance they ryden forth hir weye.

This Somnour, which that was as ful of jangles,

As ful of venim been thise wariangles,

And ever enquering up-on every thing,

“Brother,” quod he, “where is now your dwelling,

Another day if that I sholde yow seche?”

And in that was the fruit of his rent,

Therefore on it was all his intent.

And so it befell that once upon a day

This summoner, ever waiting on his prey,

Rode for to summon an old widow, an old lady,

Feigning a charge, he would extort.

And it so happened that he saw before him

A gay yeoman, under a forest side.

A bow he bore, and arrows bright and keen;

He wore a jacket of green,⁷

And a hat upon his head with fringes black.

“Sire,” said this summoner, “hail, and well met!”

“Welcome,” said he, “and every good fellow!

Where ride you, under this forest greenwood?”

Said this yeoman. “Do you go far today?”

This summoner him answered and said, “Nay;

Here nearby,” said he, “is my intent

To ride, for to obtain a payment

That has long been due my lord.”

“Are you then a bailiff?” “Yes,” said he.

He dared not, for the shame and obliquy,

Say that he was a summoner, so bad was the name.

“Depardieux,”⁸ said this yeoman, “dear brother,

You are a bailiff, and I am another.

I am unknown in this country;

Your acquaintance I would pray make,

And also brotherhood, if you wish.

I have gold and silver in my chest;

If you happen to come in our shire,

All shall be yours, right as you desire.”

“Thank you,” said this summoner, “by my faith!”

And each the other’s hand he clasped,

To be sworn brothers till each breathed his last.

With pleasant talk they rode on their way.

This summoner, who was as full of gossip

As full of venom is a shrike,

And ever inquiring upon everything,

“Brother,” said he, “where is now your dwelling

Another day if I should you seek?”

This yeman him answerde in softe speche,

“Brother,” quod he, “fer in the north contree,

Wher, as I hope, som-tyme I shal thee see.

Er we departe, I shal thee so wel wisse,

That of myn hous ne shaltow never misse.”

“Now, brother,” quod this Somnour, “I yow preye,

Teche me, whyl that we ryden by the weye,

Sin that ye been a baillif as am I,

Som subtiltee, and tel me feithfully

In myn offyce how I may most winne;

And sparet nat for conscience ne sinne,

But as my brother tel me, how do ye?”

“Now, by my trouthe, brother dere,” seyde he,

“As I shal tellen thee a feithful tale,

My wages been ful streite and ful smale.

My lord is hard to me and daungerous,

And myn offyce is ful laborous;

And therfore by extorcions I live.

For sothe, I take al that men wol me yive;

Algate, by sleyghte or by violence,

Fro yeer to yeer I winne al my dispence.

I can no bettre telle feithfully.”

“Now, certes,” quod this Somnour, “so fare I;

I spare nat to taken, god it woot,

But-if it be to hevy or to hoot.

What I may gete in counseil prively,

No maner conscience of that have I;

Nere myn extorcioun, I mighte nat liven,

Ne of swiche japes wol I nat be shriven.

Stomak ne conscience ne knowe I noon;

I shrewe thise shrifte-fadres everichoon.

Wel be we met, by god and by seint Jame!

But, leve brother, tel me than thy name,”

Quod this Somnour; and in this mene whyle,

This yeman gan a litel for to smyle.

“Brother,” quod he, “wiltow that I thee telle?

I am a feend, my dwelling is in helle.

And here I ryde about my purchasing,

To wite wher men wolde yeve me any thing.

This yeoman him answered in soft speech,

“Brother,” said he, “far in the north country⁹

Where I hope sometime I will you see.

Before we part, I shall to it so well you guide

That past my house you shall not ride.”

“Now, brother,” said this summoner, “I pray you,

Teach me, while that we ride by the way,

Since you be a bailiff as am I,

Some trick of the trade, and tell me faithfully

In my office how I may most gain;

And spare not for conscience or fear of sin,

But as my brother, tell me how you bring it in.”

“Now, by my troth, brother dear,” said he,

“As I shall tell you a true tale,

My wages be full strait and small.

My lord is hard to me and demanding,

And my office is full laborious,

And therefore by extortions do I live.

For truth, I take all that men will give me,

Anyhow, by sleight or by violence,

From year to year I make my expenses.

I can no better tell, faithfully.”

“Now certainly,” said this summoner, “so fare I.

I spare not to take, God knows,

Unless it is too hot or heavy.

What I may get secretly,

No manner of conscience for that have I.

Without my extortion, I could not live,

Nor for such tricks will I not be forgiven.

Stomach for conscience have I none;

I curse these confessors¹⁰ every one.

Well be we met, by God and Saint James!

But, dear brother, tell me your name,”

Said this summoner. In the meanwhile

This yeoman began a little for to smile.

“Brother,” said he, “would you that I tell you?

I am a fiend, my dwelling is in hell,

And here I ride about my profit-making,

To learn where men will give me something.

My purchas is th‘effect of al my rente.

Loke how thou rydest for the same entente,

To winne good, thou rekkest never how;

Right so fare I, for ryde wolde I now

Un-to the worldes ende for a preye.”

“A,” quod this Somnour, “ben‘cite, what sey ye?

I wende ye were a yeman trewely.

Ye han a mannes shap as wel as I;

Han ye figure than determinat

In helle, ther ye been in your estat?”

“Nay, certeinly,” quod he, “ther have we noon;

But whan us lyketh, we can take us oon,

Or elles make yow seme we ben shape

Som-tyme lyk a man, or lyk an ape;

Or lyk an angel can I ryde or go.

It is no wonder thing thogh it be so;

A lousy jogelour can deceyve thee,

And pardee, yet can I more craft than he.”

“Why,” quod the Somnour, “ryde ye thanne or goon

In sondry shap, and nat alwey in oon?”

“For we,” quod he, “wol us swich formes make

As most able is our preyes for to take.”

“What maketh yow to han al this labour?”

“Ful many a cause, leve sir Somnour,”

Seyde this feend, “but alle thing hath tyme.

The day is short, and it is passed pryme,

And yet ne wan I no-thing in this day.

I wol entende to winnen, if I may,

And nat entende our wittes to declare.

For, brother myn, thy wit is al to bare

To understonde, al-thogh I tolde hem thee.

But, for thou axest why labouren we;

For, som-tyme, we ben goddes instruments,

And menes to don his comandements,

Whan that him list, up-on his creatures,

In divers art and in divers figures.

With-outen him we have no might, certayn,

If that him list to stonden ther-agayn.

And som-tyme, at our prayere, han we leve

My profit is the whole part of my rent.

Look how you ride for the same intent.

To gain profit, you care never how;

Right so fare I, for ride would I now

Unto the world’s end for my prey.”

“Ah!” said this summoner, “benedicite! What do you say?

I thought you were a yeoman truly.

You have a man’s shape as much as I do;

Have you another definite shape besides

In hell, where you reside?”

“No, certainly,” said he, “there have we none;

But when we wish we can take us one,

Or else make you think we have a shape;

Sometimes like a man, sometimes like an ape,

Or like an angel can I ride or go.

It is no wondrous thing that it be so;

A poor magician can fool you,

And, by God, I know more craft than they do.”

“Why,” said this summoner, “ride you then or go

In sundry shapes, and not always in one?”

“For we,” said he, “will such forms make

As best enable us our prey to take:”

“What makes you have all this labor?”

“Full many a cause, dear sir summoner,”

Said this fiend, “but all things have their time.

The day is short, and it is past prime,¹¹

And yet I have won nothing in this day.

I will attend to winning, if I may,

And not strive for our wits to display.

For, brother mine, your wit is not adequate

To understand, even if I told you more.

But, since you ask why we labor—

Sometimes we are God’s instruments

And his means to do his commandments,

When he wishes, upon his creatures,

By diverse methods and in diverse figures.

Without him we have no power, truly,

If he wishes to oppose something we do.

And sometimes, at our request, we have leave

Only the body and nat the soule greve;

Witnesse on Job, whom that we diden wo.

And som-tyme han we might of bothe two,

This is to seyn, of soule and body eke.

And somtyme be we suffred for to seke

Up-on a man, and doon his soule unreste,

And nat his body, and al is for the beste.

Whan he withstandeth our temptacioun,

It is a cause of his savacioun;

Al-be-it that it was nat our entente

He sholde be sauf, but that we wolde him hente.

And som-tyme be we servant un-to man,

As to the erchebisshop Seint Dunstan

And to the apostles servant eek was I.”

“Yet tel me,” quod the Somnour, “feithfully,

Make ye yow newe bodies thus alway

Of elements?” the feend answerde, “nay;

Som-tyme we feyne, and som-tyme we aryse

With ded bodies in ful sondry wyse,

And speke as renably and faire and wel

As to the Phitonissa dide Samuel.

And yet wol som men seye it was nat he;

I do no fors of your divinitee.

But o thing warne I thee, I wol nat jape,

Thou wolt algates wite how we ben shape;

Thou shalt her-afterward, my brother dere,

Com ther thee nedeth nat of me to lere.

For thou shalt by thyn owene experience

Conne in a chayer rede of this sentence

Bet than Virgyle, whyl he was on lyve,

Or Dant also; now lat us ryde blyve.

For I wol holde companye with thee

Til it be so, that thou forsake me.”

“Nay,” quod this Somnour, “that shal nat bityde;

I am a yeman, knowen in ful wyde;

My trouthe wol I holde as in this cas.

For though thou were the devel Sathanas,

My trouthe wol I holde to my brother,

As I am sworn, and ech of us til other

Only the body and not the soul to grieve;

Witness Job, upon whom we did that woe.

And sometimes have we power over both—

That is to say, of soul and body also.

And sometimes we be suffered for to seek

Upon a man and do his soul unrest

And not his body, and all is for the best.

When he withstands our temptation,

It is a cause of his salvation.

Albeit that it was not our intent

He should be saved, but that we would him seize.

And sometimes we be servants unto man,

As to the archbishop Saint Dunstan,¹²

And to the apostles servant also was I.”

“Yet tell me,” said the summoner, “faithfully,

Make you your new bodies thus always

Of elements?” The fiend answered, “Nay.

Sometimes we feign and sometimes we arise

With dead bodies, in full sundry ways,

And speak as readily and fair and well

As to the Witch of Endor did Samuel.¹³

(And yet will some men say it was not he;

I care nothing for your theology.)

But one thing warn I you, I will not joke;

You will surely know how we are made;

You shall hereafter, my brother dear,

Not need from me to learn,

For you shall, by your own experience,

As from a professor’s chair lecture on this

Better than Virgil, when he was alive,

Or Dante also. Now let us quickly ride,

For I will hold with your company

Till it be so that you forsake me.”

“Nay!” said the summoner, “that shall not betide!

I am a yeoman, known full widely;

My word will I keep, as in this case.

For though you were the devil Satan,

My pledge I will hold to my brother,

As I am sworn, and each of us to the other,

For to be trewe brother in this cas;

And bothe we goon abouten our purchas.

Tak thou thy part, what that men wol thee yive,

And I shal myn; thus may we bothe live.

And if that any of us have more than other,

Lat him be trewe, and parte it with his brother.”

“I graunte,” quod the devel, “by my fey.”

And with that word they ryden forth hir wey.

And right at the entring of the tounes ende,

To which this Somnour shoop him for to wende,

They saugh a cart, that charged was with hey,

Which that a carter droof forth in his wey.

Deep was the wey, for which the carte stood.

The carter smoot, and cryde, as he were wood,

“Hayt, Brok! hayt, Scot! what spare ye for the stones.

The feend,” quod he, “yow fecche body and bones,

As ferforthly as ever were ye foled!

So muche wo as I have with yow tholed!

The devel have al, bothe hors and cart and hey!”

This Somnour seyde, “heer shal we have a pley;

And neer the feed he drough, as noght ne were,

Ful prively, and rouned in his ere:

”Herkne, my brother, herkne, by thy feith;

Herestow nat how that the carter seith?

Hent it anon, for he hath yeve it thee,

Bothe hey and cart, and eek hise caples three.”

“Nay,” quod the devel, “god wot, never a deel;

It is nat his entente, trust me weel.

Axe him thy-self, if thou nat trowest me,

Or elles stint a while, and thou shalt see”

This carter thakketh his hors upon the croupe,

And they bigonne drawen and to-stoupe;

“Heyt, now!” quod he, “ther Jesu Crist yow blesse

And al his handwerk, bothe more and lesse!

That was wel twight, myn owene lyard boy!

I pray god save thee and sëynt Loy!

Now is my cart out of the slow, pardee!”

“Lo! brother,” quod the feend, “what tolde I thee?

Heer may ye see, myn owene dere brother,

For to be true brothers in this case;

And both we go about our trade.

Take you your part, what men will you give,

And I shall mine; thus may we both live.

And if either of us has more than the other,

Let him be true and share it with his brother.”

“Agreed,” said the devil, “by my faith.”

And with that word they rode forth their way.

And right at the entrance to the town’s edge,

To which this summoner prepared himself to enter,

They saw a cart that was loaded with hay,

Which a carter drove forth on his way.

Deep muddy was the road, in which the cart stood.

The carter smote and cried as if he were crazy,

“Giddap, Brok! Giddap, Scot! Why stop pulling in this mess?

The fiend,” said he, “you fetch, body and bones,

As sure as you were foaled,

So much woe as I have with you suffered.

To the devil you all, both horse and cart and hay!”

This summoner said, “Here shall we have some play.”

And near the fiend he drew, as if by it he nothing meant,

And whispered in his ear in private:

“Harken, my brother, harken, by your faith!

Hear you not what the carter says?

Seize it anon, for he has given it to you,

Both hay and cart, and also his horses three.”

“Nay,” said the devil, “God knows, in no way!

It is not his intent, trust me well.

Ask him yourself, if you believe not me;

Or else wait awhile, and you shall see.”

This carter patted his horses on their cruppers,

And they began to pull with all their muscle.

“Giddap! Now,” said he, “there Jesus Christ you bless,

And all his handiwork, both more and less!

That was well pulled, my own dappled boy.

I pray God save you, and Saint Loy!¹⁴

Now is my cart out of the slough, by God!”

“Look, brother,” said the fiend, “what I told you?

Here may you see, my own dear brother,

The carl spak oo thing, but he thoughte another.

Lat us go forth abouten our viage;

Heer winne I no-thing up-on cariage.”

Whan that they comen som-what out of toune,

This Somnour to his brother gan to roune,

“Brother,” quod he, “heer woneth an old rebekke,

That hadde almost as lief to lese hir nekke

As for to yeve a peny of hir good.

I wol han twelf pens, though that she be wood,

Or I wol sompne hir un-to our offyce;

And yet, god woot, of hir knowe I no vyce.

But for thou canst nat, as in this contree,

Winne thy cost, tak heer ensample of me.”

This Somnour clappeth at the widwes gate.

“Com out,” quod he, “thou olde viritrate!

I trowe thou hast som frere or prese with thee!”

“Who clappeth?” seyde this widwe, “ben’ cite!

God save you, sire, what is your swete wille?”

“I have,” quod he, “of somonce here a bille;

Up peyne of cursing, loke that thou be

To-morn bifore the erchedeknes knee

T‘answere to the court of certeyn thinges.”

“Now, lord,” quod she, “Crist Jesu, king of kinges,

So wisly helpe me, as I ne may.

I have been syk, and that ful many a day.

I may nat go so fer,” quod she, “ne ryde,

But I be deed, so priketh it in my syde.

May I nat axe a libel, sir Somnour,

And answere there, by my procutour,

To swich thing as men wol opposen me?”

“Yis,” quod this Somnour, “pay anon, lat se,

Twelf pens to me, and I wol thee acquyte.

I shall no profit han ther-by but lyte;

My maister hath the profit, and nat I.

Com of, and lat me ryden hastily;

Yif me twelf pens, I may no lenger tarie.”

“Twelf pens,” quod she, “now lady Seinte Marie

So wisly help me out of care and sinne,

This wyde world thogh that I sholde winne,

The carter spoke one thing, but he thought another.

Let us go forth about our endeavor;

Here win I nothing from the carter.”

When they had gone from the town some distance,

This summoner to his brother began to whisper:

“Brother,” said he, “Here dwells an old lady

Who would as soon lose her neck

As give a penny of her savings.

I will have twelve pence, no matter if she is mad,

Or I will summon her unto our office;

And yet, God knows, of her I know no vice.

Since you cannot, in this territory,

Make your expenses, take here example from me.”

This summoner knocked at the widow’s gate.

“Come out,” said he, “you wrinkled old hag!

I believe you have some friar or priest with you.”

“Who knocks?” said this wife, “benedicite!

God save you sire, what is your sweet will?”

“I have,” said he, “Of summons here a bill;

Upon pain of excommunication, look that you be

Tomorrow before the archdeacon’s knee

To answer to the court about certain things.”

“Now, Lord,” said she, “Christ Jesus, king of kings,

So wisely help me, as I pray.

I have been sick, and that full many a day.

I may not go so far,” said she, “nor ride,

But I be dead, so hurts it in my side.

May I not ask for a written copy, sir summoner,

And answer through my representer

To whatever men bring against me?”

“Yes,” said this summoner, “pay now—let me see—

Twelve pence to me, and I will you acquit.

I shall no profit have thereby but little;

My master has the profit and not I.

Hurry up, and let me ride hastily;

Give me twelve pence, I may no longer tarry.”

“Twelve pence!” said she, “Now, lady Saint Mary

So wisely help me out of care and sin,

This wide world though I should win,

Ne have I nat twelf pens with-inne myn hold.

Ye knowen wel that I am povre and old;

Kythe your almesse on me povre wrecche.”

“Nay than,” quod he, “the foule feend me fecche

If I th‘excuse, though thou shul be spilt!”

“Alas,” quod she, “god woot, I have no gilt.”

“Pay me,” quod he, “or by the swete seinte Anne,

As I wol bere awey thy newe panne

For dette, which that thou owest me of old,

Whan that thou madest thyn housbond cokewold,

I payde at hoom for thy correccioun.”

“Thou lixt,” quod she, “by my savacioun!

Ne was I never er now, widwe ne wyf,

Somoned un-to your court in al my lyf;

Ne never I nas but of my body trewe!

Un-to the devel blak and rough of hewe

Yeve I thy body and my panne also!”

And whan the devel herde hir cursen so

Up-on hir knees, he seyde in this manere,

“Now Mabely, myn owene moder dere,

Is this your wil in ernest, that ye seye?”

“The devel,” quod she, “so fecche him er he deye,

And panne and al, but he wol him repente!”

“Nay, olde stot, that is nat myn entente,”

Quod this Somnour, “for to repente me,

For any thing that I have had of thee;

I wolde I hadde thy smok and every clooth!”

“Now, brother,” quod the devel, “be nat wrooth;

Thy body and this panne ben myne by right.

Thou shalt with me to helle yet to-night,

Where thou shalt knowen of our privetee

More than a maister of divinitee:”

And with that word this foule feend him hente;

Body and soule, he with the devel wente

Wher-as that somnours han hir heritage.

And god, that maked after his image

Mankinde, save and gyde us alle and some;

And leve this Somnour good man to bicome!

Lordinges, I coude han told yow, quod this Frere,

I have not twelve pence within my hold.

You know well that I am poor and old;

Show charity to me, a poor wretch.”

“Nay, then,” said he, “the foul fiend me fetch

If I you excuse, though you should be put to death!”

“Alas!” said she, “God knows, I have no guilt.”

“Pay me,” said he, “or by the sweet Saint Anne,¹⁵

I will bear away your new pan

For debt which you owe me of old.

When you made your husband cuckold,

I paid at home for your correction.”

“You lie!” said she, “by my salvation,

Never was I before or now, widow or wife,

Summoned into your court in all my life;

Nor ever was I but of my body true!

Unto the devil black and rough of hue

Give I your body and my pan also!”

And when the devil heard her curse so

Upon her knees, he said in this manner,

“Now, Mabel, my own mother dear,

Is this your will in earnest that you say?”

“The devil,” said she, “so fetch him or he die,

And pan and all, unless he will him repent!”

“Nay, old cow, that is not my intent,”

Said this summoner, “for to repent

For anything that I have had of you.

I would strip from you of every rag and cloth!”

“Now, brother,” said the devil, “be not wroth;

Your body and this pan be mine by right.

You shall go with me to hell yet tonight,

Where you shall know of our secrets

More than a master of divinity”¹⁶

And with that word this fiend him seized;

Body and soul he with the devil flew

To where summoners have their roost.

And God, who made after his image

Mankind, save and guide us, all and some,

And may these summoners good men become!

Lordings, I could have told you, said this Friar,

Hadde I had leyser for this Somnour here,

After the text of Crist, Poul and John,

And of our othere doctours many oon,

Swiche peynes, that your hertes mighte agryse,

Al-be-it so, no tonge may devyse,

Thogh that I mighte a thousand winter telle,

The peyne of thilke cursed hous of helle.

But, for to kepe us fro that cursed place,

Waketh, and preyeth Jesu for his grace

So kepe us fro the temptour Sathanas.

Herketh this word, beth war as in this cas;

The leoun sit in his await alway

To slee the innocent, if that he may.

Disposeth ay your hertes to withstonde

The feend, that yow wolde make thral and bonde.

He may nat tempten yow over your might;

For Crist wol be your champion and knight.

And prayeth that thise Somnours hem repente

Of hir misdedes, er that the feend hem hente.

Had I leisure for this summoner here,

After the text of Christ, Paul and John,

And of our other authorities many a one,

Such pains that your hearts might cause to shudder,

Albeit that no tongue may it so utter,

Though that I might a thousand winters tell

The pains of this same cursed house of hell.

But to keep us from that cursed place,

Wake and pray Jesus for his grace

That he may keep us from the tempter Satan.

Harken this word! Beware, as in this case:

“The lion sits in a bush always

To slay the innocent, if he may.” ¹⁷

Dispose all your hearts to withstand

This fiend, that you would make servant and slave.

He may not tempt you beyond your power,

For Christ will be your champion and knight protector.

And pray that these summoners repent

Of their misdeeds, or that the fiend them seize!