Wherein Dame Cicely de Chaucombe scribeth soothliness (1360).
Wherein Commence the Annals of Cicely.
“Heaven does with us, as we with torches do—
Not light them for themselves.”
Shakespeare.
“It is of no use, Jack,” quoth I. “I never did love her, I never can, and never shall.”
“And I never bade you, Sissot,” answered he. “Put that in belike, prithee.”
“But you bade me write the story out,” said I. “Ay, I did so. But I left you free to speak your mind of any body that should come therein, from a bishop to a baa-lamb,” said he.
“Where shall I go for mine ink?” I made answer: “seeing that some part of my tale, to correspond to the matter, should need to be writ in vernage, (Note 1) and some other in verjuice.”
“Keep two quills by you,” saith he, “with inkhorns of the twain, and use either according to the matter.”
“Ay me!” said I. “It should be the strangest and woefullest tale ever writ by woman.”
“The more need that it should be writ,” quoth Jack, “by them that have lived it, and can tell the sooth-fastness (truth) thereof. Look you, Sissot, there are men enough will tell the tale of hearsay, such as they may win of one and another, and that is like to be full of guile and contrariousness. And many will tell it to win favour of those in high place, and so shall but the half be told. Thou hast lived through it, and wist all the inwards thereof, at least from thine own standing-spot. Let there be one tale told just as it was, of one that verily knew, and had no purpose to win gold or favour, but only to speak sooth-fastness.”