“That thou graunte us now good fame,
And lete our werkes han that name;
In ful recompensacioun
Of good werk, give us good renoun;”
others said
“Mercy, lady dere!
To telle certain, as hit is,
We han don neither that ne this
But ydel al our lyf y-be.
But, natheles, yit preye we,
That we mowe han so good a fame
And greet renoun and knowen name,
As they that han don nobel gestes ...”
others—
“But certeyn they were wonder fewe,”
cried
“Certes, lady brighte,
We han don wel with al our mighte;
But we ne kepen have no fame.
Hyd our werkes and our name,
For goddes love! for certes we
Han certeyn doon hit for bountee
And for no maner other thing.”
Their requests are granted or refused with absolute capriciousness. Fame is attended by Eolus, who according to her direction blows a black trumpet called Sclaunder (Slander) or a golden clarion called Clere Laude (Clear Praise), and these trumpets are used as the whim takes her. Evil men have good fame, and good men are slandered, or on the other hand, both receive their deserts without any reason except Fame’s good pleasure. As Chaucer stands watching the endless procession, a man approaches him and asks if he too has come to receive fame. The poet hastily protests against any such desire, and explains that he has come for—
Tydinges, other this or that
Of love, or swiche thinges glade.
The stranger bids him follow him to another place, and leads him to