Transcriber’s Notes

Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations in hyphenation and accents have been standardised but all other spelling and punctuation remains unchanged.

The table of contents has been added for the reader's convenience.

Notes on music for the cantos included at the end of the play:

The Canterbury Pilgrims
A COMEDY

The Canterbury Pilgrims

A COMEDY

BY

PERCY MACKAYE

THE TABARD INN

New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., Ltd.
1909
All rights reserved

Copyright, 1903,
By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.

Set up and electrotyped. Published March, 1903. Reprinted
September, 1908; September, 1909.

Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing Co.—Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.

To
C. A. Sothern
In Friendship

CONTENTS

[DRAMATIS PERSONÆ]
[ACT FIRST]
[ACT SECOND]
[ACT THIRD]
[ACT FOURTH]

“O KINDLY Muse! let not my weak tongue falter

In telling of this goodly company,

Of their old piety and of their glee;

But let a portion of ethereal dew

Fall on my head, and presently unmew

My soul; that I may dare, in wayfaring,

To stammer where old Chaucer used to sing.”

[Keats: Endymion.]

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

1. Characters based on “The Canterbury Tales.”

MEN

Geoffrey Chaucer, Poet at King Richard’s Court, and Knight of the Shire for Kent.
The Knight (Dan Roderigo d’Algezir).
The Squire (Aubrey), his son.
The Yeoman, his servant.
The Monk.
The Friar (Huberd).
The Merchant.
The Clerk.
The Man-of-Law.
The Franklin.
The Haberdasher, } Members of a Guild.
The Carpenter,
The Weaver,
The Dyer,
The Tapicer,
The Cook (Roger Hogge).
The Shipman (Jack).
The Doctor.
The Parson (Jankin).
The Ploughman.
The Miller (Bob or Robin).
The Manciple.
The Reeve.
The Summoner.
The Pardoner.
The Host (Herry Bailey).
The Canon’s Yeoman.
Joannes, } The Prioress’s Priests.
Marcus,
Paulus,

WOMEN

II. Characters not based on “The Canterbury Tales.”

MEN

WOMEN

Note.—Those designated as Alisoun’s “Swains” are the Friar, Cook, Shipman, Miller, Manciple, Summoner, Pardoner.

ACT FIRST

“Bifel that, in that seson on a day,

In Southwerk at the Tabard as I lay

Redy to wenden on my pilgrimage

To Caunterbury, with ful devout corage,

At night was come into that hostelrye

Wel nyne and twenty in a companye

Of sondry folk, by aventure y-falle

In felawshipe, and pilgrims were they alle,

That toward Caunterbury wolden ryde.”

ACT I

Time: April 16th, 1387. Late afternoon.

Scene: The Tabard Inn at Southwark, near London.

When the scene opens, about half of the Pilgrims have arrived; the others come in during the first part of the act. Those already arrived are the Miller, Shipman, Cook, Parson, Ploughman, Franklin, Doctor, Friar, Haberdasher, Carpenter, Weaver, Dyer, Tapicer, Clerk, and Chaucer.

At rise of curtain, the Host is just moving to receive the Knight, Squire, and Yeoman at the door, back. Chaucer sits with a big volume on his knee in the corner by the fireplace, left; right front, the Miller and the Cook are wrestling, while those near look on.

COOK

Now, masters, see a miller eat bran!

MILLER

Corpus!

I’d liever wrastle with a butterfly.

SHIPMAN

Tackle him aft.

FRANKLIN

Grip, mon.

[They clutch each other.]

A SERVING-MAID

[Aside to Friar.]

A diamond pin?

FRIAR

[Lisps slightly.]

One of thy glances stickéd through my heart!

[Offers her the pin.]

SERVING-MAID

The Master is not looking now.

FRIAR

A bargain?

[Maid nods, takes the pin, and hurries off to serve at table. Friar follows.]

HOST

Welcome, Sir Knight!

KNIGHT

Is this the Tabard Inn?

HOST

[Points through the open door to his swinging sign.]

Lo yonder, sir, is Herry Bailey’s shirt

Flappeth in the wind; and this is Herry himself.

[Claps his hands for a serving-boy.]

Knave!

WEAVER

[Pounds on the table with a jug, while Carpenter tosses
dice.]

Ale, here! Ale!

[A shout from the pilgrims, front.]

MILLER

[Throwing the Cook.]

Down!

SHIPMAN

Jolly chuck!

COOK

[Getting to his feet with a bloody nose and fisting.]

’Sblood! Thou—

FRANKLIN

Hold, Master Cook, sith thou hast licked the platter,

Go now and wash the gravy off thy nose.

Look to him, doctor.

DOCTOR

Here!

FRANKLIN

[To the Miller.]

And thou shalt eat

A sop of wine with me. By God, thy hand!

PARSON

[To Ploughman, drawing him away.]

He sweareth like Sathanas. Come!

PLOUGHMAN

Toot, brother!

A little swearing saveth from the gallows.

MILLER

[Laughing at the Cook.]

His nose is like a tart.

CLERK

[To Chaucer, feasting his eyes on his book.]

Grant pardon, sir.

In vanitate humanorum rerum,

I’ the world’s uproar, ’tis sweet to find a scholar.

CHAUCER

A book’s a mistress all the world may love

And none be jilted.

CLERK

Then am I in love.

What is the book?

CHAUCER

A medley, like its master,

Containing many divers characters,

Bound in one hide. Whoso shall read it through

He shall behold Troilus and Launcelot

Sighing in Cæsar’s face, and Scaramouche

Painting with grins the back of Aristotle.

CLERK

[Sparkling.]

What!—Aristotle?

CHAUCER

[Rising, hands him the volume.]

I prithee look it through.

CLERK

Grammercy—somewhat farther from the piping.

[Draws farther away from the Squire, who is beginning to play a few strains on his flute, in front of the fire.]

MAN OF LAW

[Entering with Merchant.]

For this recognisance—

MERCHANT

The ship was wrecked.

MAN OF LAW

Depardieux! Then your property is flotsam

And liable to salvage. Therefore you

Will need me as your man-of-law.

KNIGHT

[To Chaucer.]

I knew

You were a soldier by your bearing, sir.

You were at Cressy?

CHAUCER

Nay, Sir Knight, I played

With tin swords then. Though I have often fought

At Frenchmen’s heels, I was but six years old

When our Black Edward won his spurs.

KNIGHT

Runs time

So swiftly?—One and forty years ago!

HOST

[To a serving-maid.]

Belive, wench!

FRIAR

[Stealing a kiss from her.]

In principio—

HOST

What’s here?

MAID

The gentle friar!

HOST

Gentle flower-de-luce!

[Makes after Friar, who dodges behind Mistress Bailey.]

MISTRESS BAILEY

[Shrewishly.]

Hold; goodman Herry! ’Tis a friend of mine.

[Host retires; Friar mocks him.]

KNIGHT

I am returning from the Holy Land

And go to pay my vows at Canterbury.

This is my son.

CHAUCER

Go you to Canterbury

As well, Sir Squire?

[The Squire, putting down his flute, sighs deeply.]

KNIGHT

My son, the gentleman

Accosts thee!

SQUIRE

Noble gentleman—Ah me!

[He turns away.]

CHAUCER

[Follows him.]

My dearest heart and best beloved foe,

Why liketh you to do me all this woe?

What have I done that grieveth you, or said,

Save that I love and serve you, high and low?

And whilst I live I will do ever so.

Wherefore, my sweet, do not that I be dead;

For good and fair and gentle as ye be,

It were great wonder if but that ye had

A thousand thousand servants, good and bad:

The most unworthiest servant—I am he!

SQUIRE

Sir, by my lady’s grace, you are a poet

And lover, like myself. We shall be brothers.

But pardon, sir, those verses are not yours.

Dan Chaucer wrote them. Ah, sir, know you Chaucer?

CHAUCER

Twelve stone of him!

SQUIRE

Would I did! Is he not

An amorous divinity? Looks he

Like pale Leander, or some ancient god?

CHAUCER

Sooth, he is like old Bacchus round the middle.

SQUIRE

How acts he when in love? What feathers wears he?

Doth he sigh oft? What lady doth he serve?

Oh!

[At a smile from Chaucer, he starts back and looks at him in awe; then hurries to the Knight. Chaucer walks among the pilgrims, talking with them severally.]

MILLER

[To Franklin.]

Ten gallon ale? God’s arms! I take thee.

MAN OF LAW

What’s

The wager?

FRANKLIN

Yonder door; this miller here

Shall break it, at a running, with his head.

The door is oak. The stakes ten gallon ale.

SHIPMAN

Ho, then, I bet the miller shall be drunk.

MERCHANT

What bet?

SHIPMAN

Twelve crown upon the miller.

MERCHANT

Done.

[At the door appears the Prioress, accompanied by a Nun and her three Priests, one of whom, Joannes, carries a little pup. The Host hurries up with a reverence.]

HOST

Welcome, my lady dear. Vouchsafe to enter

Poor Herry Bailey’s inn.

PRIORESS

Merci.

HOST

[To a serving-boy.]

Knave, show

My lady Prioress to the blue chamber

Where His Majesty, King Richard, slept.

PRIORESS

Joannes,

Mark, Paulus, stay! have you the little hound

Safe?

JOANNES

Yes, my lady.

PRIORESS

Carry him before,

But carefully.

MILLER

[To Yeoman.]

Here, nut-head, hold my hood.

YEOMAN

Wilt try bareheaded?

FRIAR

’Mass!

FRANKLIN

Ho, for a skull!

Miller, thou art as tough a knot as e’er

The Devil tied. By God, mine ale is spilled.

[The priests and Prioress have just reached the door, left front, which the Miller is preparing to ram.]

PLOUGHMAN

The door is locked.

JOANNES

But, sir, the Prioress—

SHIPMAN

Heigh! Clear the decks!

[The Miller, with clenched fists, and head doubled over, runs
for the door.]

YEOMAN

Harrow!

PARSON

Run, Robin.

GUILD-MEN

[Rise from their dice.]

Ho!

[With a crash, the Miller’s head strikes the door and splits it. At the shock, he rebounds against Joannes, and reaching to save himself from falling, seizes the puppy.]

MILLER

A twenty devils!

GUILD-MEN

[All but the Weaver, clambering over the table.]

Come on!

PLOUGHMAN

[To the Miller.]

What aileth thee?

MILLER

The priest hath bit my hand.

JOANNES

Sweet sir, the puppy—

It was the puppy, sir.

MILLER

Wring me its neck.

PRIORESS

Alas, Joannes—help!

MILLER

By Corpus bones!

Give me the cur.

PRIORESS

St. Loy! Will no one help?

CHAUCER

Madame, what may I do?

PRIORESS

My little hound—

The churl—My little hound! The churl will hurt it.

If you would fetch to me my little hound—

CHAUCER

Madame, I’d fetch you Cerberus from hell.

MILLER

Lo, masters! See a dog’s neck wrung!

CHAUCER

[Breaking through the crowd, seizes the Miller by the throat.]

Which dog’s?

MILLER

Leave go!—’Sdeath! Take the whelp, a devil’s name.

CHAUCER

Kneel! Ask grace of this lady here.

MILLER

[Sullenly.]

What lady?

CHAUCER

Of her whom gentles call St. Charity

In every place and time.—

[Turns then towards Prioress.]

What other name

This lady bears, I have not yet been honoured

With knowing.—Kneel!

MILLER

[Morosely; kneels.]

Lady, I axe your pardon.

CHAUCER

Madame, your little hound is safe.

PRIORESS

[Nestles the little hound with tender effusiveness; then turns shyly to Chaucer.]

Merci!

My name is Madame Eglantine.

[Hurries out, left.]

CHAUCER

[Aside.]

Hold, Geoffrey!

Yon beastie’s quaking side thumped not as thine

Thumps now. And wilt thou ape a little hound?

Ah, Madame Eglantine, unless ye be

To me, as well as him, St. Charity!

FRANKLIN

Who is the man?

MILLER

The Devil, by his eye.

They say King Richard hath to court a wrastler

Can grip ten men. I guess that he be him.

COOK

Ho! milksop of a miller!

MILLER

[Seizing him.]

Say it twice;

What?

COOK

Nay, thou art a bull at bucking doors.

FRANKLIN

Let ribs be hoops for twenty gallon ale

And stop your wind-bags. Come.

MILLER

[With a grin, follows the Franklin.]

By Corpus bones!

SHIPMAN

Twelve crown.

MERCHANT

Twelve, say you? See my man-of-law.

WEAVER

[Springs to his feet.]

The throw is mine!

DYER

A lie! When we were away

You changed the dice!

WEAVER

My throw was cinq and three.

DYER

A lie! Have it in your gullet!

[Draws his knife. They fight.]

CARPENTER

Part them!

TAPICER

Back!

HOST

Harrow! Dick Weaver, hold! Fie, Master Dyer,

Here’s not a dyeing stablishment; we want

No crimson cloth—Clap hands now: Knave, more ale.

CHAUCER

[To the Doctor.]

If then, as by hypothesis, this cook

Hath broke his nose, it follows first that we

Must calculate the ascendent of his image.

DOCTOR

Precisely! Pray proceed. I am fortunate

To have met a fellow-doctor at this inn.

CHAUCER

Next, treating him by magic natural,

Provide him well with old authorities,

As Esculapius, Diescorides,

Damascien, Constantinus, Averrois,

Hippocrates, Serapion, Razis,

Bernardus, Galienus, Gilbertinus—

DOCTOR

But, sir, the fellow cannot read—

CHAUCER

Why, true;

Then there remains but one sure remedy,

Thus: bid him, fasting, when the moon is wane,

And Venus rises in the house of Pisces,

To rub it nine times with a herring’s tail.

DOCTOR

Yea, Pisces is a fish.—I thank you, sir.

[He hurries off to the Cook, whose nose he has patched.]

HOST

[To the Reeve, who enters.]

God save thee, Osewold! What’s o’clock? Thou look’st

As puckered as a pear at Candlemas.

REEVE

There be too many folk i’ the world; and none

Is ripe till he be rotten.

[Sits at table.]

Penny’orth ale!

SQUIRE

My lord, father!

KNIGHT

Well, son?

SQUIRE

[Looking at Chaucer.]

Sir, saw you ever

So knightly, sweet, and sovereign a man,

With eyes so glad and shrewdly innocent?

O, when I laid my hand in his, and looked

Into his eyes, meseemed I rode on horse

Into the April open fields, and heard

The larks upsinging in the sun. Sir, have

You guessed who ’tis?

KNIGHT

To judge him by his speech,

Some valiant officer.

SQUIRE

Nay, I have guessed.

[A merry jingling of bells outside. Enter the Monk, holding
up a dead swan.]

MONK

Soft! Handle not the fat swan. Give it me.

Bailey, I’ll learn thy cook to turn a spit.

[Exit, right. Enter, left, Joannes.]

CHAUCER

[To Ploughman.]

Aye, man, but weather is the ploughman’s wife

To take for worse or better. If thy loam

Be thin, and little snow, which is the best

Manure, then thou must dung thy furrows twice

’Twixt Michelmas and March.

PLOUGHMAN

Aye, but but—

JOANNES

Sir Knight,

This letter....

CHAUCER

What! from whom?

PLOUGHMAN

Toot! Canst thou read, mon?

JOANNES

This letter, sir, my Lady Prioress—

CHAUCER

From Madame Eglantine? Waits she an answer?

JOANNES

So please you, sir.

CHAUCER

Sweet saints!

[Takes the letter and reads, aside.]

PLOUGHMAN

[Watches Chaucer curiously.]

Aye, ’e can read it.

[Outside, is heard the distant voice of the Wife of Bath (Alisoun), joined in chorus by the Pardoner, Manciple, and Summoner, singing.]

ALISOUN

When folk o’ Faerie

Are laughing in the laund,

And the nix pipes low in the miller’s pond,

Come hither, love, to me.

[Chorus.]

With doe and with dove,

Come back to your love.

Come hither, love, to me.

CHAUCER

[Reading the Prioress’s letter, as the song outside sounds nearer.]

“Monsieur l’inconnu Chevalier—

These greetings shall apprise you that the little hound is convalescent, and now suffereth from nothing save a sore necessity for nourishment. Wherefore, being cast in holy pilgrimage upon this revelous inn, I appeal once more, gentil monsieur, to your honourable chivalry, of which I beseech you this favour, to wit; that you shall see prepared and delivered into the hands of Joannes, my priest, a recipe as follows:—

One ounce of wastel-bread, toasted a pleasant brown;
One little cup of fresh milk;
Soak the former in the latter, till the sand-glass shall be run half out;
Then sprinkle sparingly with sweet root of beet, rubbed fine.
Serve neatly.

Madame Eglantine.”

SHIPMAN

[At the door, to Friar, who is starting to flirt with a third serving-maid.]

Hist! Who’s yon jolly Nancy riding here,

With them three tapsters tooting up behind?

FRIAR

By sweet St. Cuthbert!

SHIPMAN

Ha! ye ken the wench.

FRIAR

The wench? Oho! Thou sayest well. List, sir;

List, gentle Mariner! Thy wench hath been

A five times wedded and five hundred woo’d;

Hath rode alone to sweet Jerusalem

And back more oft than Dick-the-Lion’s-Heart;

And in her right ear she is deaf as stone,

Because, she saith, that once with her right ear

She listened to a lusty Saracen.

She was not born a-yesterday, yet, by

The merry mass, when she comes in the door,

She maketh sweet-sixteen as stale as dough.

SHIPMAN

She looks a jolly Malkin. What’s her name?

FRIAR

Dame Alisoun, a cloth-maker of Bath.

CHAUCER

[Reading.]

“P.S. Let not the under-side be toasted as brown as the upper.

P.P.S. The milk should not be skimmed.”

[Laughs to himself.]

“A little cup of milk and wastel-bread!”

Haha!—A gentle heroine for a tale!

My heart is lost.

[To Joannes, who is trembling at the Miller.]

What, fellow, art thou scared?

Come with me to the kitchen.

JOANNES

[Follows timidly.]

Ben’cite!

[Exeunt.]

[Outside the song, “Come hither, Love,” bursts into chorus. Enter the Wife of Bath, astride a small white ass, which is fancifully caparisoned like a fairy creature. Spurs jingle on the Wife’s boots, and on her head is a great round hat. Followed by the Summoner, Pardoner, and Manciple, she rides into the middle of the floor and reins up.]

ALISOUN

Whoa-oop!—God save this merry company!

[A commotion.]

By God, I ween ye ken not what I am:

I am the jolly elf-queen, and this is

My milk-white doe, whereon I ride as light

As Robin Good-boy on a bumble-bee;

[Indicating the ass’s ears.]

These be his wings.—

And lo—my retinue!

These here be choir-boys from Fairy-land.

Come, Pardoner, toot up my praise anon.

PARDONER AND ALISOUN [sing]

When sap runs in the tree,

And the huntsman sings “Halloo!”

And the greenwood saith: “Peewit! Cuckoo!”

Come hither, love, to me.

SWAINS AND ALISOUN

With turtle and plover,

Come back to your lover.

Come hither, love, to me.

ALISOUN

Now, lads, the chorus!

[The Swains and Alisoun, joined by several other pilgrims,
repeat chorus.]

MILLER

Nails and blood! Again!

FRIAR

Encore!

ALISOUN

Nay lads, the song hath dried my whistle.

The first that fetches me a merry jug

Shall kiss my lily-white hand.

[The Swains, with a shout, scramble to get ale of the tapster.]

SWAINS

Here, ale here! ale!

HOST

Slow, masters! Turtle wins the rabbit race.

MILLER

[Offers his tankard, tipsily.]

Give’s thy hand, girl.

ALISOUN

Thou art drunk! ’Tis empty.

MILLER

Well, ’tis a jug. Ye said “a merry jug.”

ALISOUN

Pardee! I’ll keep my word.

MILLER

[Grinning, raises his face to her.]

A kiss?

ALISOUN

A smack!

[Flings the tankard at his head.]

MILLER

[Dodging it.]

Harrow!

THE OTHER SWAINS

[Pell-mell.]

Here! here! Take mine!

FRIAR

Drink, sweet Queen Mab!

[Re-enter Chaucer and Joannes. Chaucer carries in his
hand a crock.]

ALISOUN

[To the Friar.]

What, Huberd, are ye there? Ye are too late,

All o’ ye! The elf-queen spies her Oberon.

[Wheeling the ass to confront Chaucer.]

By God, sir, you’re the figure of a man

For me.—Give me thy name.

CHAUCER

Your Majesty,

This is most sudden. Dare I hope you would

Have me bestow my humble name upon you?

ALISOUN

Make it a swap, mon. Mine is Alisoun,

And lads they ken me as the Wife of Bath!

CHAUCER

My name is Geoffrey. When the moon is full,

I am an elf and skip upon the green;

By my circumference fairy-rings are drawn,

And lasses ken me as the Elvish Knight.

SQUIRE

[Aside.]

Father, ’tis he—the poet laureate!

KNIGHT

Brother-in-law to John of Gaunt?

SQUIRE

The same.

SHIPMAN

[Offers his mug again.]

Take this, old girl.

ALISOUN

The devil take a tar.

[Snatches the crock from Chaucer’s hand.]

I’ll take a swig from Geoffrey’s.—Holy Virgin!

What pap is this here? Milk and wastel-bread?

CHAUCER

Nay, ’tis a kind of brew concocted from

The milky way, to nurse unmarried maids.

ALISOUN

[Hands it back quickly.]

Saints! None o’ that for me.

CHAUCER

[Aside to Joannes.]

Bear it to your mistress.

ALISOUN

[Aside.]

Mistress? Aha!—A woman in the case.

[Aloud.]

Give us your hand, Sir Knight o’ the Wastel-bread,

And help me light adown.—

What! Are ye afeared

To take me in your arms?

CHAUCER

Sweet Alisoun,

Thou art a vision of the ruddy Venus

Bright pommelled on the unspotted Pegasus,

And I am Ganymede, thy stable boy.

[He helps her to alight.]

ALISOUN

Well swung! What think ye of my jolly heft?

CHAUCER

Thou art a very dandelion seed

And I thy zephyr.

MILLER

[To the Swains.]

’Sblood! He steals our wench.

SQUIRE

[Approaching Chaucer diffidently, speaks under his breath.]

Great Master Chaucer.

CHAUCER

Hush! Speak not my name.

[Takes the Squire aside.]

ALISOUN

Halloa! what’s struck this jolly company?

Ye’re flat as stale ale. Master Summoner, what’s

The matter now? Ye should be glad at heart

To wear so merry a bonfire in your face.

SUMMONER

Was it for this I sang, “Come hither, Love”?

COOK

Aye, was it for this?

ALISOUN

What, Roger Hogge, yourself?

How long, bird, have you worn a gallows-warrant

Upon your nose?

[The others hoot.]

COOK

As long, Dame Alisoun,

As you have had a hogshead for a sweetheart.

ALISOUN

Geoffrey, ye mean? Ho! Are ye jealous there?

[To the Shipman.]

Jack, too, and hast a wife to home at Dartmouth?

Hark, lads! This Jealousy is but a ninny;

For though there be a nine-and-twenty stars,

Yet Jealousy stares only at the moon.

Lo! I myself have made a vow ’twixt here

And holy Thomas’ shrine to twig a husband;

But if I like this fellow Geoffrey, can’t

I like ye all? By God, give me your fists;

And I will tip ye a secret.

[Mysteriously.]

I am deef!

Ye ken all great folks have some great defect:

Cupid is blind and Alisoun is deef;

But Cupid—he can wink the t’other eye,

And Alis—she can ope the t’other ear.

FRIAR

Sweet Alis, which is deaf?

ALISOUN

I said, the t’other.

FRIAR

Nay, but which ear, the right or left?

ALISOUN

Love, if

Ye guess the right ye won’t be left: how’s that?

So, fellows, ye can knock at either door;

And while Tom standeth scraping the front mat,

By God then, Dick, go rap at the side porch;

The t’other door is locked; I say not which.

[Laughing and boxing their ears as they try, in turn, to whisper to her, she leads them to the ale-barrel, where they drink.]

FRIAR

Sweet brethren, drink with me to t’other ear!

ALISOUN

Here’s pot-luck to you all, lads!

PARDONER.

[Who has spread out his relics in another part of the room.]

Pardons! pardons!

Offer your nobles now; spoons, brooches, rings:

Radix malorum est cupiditas.

CHAUCER

[Aside to Squire.]

Pray, speak no word of who I am. I ride

To Canterbury now, to bid farewell

My kinsman, John of Gaunt. But on the road,

I travel here incognito.

SQUIRE

But, sir,

At least, beseech you, let me guard your person;

So mean an inn, such raw folk, must offend

King Richard’s royal poet.

CHAUCER

Not so, lad.

To live a king with kings, a clod with clods,

To be at heart a bird of every feather,

A fellow of the finch as well as the lark,

The equal of each, brother of every man:

That is to be a poet, and to blow

Apollo’s pipe with every breath you breathe.

Therefore, sweet boy, don’t label me again

In this good company.

SQUIRE

I will not, sir—

[Aside.]

A god! A very god!

PARDONER

Here’s relics! pardons!

Offer your nobles now; spoons, brooches, rings!

Lordings, step up! Pardons from Rome all hot.

[A crowd gathers round him.]

PARSON

[Lifting a relic.]

What’s this?

PARDONER

That, master, is the shoulder-bone

Of a sheep once slaughtered by a holy Jew.

Take heed, lordings, take heed! What man is here

That hath to home a well?

SEVERAL

I! I!

PARDONER

Pay heed!

Let any man take this same shoulder-bone

And chuck it in his well, and if he own

A cow, or calf, or ass, which hath the pox,

Take water from that well, and wash its tongue.

Presto! It shall be well again.

PLOUGHMAN

[To the Parson.]

By Mary,

I’ll try it on Mol.

PARDONER

Hark, lordings, what I say!

If also the goodman that owns the beasts

Shall, fasting, before cock-crow, drink three draughts

Of that same well, his store shall multiply.

PARSON

My word!

FRANKLIN

Nay, that’s worth while.

PARDONER

List what I say!

Also, if any wife shall boil a broth

Of this same bone, it healeth jealousy.

ALISOUN

Ho! give it me! And every fellow here

Shall suck the marrow-bone.

PARDONER

What will you offer?

ALISOUN

[Throws a kiss.]

That’s all ye get o’ me.

PARSON

I’ll give a florin.

PARDONER

Done, Master Parson. Listen, lordings, list!

This is a piece o’ the sail St. Peter had

When he walked on the sea; and lo! this cloth—

ALISOUN

A pillow-case!

PARDONER

This is the Virgin’s veil.

And in this crystal glass behold—

ALISOUN

Pig’s bones!

[Slaps Chaucer on the shoulder.]

What, Geoffrey lad! Which will ye liever kiss,

A dead saint’s bones, or a live lass—her lips?

[Enter, L., the Prioress.]

CHAUCER

Why, Alisoun, I say all flesh is grave-clothes,

And lips the flowers that blossom o’er our bones;

God planted ’em to bloom in laughter’s sunshine

And April kissing-showers.

[Laughing, he kisses Alisoun and faces the Prioress.]

St. Charity!

ALISOUN

Haha! That time I had thee on the rump.

[She calls the Friar aside, R.]

PRIORESS

[Starting to go.]

Je vous demande pardong, Monsieur.

CHAUCER

Madame,

Qu’est ce que je puis faire pour elle?

PRIORESS

Rien, rien.

CHAUCER

Madame, mais si vous saviez comme je meurs

De vous servir—

PRIORESS

You speak patois,

Monsieur; I studied French in Stratford-at-the-Bowe.

CHAUCER

Your accent is adorably—unique.

PRIORESS

[Is about to melt, but sees Alisoun.]

And you a gentilhomme—at least I thought so

Whenas you saved my little hound—Ah, sir!

CHAUCER

Adam was our first father: I’m her brother.

PRIORESS

You meant no more?

CHAUCER

Her brother and your servant,

Madame. And for the rest, I ride to Canterbury:

I will absolve me at St. Thomas’ shrine.

PRIORESS

[Eagerly.]

Go you to Canterbury?

CHAUCER

With the rest.

PRIORESS

Oh! I am glad—that is, I came to ask you.

Know you, Monsieur, where lies upon the way

A little thorp men call Bob-up-and-down?

CHAUCER

Right well—we pass it on the road.

PRIORESS

We do?

Merci.

[Going.]

MILLER

[Amid uproar, drinks to Alisoun.]

Lend me thy t’other ear.

[Startled, the Prioress returns to Chaucer. Behind them,
the Friar, at a sign from Alisoun, listens unobserved.]

PRIORESS

You see—

I expect to meet my brother on the road.

He is returning from the Holy Land;

I am to meet him at the One Nine-pin,

A tavern at Bob-up-and-down. But—

CHAUCER

But?

PRIORESS

I have not seen him since I was a child.

I have forgotten how he looks.

CHAUCER

He is

Returning from the Holy Land?

PRIORESS

And has

His son with him, for squire. He is a knight.

CHAUCER

[Aside, looking at the Knight and Squire.]

A son—his squire? Good Lord!

PRIORESS

And so, Monsieur,

I’m boldened by your courtesy to ask

Your help to find him at Bob-up-and-down,

Till which—your kind protection on the road.

[More uproar, R.]

CHAUCER

But—

PRIORESS

Have I asked too much?

CHAUCER

Madame, I am honoured.

[Hesitatingly.]

How, then, am I to recognise your brother?

PRIORESS

He wears a ring, on which is charactered

The letter “A,” and after, writ, in Latin,

The same inscription as is fashioned here

Upon my brooch. I may not take it off,

For I did promise him to wear it always.

But look, sir, here’s the motto. Can you read it?

[She extends her hand, from the bracelet of which dangles a
brooch. The Friar draws nearer.]

CHAUCER

I thank you.

[Reads.]

“Amor vincit omnia.”

[Looking at her.]

“Love conquers all.”

PRIORESS

C’est juste, Monsieur. Adieu!

[Exit, L.]

FRIAR

[Making off to Alisoun.]

Hist! “Amor vincit omnia,” Sweet Alis!

[After talking aside with Alisoun he goes to the Knight.]

CHAUCER

[Aside, looking at the Knight and Squire.]

A morning’s canter to Bob-up-and-down!

“Till which—my kind protection on the road.”

When last they met, she was a little child;

Besides, I will make verses for his son.

A morning’s canter—time, the month of April—

Place, Merry England—Why not Lord Protector

Geoffrey? Her brother! What’s a suit of armor?

Nay! “Amor vincit omnia.”

[Turns away.]

FRIAR

[To the Knight, whose finger-ring he examines.]

How quaint, sir!

A crownèd “A” and underneath a motto.

KNIGHT

Quite so.

FRIAR

Merci!

[Returns quickly to Alisoun.]

ALISOUN

Her brother—the One Nine-pin?

FRIAR

To-morrow.

ALISOUN

Good.

FRIAR

Sweet Alisoun—my pay?

ALISOUN

Saith holy Brother Huberd? Love’s reward

Is service.

[Aside, eyeing Chaucer, who passes her.]

Corpus Venus! What a figure!

I’ll woo him. Ay; but first to rid me of

These other fellows.

[To the Friar.]

Hist!

In Peggy’s stall—

Peggy’s my milk-white doe—in Peggy’s stall,

Thou’lt find another jolly beggar, waits

To dun me.

FRIAR

Ho! A rendezvous?

ALISOUN

A trysting.

Go, for my love, and play the wench for me,

And nab him by the ears until I come.

FRIAR

St. Cupid, I am game. In Peggy’s stall?

[Exit.]

[Alisoun whispers aside individually to the Shipman and Manciple, who exeunt at different doors.]

CARPENTER

Sack? Sack in the cellarage?

WEAVER

Come on, let’s tap it.

[Exeunt with a number of others.]

SUMMONER

[At table, trying to rise.]

Qu—questio quid juris?

COOK

Now he’s drunk

You’ll get no more from him but “hic, hac, hoc.”

ALISOUN