John Gower

A Collective Work

John Gower

“The Tale of Terius”
from the Confessio Amanits

Ther was a real noble king,

Royal

And riche of alle worldee thing,

Worldes

Which of his propre enheritance

Athenes hadde in governance,

And who so thenke therupon,

His name was King Pandion.

Tuo douhtres hadde he be his wif,

two

The whiche he lovede as his lif.

The ferste douhter Progné hihte,

was called Procne

And the secounde, as sche wel mihte,

Was cleped faire Philomene,

callked

To whom fell after mochel tene.

suffering

The fader of his pourveance

foresight

His doughter Progné wolde avance,

advanced

And gaf hire unto mariage

A worthi king of hih lignage,

noble;birth

A noble kniht eke of his hond,

also

So was he kid in every lond,

famous

Of Trace he hihte Tereus;

was called

The clerk Ovide telleth thus.

This Tereus his wif hom ladde;

A lusti lif with hire he hadde,

Til it befell upon a tyde,

time

This Progné, as sche lay him besyde,

Bethoughte hir hou it mihte be

That sche hir soster myhte se,

And to hir lord hir will sche seide

With goodly wordes, and him preide

That sche to hire mihte go,

And if it liked him noght so,

did not please him

That thanne he wolde himselve wende,

go

Or elles be som other sende,

someone else

Which mihte hire diere soster griete,

great

And schape hou that thei mihten miete.

figure out houw;meet

Hir lord anon to that he herde

at once to what he heard

Gaf his acord, and thus ansuerde:

‘I wole,’ he seide, ‘for thi sake

The weie after thi soster take

Miself, and bringe hire, if I may.’

And sche with that, there as he lay,

Began him in hire armes clippe

embrace

And kist him with hir softe lippe,

And seide, ‘Sire, grant mercy.’

And he sone after was redy,

And tok his leve for to go;

In sori time dede he so.

This Tereus goth forth to schipe

With him and with his felaschipe.

Be see the rihte cours he nam,

Into the contré til he cam

Wher Philomene was duellinge,

And of hir soster the tidinge

He tolde, and tho thei weren glade,

And mochel joie of him thei made.

The fader and the moder bothe

To leve here douhter weren lothe,

leave their

Bot if thei weren in presence.

Unless;were in attendance

And natheles at reverence

out of respect

Of him, that wolde himself travaile,

For;carry out the mission

Thei wolden noght he scholde faile

Of that he preide, and give hire leve.

asked;their permission

And sche, that wolde noght beleve,

be left behind

In alle haste made hire yare

made herself ready

Toward hir soster for to fare

With Tereus, and forth sche wente.

And he, with al his hole entente

Whan sche was fro hir frendes go

Assoteth of hire love so,

Became so besotted with love of her

His yhe myhte he noght withholde,

[That] his eye

That he ne moste on hir beholde.

And with the sihte he gan desire

And sette his oghne herte on fyre.

And fyr, whan it to tow aprocheth,

straw

To him anon the strengthe acrocheth,

To itself at once gathers

Til with his hete it be devoured;

its heat

The tow ne mai noght be socoured.

straw;rescued

And so that tirant raviner,

tyrannical ravager

Whan that sche was in his pouer

And he therto sawh time and place,

As he that lost hath alle grace

Forgat he was a wedded man,

And in a rage on hire he ran,

Riht as a wolf which takth his preie.

prey

And sche began to crie and preie,

‘O fader, o mi moder diere,

Nou help!’ Bot thei ne mihte it hiere,

hear

And sche was of to litel myht

strength

Defense agein so ruide a knyht

To make, whanne he was so wod

reckless

That he no reson understod,

Bot hield hire under in such wise

That sche ne myhte noght arise,

Bot lay oppressed and desesed

distressed

As if a goshauk hadde sesed

seized

A brid, which dorste noght for fere

who dared not;fear

Remue: and thus this tirant there

flee

Beraft hire such thing as men sein

Mai neveremor be yolde agein,

yielded

And that was the virginité:

Of such Ravine it was pité.

Bot whan sche to hirselven com,

And of hir meschief hiede nom,

took heed

And knew hou that sche was no maide,

With wofull herte thus sche saide:

‘O thou of alle men the worste,

Wher was ther evere man that dorste

breadth

Do such a dede as thou hast do?

What you have done;force

That dai schal falle, I hope so,

That I schal telle out al mi fille,

And with mi speche I schal fulfille

The wyde world in brede and lengthe.

That thou hast do to me be strengthe,

If I among the poeple duelle,

Unto the poeple I schal it telle;

call

And if I be withinne wall

Of stones closed, thanne I schal

Unto the stones clepe and crie,

And tellen hem thi felonie;

And if I to the wodes wende,

Ther schal I tellen tale and ende,

And crie it to the briddes oute,

That thei schul hiere it al aboute.

For I so loude it schal reherce,

That my vois schal the hevene perce,

pierce

That it schal soune in Goddes ere.

ear

Ha, false man, where is thi fere?

reverence

O mor cruel than eny beste,

beast

Hou hast thou holden thi beheste

promise

Which thou unto my soster madest?

O thou, which alle love ungladest,

And art ensample of alle untrewe,

Nou wolde God mi soster knewe,

Of thin untrouthe, hou that it stod!’

And he thanne as a lyon wod

enraged

With hise unhappi handes stronge

Hire cauhte be the tresses longe,

With whiche he bond ther bothe hire armes –

That was a fieble dede of armes –

And to the grounde anon hire caste,

And out he clippeth also faste

Hire tunge with a peire scheres.

scissors

So what with blod and what with teres

Out of hire yhe and of hir mouth,

eyes

He made hire faire face uncouth.

unrecognizable

Sche lay swounende unto the deth,

Ther was unethes eny breth.

scarcely

Bot yit whan he hire tunge refte,

A litel part therof belefte,

was left

Bot sche with al no word mai soune,

articulate

Bot chitre and as a brid jargoune.

chitter;chatter

And natheles that wode hound

insane friend

Hir bodi hent up fro the ground,

And sente hir there as be his wille

[to a place] where

Sche scholde abyde in prison stille

Foreveremo. Bot nou tak hiede

What after fell of this misdede.

Whanne al this meschief was befalle,

This Tereus – that foule him falle! –

who may evile befall

Unto his contré hom he tyh;

came

And whan he com his paleis nyh,

His wif al redi there him kepte.

Whan he hir sih, anon he wepte,

And that he dede for deceite.

For sche began to axe him streite,

‘Wher is mi soster?’ And he seide

That sche was ded; and Progné abreide,

As sche that was a wofull wif,

And stod betuen hire deth and lif,

Of that sche herde such tidinge.

Bot for sche sih hire lord wepinge,

Sche wende noght bot alle trouthe,

And hadde wel the more routhe.

The perles weren tho forsake

To hire, and blake clothes take;

As sche that was gentil and kinde,

In worschipe of hir sostres mynde

Sche made a riche enterement,

For sche fond non amendement

To syghen or to sobbe more:

So was ther guile under the gore.

Nou leve we this king and queene,

And torne agein to Philomene,

As I began to tellen erst.

Whan sche cam into prison ferst,

It thoghte a kinges douhter strange

To maken so soudein a change

Fro welthe unto so grete a wo;

And sche began to thenke tho,

Thogh sche be mouthe nothing preide,

Withinne hir herte thus sche seide:

‘O thou, almyhty Jupiter,

That hihe sist and lokest fer,

Thou soffrest many a wrong doinge,

And yit it is noght thi willinge.

To thee ther mai nothing ben hid,

Thou wost hou it is me betid.

I wolde I hadde noght be bore,

For thanne I hadde noght forlore

Mi speche and mi virginité.

Bot, goode lord, al is in thee,

Whan thou therof wolt do vengance

And schape mi deliverance.’

And evere among this ladi wepte,

And thoghte that sche nevere kepte

To ben a worldes womman more,

And that sche wissheth everemore.

Bot ofte unto hir soster diere

Hire herte spekth in this manere,

And seide, ‘Ha, soster, if ye knewe

Of myn astat, ye wolde rewe,

I trowe, and my deliverance

Ye wolde schape, and do vengance

On him that is so fals a man.

And natheles, so as I can,

I wol you sende som tokninge,

Wherof ye schul have knowlechinge

Of thing I wot, that schal you lothe,

The which you toucheth and me bothe.’

And tho withinne a whyle als tyt

Sche waf a cloth of selk al whyt

With lettres and ymagerie,

In which was al the felonie

Which Tereus to hire hath do;

And lappede it togedre tho

And sette hir signet therupon

And sende it unto Progné anon.

The messager which forth it bar,

What it amonteth is noght war;

And natheles to Progné he goth

And prively takth hire the cloth,

And wente agein riht as he cam.

The court of him non hiede nam.

Whan Progné of Philomene herde,

Sche wolde knowe hou that it ferde,

And opneth that the man hath broght,

And wot therby what hath be wroght

And what meschief ther is befalle.

In swoune tho sche gan doun falle,

And efte aros and gan to stonde,

And eft sche takth the cloth on honde,

Behield the lettres and th’ymages.

Bot ate laste, ‘Of suche oultrages,’

Sche seith, ‘wepinge is noght the bote,’

And swerth, if that sche live mote,

It schal be venged otherwise.

And with that sche gan hire avise

Hou ferst sche mihte unto hire winne

Hir soster, that no man withinne,

Bot only thei that were suore,

It scholde knowe, and schop therfore

That Tereus nothing it wiste;

And yit riht as hirselven liste,

Hir soster was delivered sone

Out of prison, and be the mone

To Progné sche was broght be nyhte.

Whan ech of other hadde a sihte,

In chambre, ther thei were alone,

Thei maden many a pitous mone;

Bot Progné most of sorwe made,

Which sihe hir soster pale and fade

And specheles and deshonoured,

Of that sche hadde be defloured;

And ek upon hir lord sche thoghte,

Of that he so untreuly wroghte

And hadde his espousaile broke.

Sche makth a vou it schal be wroke,

And with that word sche kneleth doun

Wepinge in gret devocioun.

Unto Cupide and to Venus

Sche preide and seide thanne thus:

‘O ye, to whom nothing asterte

Of love mai, for every herte

Ye knowe, as ye that ben above

The god and the goddesse of love:

Ye witen wel that evere yit

With al mi will and al my wit,

Sith ferst ye schopen me to wedde,

That I lay with mi lord abedde,

I have be trewe in mi degré,

And evere thoghte for to be,

And nevere love in other place,

Bot al only the king of Trace,

Which is mi lord and I his wif.

Bot nou allas this wofull strif!

That I him thus ageinward finde

The most untrewe and most unkinde

That evere in ladi armes lay.

And wel I wot that he ne may

Amende his wrong, it is so gret;

For he to lytel of me let,

Whan he myn oughne soster tok,

And me that am his wif forsok.’

Lo, thus to Venus and Cupide

Sche preide, and furthermor sche cride

Unto Appollo the hiheste,

And seide, ‘O myhti god of reste,

Thou do vengance of this debat.

Mi soster and al hire astat

Thou wost, and hou sche hath forlore

Hir maidenhod, and I therfore

In al the world schal bere a blame

Of that mi soster hath a schame,

That Tereus to hire I sente.

And wel thou wost that myn entente

Was al for worschipe and for goode.

O lord, that gifst the lives fode

To every wyht, I prei thee hiere

Thes wofull sostres that ben hiere,

And let ous noght to thee ben lothe;

We ben thin oghne wommen bothe.’

Thus pleigneth Progné and axeth wreche,

As, thogh hire soster lacke speche,

To him that alle thinges wot

Hire sorwe is noght the lasse hot.

Bot he that thanne had herd hem tuo,

Him oughte have sorwed everemo

For sorwe which was hem betuene.

With signes pleigneth Philomene,

And Progné seith, ‘It schal be wreke,

That al the world therof schal speke.’

And Progné tho seknesse feigneth,

Wherof unto hir lord sche pleigneth,

And preith sche moste hire chambres kepe,

And as hir liketh wake and slepe.

And he hire granteth to be so;

And thus togedre ben thei tuo,

That wolde him bot a litel good.

Nou herk hierafter hou it stod

Of wofull auntres that befelle:

Thes sostres, that ben bothe felle

(And that was noght on hem along,

Bot onliche on the grete wrong

Which Tereus hem hadde do),

Thei schopen for to venge hem tho.

This Tereus be Progné his wif

A sone hath, which as his lif

He loveth, and Ithis he hihte:

His moder wiste wel sche mihte

Do Tereus no more grief

Than sle this child, which was so lief.

Thus sche, that was, as who seith, mad

Of wo, which hath hir overlad,

Withoute insihte of moderhede

Forgat pité and loste drede,

And in hir chambre prively

This child withouten noise or cry

Sche slou, and hieu him al to pieces.

And after with diverse spieces

The fleissh, whan it was so toheewe,

Sche takth, and makth therof a sewe,

With which the fader at his mete

Was served, til he hadde him ete;

That he ne wiste hou that it stod,

Bot thus his oughne fleissh and blod

Himself devoureth agein kinde,

As he that was tofore unkinde.

And thanne, er that he were arise,

For that he scholde ben agrise,

To schewen him the child was ded,

This Philomene tok the hed

Betwen tuo disshes, and al wrothe

Tho comen forth the sostres bothe,

And setten it upon the bord.

And Progné tho began the word,

And seide, ‘O werste of alle wicke,

Of conscience whom no pricke

Mai stere, lo, what thou hast do!

Lo, hier be nou we sostres tuo;

O raviner, lo hier thi preie,

With whom so falsliche on the weie

Thou hast thi tirannye wroght.

Lo, nou it is somdel aboght,

And bet it schal, for of thi dede

The world schal evere singe and rede

In remembrance of thi defame.

For thou to love hast do such schame,

That it schal nevere be forgete.’

With that he sterte up fro the mete,

And schof the bord unto the flor,

And cauhte a swerd anon and suor

That thei scholde of his hondes dye

And thei unto the goddes crie

Begunne with so loude a stevene,

That thei were herd unto the hevene;

And in a twinclinge of an yhe

The goddes, that the meschief syhe,

Here formes changen alle thre.

Ech on of hem in his degré

Was torned into briddes kinde;

Diverseliche, as men mai finde,

After th’astat that thei were inne,

Here formes were set atwinne.

And as it telleth in the tale,

The ferst into a nyhtingale

Was schape, and that was Philomene,

Which in the wynter is noght sene,

For thanne ben the leves falle

And naked ben the buisshes alle.

For after that sche was a brid,

Hir will was evere to ben hid,

And for to duelle in privé place,

That no man scholde sen hir face

For schame, which mai noght be lassed,

Of thing that was tofore passed,

Whan that sche loste hir maidenhiede.

Forevere upon hir wommanhiede,

Thogh that the goddes wolde hire change,

Sche thenkth, and is the more strange,

And halt hir clos the wyntres day.

Bot whan the wynter goth away,

And that Nature the goddesse

Wole of hir oughne fre largesse

With herbes and with floures bothe

The feldes and the medwes clothe,

And ek the wodes and the greves

Ben heled al with grene leves,

So that a brid hire hyde mai,

Betwen Averil and March and Maii,

Sche that the wynter hield hir clos,

For pure schame and noght aros,

Whan that sche seth the bowes thikke,

And that ther is no bare sticke,

Bot al is hid with leves grene,

To wode comth this Philomene

And makth hir ferste yeres flyht;

Wher as sche singeth day and nyht,

And in hir song al openly

Sche makth hir pleignte and seith, ‘O why,

O why ne were I yit a maide?’

For so these olde wise saide,

Which understoden what sche mente,

Hire notes ben of such entente.

And ek thei seide hou in hir song

Sche makth gret joie and merthe among,

And seith, ‘Ha, nou I am a brid,

Ha, nou mi face mai ben hid.

Thogh I have lost mi maidenhede,

Schal no man se my chekes rede.’

Thus medleth sche with joie wo

And with hir sorwe merthe also,

So that of loves maladie

Sche makth diverse melodie,

And seith love is a wofull blisse,

A wisdom which can no man wisse,

A lusti fievere, a wounde softe:

This note sche reherceth ofte

To hem whiche understonde hir tale.

Nou have I of this nyhtingale,

Which erst was cleped Philomene,

Told al that evere I wolde mene,

Bothe of hir forme and of hir note,

Wherof men mai the storie note.

And of hir soster Progné I finde,

Hou sche was torned out of kinde

Into a swalwe swift of winge,

Which ek in wynter lith swounynge,

Ther as sche mai nothing be sene.

Bot whan the world is woxe grene

And comen is the somertide,

Than fleth sche forth and ginth to chide,

And chitreth out in hir langage

What falshod is in mariage,

And telleth in a maner speche

Of Tereus the spousebreche.

Sche wol noght in the wodes duelle,

For sche wolde openliche telle;

And ek for that sche was a spouse,

Among the folk sche comth to house,

To do thes wyves understonde

The falshod of here housebonde,

That thei of hem be war also,

For ther ben manye untrewe of tho.

Thus ben the sostres briddes bothe,

And ben toward the men so lothe,

That thei ne wole of pure schame

Unto no mannes hand be tame.

Forevere it duelleth in here mynde

Of that thei founde a man unkinde,

And that was false Tereus.

If such on be amonges ous

I not, bot his condicion

Men sein in every region

Withinne toune and ek withoute

Nou regneth comunliche aboute.

And natheles in remembrance

I wol declare what vengance

The goddes hadden him ordeined,

Of that the sostres hadden pleigned.

For anon after he was changed

And from his oghne kinde stranged,

A lappewincke mad he was,

And thus he hoppeth on the gras,

And on his hed ther stant upriht

A creste in tokne he was a kniht;

And yit unto this dai men seith,

A lappewincke hath lore his feith

And is the brid falseste of alle.

[Confessor] Bewar, mi sone, er thee so falle;

For if thou be of such covine,

To gete of love be Ravine

Thi lust, it mai thee falle thus,

As it befell of Tereus.”

[Amans]”Mi fader, goddes forebode!

Me were levere be fortrode

With wilde hors and be todrawe,

Er I agein love and his lawe

Dede eny thing or loude or stille,

Which were noght mi ladi wille.

Men sein that every love hath drede;

So folweth it that I hire drede,

For I hire love, and who so dredeth,

To plese his love and serve him nedeth.

Thus mai ye knowen be this skile

That no Ravine don I wile

Agein hir will be such a weie.

Bot while I live, I wol obeie

Abidinge on hire courtesie,

If eny merci wolde hir plie.

Forthi, mi fader, as of this

I wot noght I have don amis.

Bot furthermore I you beseche,

Som other point that ye me teche,

And axeth forth, if ther be auht,

That I mai be the betre tauht.”

[Robbery]

Uiuat vt ex spoliis grandi quamsepe tumultu,

Quo graditur populus, latro perurget iter.

Sic amor, ex casu poterit quo carpere predam,

Si locus est aptus, cetera nulla timet.11

[Confessor]”Whan Covoitise in povere astat

Stant with himself upon debat

Thurgh lacke of his misgovernance,

That he unto his sustienance

Ne can non other weie finde

To gete him good, thanne as the blinde,

the blind man

Which seth noght what schal after falle,

Who sees

That ilke vice which men calle

Of Robberie, he takth on honde;

Wherof be water and be londe

by

Of thing which othre men beswinke

produce by labor

He get him cloth and mete and drinke.

Him reccheth noght what he beginne,

it does not concern himn

Thurgh thefte so that he mai winne.

Forthi to maken his pourchas

He lith awaitende on the pas,

And what thing that he seth ther passe,

He takth his part, or more or lasse,

If it be worthi to be take.

He can the packes wel ransake,

So prively berth non aboute

His gold, that he ne fint it oute,

may not discover it

Or other juel, what it be;

He takth it as his propreté.

In wodes and in feldes eke

also

Thus Robberie goth to seke,

seek

Wher as he mai his pourpos finde.

And riht so in the same kinde,

Mi goode sone, as thou miht hiere,

To speke of love in the matiere

And make a verrai resemblance,

Riht as a thief makth his chevance

acquisition

And robbeth mennes good aboute

In wode and field, wher he goth oute,

So be ther of these lovers some,

In wylde stedes wher thei come

And finden there a womman able,

And therto place covenable,

Withoute leve, er that thei fare,

Thei take a part of that chaffare:

commodity

Yee, though sche were a scheperdesse,

Yit wol the lord of wantounesse

Assaie, althogh sche be unmete,

displeasing

For other mennes good is swete.

Bot therof wot nothing the wif

knows

At hom, which loveth as hir lif

Hir lord, and sitt alday wisshinge

After hir lordes hom comynge.

Bot whan that he comth hom at eve,

Anon he makth his wif beleve,

For sche noght elles scholde knowe.

He telth hire hou his hunte hath blowe,

And hou his houndes have wel runne,

And hou ther schon a merye sunne,

And hou his haukes flowen wel;

Bot he wol telle hire nevere a diel

Hou he to love untrewe was,

Of that he robbede in the pas,

And tok his lust under the schawe

woods

Agein love and agein his lawe.

Against its law

[Confessor]Which thing, mi sone, I thee forbede,

For it is an ungoodly dede.

For who that takth be Robberie

His love, he mai noght justefie

His cause, and so fulofte sithe

times

For ones that he hath be blithe

He schal ben after sory thries.

thrice

Ensample of suche Robberies

I finde write, as thou schalt hiere,

Acordende unto this matiere.

Source:

Gower, John. “Tale of Tereus, Procne, and Philomena.” Confessio Amantis. Ed. Russell A. Peck. Trans. Andrew Galloway. Vol. 3. Michigan: Medieval Institute, 2004. University of Rochester. Web. 12 Apr. 2016. <http://d.lib.rochester.edu/teams/text/peck-gower-confessio-amantis-book-5#tereusprocne>

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“The Tale of Terius”
from the Confessio Amanits