TIME: Evening of the same day.
SCENE: The hall of the One Nine-pin.
_At the opening of the act all the Pilgrims are on the
stage, except the following_: MILLER, SHIPMAN, COOK,
MANCIPLE, SUMMONER, KNIGHT, ALISOUN, CHAUCER, _and_
WYCLIFFE.
_Owing to the overcrowding of the little inn, the hall is
arranged, for the night, as a common sleeping-room. Up
stage, right, is a great canopied bedstead, with steps to
climb into it. Along the right wall are truckle-beds. As
the curtain rises, a clear bell is heard ringing outside,
slow and musical. By the light of a single torch, the
Pilgrims are seen, some putting on their cloaks and hoods,
some peering from behind the bed-curtains, others taking
links from a tap-boy, who distributes them. These, as they
are lit, throw an ever stronger light upon the grouped
faces and contrasted garbs of the company. The PARSON is
just waking the PLOUGHMAN, who drowses on a truckle-bed._
PARSON
Up, brother; yon’s the chapel bell.
PLOUGHMAN
It rings
For thee; thou art the parson, Jankin.
PARSON
Nay,
The preacher will be Wycliffe, old good Master
De Wycliffe.
MERCHANT
Old good Master Weak-liver!
PARSON
[_Turns angrily._]
Sir!
MAN-OF-LAW
Old good Master Black-sheep!
PARSON
[_Turns._]
Sir!
MONK
Old Nick!
PARSON
[_Turns._]
Whom name you thus?
MONK
Your preacher. Faugh! The pope
Hath bann’d him with five bulls for heresy.
PLOUGHMAN
The old man hath a good grip, if he can
Hold five bulls by the horns.
MAN-OF-LAW
[_Aside to Priest._]
An ignoramus!
BOTTLEJOHN
Dick, fetch a pint of moist ale from the cellar
For Master Bailey here.
[_Aside._]
A small pint, mind,
And notch his tally.
DICK
[_Takes a stick from wall, notches it with his knife, and shows
it to Bottlejohn._]
Sixpence, sir, three farthings.
[_Dick then goes to the cellar door. As he opens it, he
is grabbed within by the Miller, handed breathlessly to
the Shipman, who claps his hands over the boy’s mouth, and
disappears with him below. The door then is closed, but at
intervals it opens and the Miller’s head is seen cautiously
to emerge._]
MERCHANT
This Wycliffe’s gab hath hurt good trade. ’Twas him,
Six year ago, whose preaching made the poor folk
March up to London-town with Wat the Tyler,
And burn the gentry’s houses.
DYER
Served ’em right!
PLOUGHMAN
God save Wat Tyler!
MONK
Peasant! Spit upon thee!
PARSON
Thou son of Antichrist!
MONK
Thou unhang’d Lollard!
BOTTLEJOHN
Sst! Sst! Good masters! Pray, sweet lordings, here
Comes Master Wycliffe.
[_Enter, in conversation, WYCLIFFE and CHAUCER, followed
by JOHANNA, who seeks to draw WYCLIFFE away. The Pilgrims
greet the last, some with shouts of welcome, others with
hisses._]
WYCLIFFE
[_To Chaucer._]
Certes, sir, it may
Be as you say.--Good folk! good children!--Yet
To me this England is a gorgeous tabard,
Blazon’d with shining arms and kingly shields;
A cloth of gold, blood-dyed with heraldries
Of knightly joustings, presbyterial pomps,
And red-wine revellings; cunningly, i’ the fringe,
Chaced round with little lutes and ladies’ Cupids
To snuggle the horse-hair lining. This brave shirt,
This inward-goading cloth of gaiety,
The poor, starved peasant wears on his bare back--
A ghost, that plays the bridegroom with’s despair.
PLOUGHMAN
[_Amongst sneers and applause._]
Right!
WYCLIFFE
[_To Chaucer._]
Friend, how seems it thee?
CHAUCER
Sir, with your pardon,
To me, our England is still “Merry England!”
Which nature cirqued with its green wall of seas
To be her home and hearth-stone; where no slave,
Though e’er he crept in her lap, was nursed of her;
But the least peasant, bow’d in lonely fief,
Might claim his free share in her dower of grace;
The hush, pied daisy for’s society,
The o’erbubbling birds for mirth, the silly sheep
For innocence.--Mirth, friendship, innocence:
Where nature grants these three, what’s left for envy?
These three, sir, serve for my theology.
MAN-OF-LAW
Parfoi! What is this man--a Papist? Is’t
Some courtier?
FRANKLIN
Naw! He rings true Lollard, him.
They’re friends.
PARDONER
[_Sniffs._]
They say it is a London vintner.
WYCLIFFE
[_Aside, to Johanna, indicating Chaucer._]
Not speak with him?
JOHANNA
On no account.
WYCLIFFE
But--
JOHANNA
’Tis
A villain. Pray, sir, come to chapel.
[_She hurries Wycliffe toward the door, where she is accosted,
beseechingly, by the Squire._]
SQUIRE
Mistress!
JOHANNA
Am I beset?
[_Indicating Chaucer._]
Join your conspirator,
Signore!
[_She sweeps out._]
SQUIRE
[_Following._]
Grace, Madonna, grace!
[_Enter, right, Eglantine, with her priests._]
CHAUCER
[_Aside, sees her._]
My lady!
PARSON
[_To Ploughman._]
Quick, mon, and light the way for Master Wycliffe.
[_Exeunt._]
MERCHANT
[_To Man-of-Law._]
Go you?
MAN-OF-LAW
[_Smiles ironically._]
Hein? When an ass comes out of Oxford,
His braying charms great ears.
[_Lower._]
They say he hath
A patron in John Gaunt.
[_They go out._]
BOTTLEJOHN
[_Calls._]
Dick! Drat thee, Dick!
Ned, fetch Dick from the cellar with that ale
For Master Bailey.
NED
[_Goes slowly._]
Can I ’ave a candle?
[_The Host gives him such a look that he hastens on._]
BOTTLEJOHN
[_To Bailey._]
These ’prentices!
BAILEY
Haw! Haw!
MONK
[_To Pardoner._]
Come, we’ll go twit him.
[_Exeunt toward chapel._]
[_As Ned is about to open the cellar door, a black face looks
out at him._]
NED
[_Running back._]
Ow! Ow! A devil’s head! I seed a spook!
BOTTLEJOHN
[_Seizing a ladle, drives him back._]
Scat! And the devil swallow thee! Skedaddle!
Feared o’ the dark!
NED
[_Goes whimpering._]
’E’ll drub me wi’ his thigh-bones.
[_Opening the door, he feels his way down. As the door
closes, a faint scream comes from within._]
CHAUCER
[_To Prioress, who, preceded by her three priests, is about to go out._]
Madame, goes she to chapel?
PRIORESS
Paul, Joannes,
Keep close.
CHAUCER
Si chère Madame--if dear my lady
Would vouchsafe but a moment, till--
PRIORESS
[_Pausing, but not looking at Chaucer._]
Eh bien?
CHAUCER
[_Confused._]
The night is very beautiful.
PRIORESS
Joannes!
CHAUCER
That is--I bring you tidings of your brother.
JOANNES
What would Madame?
CHAUCER
The moon--
PRIORESS
[_To Joannes._]
Go, go--to chapel.
JOANNES
But will Madame--
PRIORESS
Va! Va!--
[_Exeunt priests; she turns shyly to Chaucer._]
Alors, Monsieur,
Vous dites mon frère?--
CHAUCER
Your brother--
[_Aside, as they go out._]
Drown her brother!
WEAVER
[_To Dyer._]
Come on!
[_Exeunt omnes._]
BOTTLEJOHN
[_Blowing out a candle._]
This preaching saveth tallow.
[_Calls._]
Dick!
Ned! Slow knaves!
[_Exit right._]
[_Cautiously, the cellar door is opened, and enter the
Miller. He whistles softly; some one within whistles in
answer._]
MILLER
Be all gagged below there?
SHIPMAN
[_His head appearing._]
Aye,
All’s tight beneath the hatches. Is the deck clear?
[_Miller nods; Shipman disappears for an instant. Then the
Miller bows low._]
MILLER
This way, your lordship--
COOK
[_Appearing with Shipman._]
’Save your Worship!
[_Enter SUMMONER, MANCIPLE, and HUBERD, the latter
disguised as a chimney-sweep. Lastly, ALISOUN in the dress
of the Knight._]
ALL THE SWAINS
Hail,
Dan Roderigo!
ALISOUN
[_While the Swains assist in adjusting her disguise._]
Good my squires and henchmen,
I thank you.-- Roger, sweetheart, lace my boot there.--
Our journey hath been perilous and dark--
Bob, chuck, how sits my doublet?--but praise Mary,
I am preserved to greet my virgin sister;--
God send _she_ like the flavour of my beard
Better than me.
FRIAR
Let me amend it, sweet!
[_Kisses her._]
ALISOUN
Avaunt, vile chimney-sweep! Beshrew thee, Huberd
Love, wouldst thou swap complexions?
[_Looks in a pewter plate, while the Cook holds a candle._]
Thy smut nose
Hath blotched the lily pallor of my brow
Like a crushed violet. Some powder, quick,
And touch it off.
FRIAR
[_From his robe and cowl, which the Shipman holds, extracts
a rabbit’s foot and touches up Alisoun’s face, while the
Manciple helps her on with a scarlet-lined mantle._]
Sweet love, how liketh you
This cloak I stole?
ALISOUN
’Twill serve.
FRIAR
[_Bowing._]
Your valet is
Your abject Ethiop slave.
MILLER
[_Kicks him._]
Your nincumpoop!
Scarecat! Thou blacks thy friar’s skin to save it,
Lest the fat vintner and the young squire catch thee
And flay it off.
FRIAR
Even so.
SUMMONER
By quid, let’s blab, then.
He kissed her, and we’ll blab.
COOK, MANCIPLE, AND SHIPMAN
Aye!
ALISOUN
Wo betide ye,
Then! Down! Kneel down--the batch of ye--and swear,
As ye have hopes to win this lily-white hand,
Ye will be brothers, till I win my bet.
Out with your oaths, now. Kiss my foot and say,
By Venus’s lip,
And Alis’s hip,
I swear to keep
This fellowship!
ALL
[_Severally trying to kiss her extended foot._]
By Venus’s lip,
And Alis’s hip,
I swear to keep--
BOTTLEJOHN
[_Calls outside._]
Ned! Dick!
ALISOUN
[_In low voice, to Swains._]
Get out! Back to your cellar; guard
The knight and the two knaves. Whoever enters
Gag ’em and tie.
BOTTLEJOHN
[_Entering._]
Dick! Ned! The devil take
All ’prentices!
ALISOUN
[_Retaining Friar._]
Hist!
[_Staying the Miller._]
Bob!
[_To the others._]
Go! Go!
BOTTLEJOHN
I wonder
Was it a spook he saw! ’Tis dark.
[_Takes up an unlit candle._]
ALISOUN
Mind, when he strikes
A light, I am the devil, and your feet
Are hoofs.
BOTTLEJOHN
Folk say they dwell in cellars.
FRIAR
Soft!
I’ll sprinkle a pinch of this sal volatile
I’ the candle flame.
BOTTLEJOHN
[_Lights candle._]
I’ll take my crucifix.
[_He is about to go toward the priedieu, when the Friar
thrusts his hand over the candle flame. A vivid flash of
light reveals his black face to Bottlejohn._]
FRIAR
Succubus! Incubus!
Praestare omnibus!
BOTTLEJOHN
[_Drops the candle, which goes out._]
Help!
ALISOUN
Silence!
[_On the hearth the Friar lights a dull red flame, which throws
a flickering glow about the room._]
BOTTLEJOHN
[_To Alisoun._]
O! what art thou? Dost thou laugh?
What is thy name?
ALISOUN
My name is Lucifer.
These be my urchins, Belial and Moloch.
Salaam! Salaam!
FRIAR AND MILLER
[_Salaaming._]
Hail, Mephistophilis!
ALISOUN
[_To Host._]
What thing art thou?--Duck!
BOTTLEJOHN
[_Ducks as the Miller pricks him with a dirk._]
I be Bottlejohn,
The host o’ the One Nine-pin.
ALISOUN
Bottlejohn,
Thee and thy One Nine-pin I damn. For know,
Thy cellar is the attic over hell,
And hath been leaking bad ale through my ceiling
This seven year, and made a puddle deep
As Proserpina’s garter in her bridal
Chamber, where thy two knaves--
BOTTLEJOHN
What! Ned and Dick?
ALISOUN
Came plumping through head-downwards into hell
Like bullfrogs in a tarn.
MILLER
And drowned! and drowned!
Shalt _thou_ in thine own ale.
[_Leads him toward cellar._]
BOTTLEJOHN
O Virgin!
FRIAR
[_At door, back._]
Whist!
One comes.
BOTTLEJOHN
Help! help!
ALISOUN
[_To Miller._]
Quick, Belial, lug thine ass
Into his stall. Instruct him with thy whittle
What manner devils we are, and when I clap
My hands thus and cry “Host!” then lead him forth.
[_Exeunt Miller and Bottlejohn into cellar. To Friar._]
Meantime, my pixy, hide we here.
FRIAR
Sweet lord--
[_They hide in the cupboard. Enter, left, Chaucer and
Prioress._]
PRIORESS
Parlez toujours, Monsieur!
Parlez toujours!
CHAUCER
How silver falls the night!
The hills lie down like sheep; the young frog flutes;
The yellow-ammer, from his coppice, pipes
Drowsy rehearsals of his matin-song;
The latest swallow dips behind the stack.
What beauty dreams in silence! The white stars,
Like folded daisies in a summer field,
Sleep in their dew, and by yon primrose gap
In darkness’ hedge, St. Ruth hath dropped her sickle.
PRIORESS
Nay, yonder’s the new moon.
CHAUCER
But here’s St. Ruth,
Whose pity hath reprieved a vintner’s son.
Your nephew’s verses--
PRIORESS
Pray speak not of them;
That wicked Friar Huberd was to blame.
But now--
[_Turning to the casement._]
The moon, Monsieur; parlez, Monsieur!
CHAUCER
[_Aside._]
“Parlez, Monsieur.” How shall I trust myself?
[_Aloud._]
I may not, dear Madame. If I should speak,
My heart would run in passages too sweet
For this cloy’d planet.
PRIORESS
[_Pointing through casement to the sky._]
Mais--parlez, Monsieur.
CHAUCER
Yea, if perchance there were some _other_ star--
PRIORESS
Some other star--
CHAUCER
Some star unsurfeited,
Some blessed star, where hot and lyric youth
Pours not swift torment in the veins of age;
Where Passion--gorgeous cenobite--blurs not
With fumid incense of his own hot breath
The hallow’d eyes of sweet Philosophy;
Where body battens not upon the soul,
But both are Reason’s angels, and Love’s self--
Pontifical in daisy-chains--doth hold
High mass at nature’s May-pole;--if such star
There were in all God’s heaven, and such indeed
Were ours, there would I speak and utter, not
“Dear Eglantine, I love you,” but “We love.”
PRIORESS
Monsieur, ’tis true.
CHAUCER
The simple truth, once said,
Is very sweet, Madame.
PRIORESS
Merci, Monsieur.
ALISOUN
Whist, Huberd; are they gone?
FRIAR
Nay.
ALISOUN
Did he kiss her?
Bones! Are they dumb!
FRIAR
Art jealous, dame?
ALISOUN
Shut up!
CHAUCER
[_At the window._]
Some other star! Choose, lady, which is ours?
PRIORESS
Yonder cool star that hides its winking light
Like a maid that weeps--but not for heaviness.
CHAUCER
Ha! If I were Prometheus now, I’d filch it
From out the seventh crystal sphere for you
And ’close it in this locket.
[_Seizes her hand._]
PRIORESS
Nay, that holds
My brother’s hair.
CHAUCER
[_Dropping her hand, looks away into the night._]
We dream.
PRIORESS
Of what, Monsieur?
CHAUCER
We dream that we are back in Eden garden
And that the gates are shut--and sin outside.
PRIORESS
Why, such in truth is love.
CHAUCER
Yes, such in truth
But not in fact, dear lady. Such sweet truth
Grows only on God’s tree; we may behold
And crave immortally, but may not pluck it
Without the angel’s scourge.--“When Adam delved”--
Aye, then he dragged both heaven and earth and hell
Along with him.--O God! this suzerain mansion
Where saints and crown’d philosophers discourse
Familiarly together as thy guests--
This ample palace of poesie, the mind--
Hath trap-doors sunk into a murky vault,
Where passion’s serfs lie sprawling.
PRIORESS
I am afraid!
CHAUCER
Forgive me, O sweet lady! I seem not
All that I am.
PRIORESS
[_Timidly._]
What are you?
CHAUCER
Do you ask?
Why, then, for this dull, English bulk, ’tis true
A London vintner gat it; but for this
My moving soul, I do believe it is
Some changeling sprite, the bastard of a god,
Sprung from Pan’s loins and white Diana’s side,
That, like a fawn, I fain must laugh and love
Where the sap runs; yet, like an anchorite,
Pore on the viewless beauty of a book:
Not more enamoured (when the sun is out)
O’ the convent rose, than of the hoyden milkweed
Bold in my path. Life, in whatever cup,
To me is a love-potion. In one breath,
My heart hath pealed the chimes above St. Paul’s
And rung an ale-wife’s laughter.
ALISOUN
[_Aside to the Friar._]
Bless his heart
And waistband! Heard ye that?
PRIORESS
[_Who has listened, lost._]
To hear you speak
Is sweeter than the psalter. Do not stop.
CHAUCER
[_Aside, smiling._]
Dear Lady Dreams!--
[_Aloud._]
Hark! Footsteps from the chapel.
[_Goes to the door._]
It is your nephew and his lady-love.
Let’s step aside before I introduce you,
And profit by these pangs of “lyric youth.”
[_Chaucer and the Prioress step aside, as enter, left, Johanna
and the Squire._]
SQUIRE
Stay!
JOHANNA
Leave me!
SQUIRE
Hear me!
JOHANNA
Is the house of prayer
No sanctuary that you drag me from it?
SQUIRE
Donna, the cloudy-pillar’d dome o’ the air
Alone can roof a lover’s house of prayer.
JOHANNA
More verses? Send ’em to your lady nun.
SQUIRE
O heartless bosom! Cold concave of pity!
Whet thy disdain upon the heart-shaped stone
Lodged, like a ruby, in that marble breast,
And slay me with the onyx of thine eye.
JOHANNA
Pray, did your Geoffrey write that?
SQUIRE
Do not scorn him.
He named you “Eglantine” because “Johanna”
Was not euphonious.
JOHANNA
Because “Johanna”
Was not--
SQUIRE
Euphonious. But “Eglantine”--
JOHANNA
But “Eglantine” was all symphonious.
“Johanna”--ha?--was not mellifluous
Enough to woo me! So a honeysuckle,
An eglantine, must be my proxy--ha?
Go! go! Hide in the night--Go! Kill thyself!
SQUIRE
[_At the door._]
O sky! thy noon was a broad, glorious mirror,
Which now hath fallen from its frame and shattered;
And little stars, like points of glass, they prick me
That gather back my grains of crushèd joy.
JOHANNA
[_At the window._]
O starry night! thou art Fortune’s playing-card,
All bright emboss’d with little shining hearts
That dash our own with destiny. Oh, false!
[_Turns._]
Go!--to your Eglantine!
SQUIRE
Johanna!
CHAUCER
[_Speaks from the darkness._]
Hide, Cleopatra, thy Egyptian hair!
JOHANNA
Hark!
CHAUCER
Esther, let melt thy meekness as the snow.--
JOHANNA
[_Draws nearer to Squire._]
What is’t?
CHAUCER
Hide, Ariadne, all thy beauties bare!
SQUIRE
Who speaks?
CHAUCER
Penelope and Marcia Cato,
Drown all your wifely virtues in the Po.--
JOHANNA
Good Aubrey, strike a light.
CHAUCER
Isold and Helen, veil your starlit eyes--
_Johanna_ comes, that doth you jeopardise!
[_The Squire lights a candle, revealing Chaucer._]
JOHANNA
O monster! It is he.
[_Chaucer takes the candle from the Squire’s hand, and,
holding it high, approaches Johanna, thereby throwing the
Prioress into his own shadow._]
SQUIRE
Nay, gentle sir!
CHAUCER
Laodamia, Hero, and Dido,
And Phyllis, dying for thy Demophon,
And Canace, betroth’d of Cambalo,--
Polixena, that made for love such moan,
Let envy gnaw your beauties to the bone;
Yea, Hypermnestra, swoon in envious sighs--
_Johanna_ comes, that doth you jeopardise!
JOHANNA
Oh, thank you--both. Squire, I congratulate
Your cunning chivalry on luring me
From church to bait me in this bear-trap.
SQUIRE
Lady,
Upon my honour--
[_To Chaucer._]
Good sir--
[_To Johanna._]
Nay, fear nothing.
Indeed, if you but knew--
JOHANNA
[_Catching sight of Prioress._]
If I but knew!
St. Ann! I know too much.
SQUIRE
You would be proud
To have him rhyme your name. Sir, I protest
Had I conceived how fair “Johanna” sounds
In verse--
CHAUCER
[_Sternly._]
Hold, signorino! Was it thus
You bade me sonnetise your Eglantine?
You said yourself--
SQUIRE
In sooth, that “Eglantine”
Is sweeter.
JOHANNA
Ugh!
CHAUCER
There you were false. For know
As ocean-shells give back the mermaid’s sigh,
The conches of a lover’s ears should hold
Eternal murmurs of his mistress’ name.
“Johanna” should have been thy conjure-word
To raise all spirits; thy muses’ _nom de plume_;
“Johanna” should have learnt thy brook to purl,
Thy pine to sorrow, and thy lark to soar;
And nightingales, forswearing Tereus’ name,
Have charmed thy wakeful midnight with “Johanna.”
JOHANNA
[_To Chaucer._]
Roland of Champions! Ringrazio!
Now, pray, what says the other lady?
SQUIRE
The other?
JOHANNA
[_To Prioress._]
Dame Eglantine, your most obsequious.
PRIORESS
Votre servante.--I also, Mademoiselle,
Have been at court.
JOHANNA
Does not Madame applaud, then,
This vintner’s courtly eloquence?
PRIORESS
I think
Monsieur will soon explain how this good youth
And I are dearly tied unto each other.
SQUIRE
What! I--and you, Madame?
JOHANNA
It seems the trap
Hath caught the hunters.
[_Aside._]
Oh, my heart!
SQUIRE
I swear
I do not know this lady.
JOHANNA
What! you swear!
[_Aside._]
Not perjury?
SQUIRE
I swear that we are strangers;
Of no relationship, and least of love.
JOHANNA
Oh, Aubrey, is this true?
SQUIRE
Why, Mistress--
CHAUCER
[_Aside to Squire._]
Soft!
Walk with this nun a moment.
SQUIRE
Sir?
CHAUCER
Dost trust me?
SQUIRE
Yes, but--
CHAUCER
[_Indicating Johanna._]
I’ll reconcile her.
[_Aside to Prioress._]
Tell him all,
Madame. Leave us alone a moment.
SQUIRE
But--
CHAUCER
[_Aloud._]
I will not play the hypocrite.
PRIORESS
[_To Squire, as they go out._]
Dear Aubrey--
JOHANNA
“Dear Aubrey!” Gone! gone! and with her. O base
Conspiracy!--To leave me!
[_To Chaucer._]
Stand aside!
CHAUCER
Nay, do not follow.
JOHANNA
I? I follow _her_?
Follow the lost Francesca into Limbo!
She’s damned. I seek my ward, De Wycliffe.
CHAUCER
Stay!
JOHANNA
St. Winifred! You’ll force--?
CHAUCER
Donna, my heart
Bleeds tears for you.
JOHANNA
Stand by!
CHAUCER
That one so young,
So seeming virtuous--
JOHANNA
“So seeming”--thanks!
CHAUCER
As this young squire should, at one look from his--
Should, at one look, forsake your ladyship
For his--alas! But such is man! The bonds
Which nature forges chain us to the flesh,
Though angels pry the links.
JOHANNA
The bonds which nature?--
CHAUCER
Yes, nature: ’tis not love. Had it been love,
Would he have turned, even in his vows of truth,
And left you with his--ah! it chokes me. Nay,
Go, go, great marchioness, seek out your ward;
I crave your pardon.
[_Bowing, he steps aside. Johanna, passing disdainfully to
the door, there pauses, and turns to Chaucer, as though he
had spoken._]
JOHANNA
Well?
[_Chaucer retires right._]
’Tis very dark.
[_Returning._]
I will wait here.
CHAUCER
In sadness, honoured lady,
I take my leave.
[_He goes to the door; Johanna rises uneasily._]
Yet I beseech your grace
Will never hint to that poor youth, my friend,
The secret I let slip.
JOHANNA
[_Aside._]
“Let slip!” The booby!--
He thinks he’s told me who she is. Soft! _now_
I’ll worm it out.
[_Aloud._]
Wait; if I promise never
To hint the thing we know--you understand.
CHAUCER
That’s it.
JOHANNA
One moment, Master Geoffrey. I
Have rallied you somewhat on your paternal
Vintage.
CHAUCER
To be hit by your Grace’s wit
Is to die smiling.
JOHANNA
[_Aside._]
How the big fish bites!
[_Aloud, effusively._]
But you’ll forgive me? ’Tis my nature, those
To banter whom I best adore.
[_Detaching a knot of ribbon from her gown, she offers it to
Chaucer._]
Pray, sir,--
CHAUCER
For me?--A love-knot! By your Grace’s favours
I am bewildered.
JOHANNA
Keep it as a pledge--
For you are Aubrey’s friend, my Aubrey’s friend--
As pledge that I will never, so help me Heaven,
Reveal to him my knowledge of his secret,
How Eglantine is his--oh, word it for me,
For I am heartsick.
CHAUCER
Trust me, honoured lady,
You have done bravely. For did he suspect
That I have even whispered to you how
That nun, whose sensuous name he bade me rhyme
In verses meant for you, that Prioress,
Whose cloistral hand even now, lock’d in his palm,
Leads here your Aubrey, how that vestal maid
Hath lived for months, nay years, your lover’s--oh!
JOHANNA
[_Seizes Chaucer’s arm._]
His _what_? In God’s name, speak it! His--
CHAUCER
His aunt!
[_Blows out the candle._]
JOHANNA
His _aunt_?
CHAUCER
[_Going off in the dark._]
O shire of Kent! thou shire of Kent!
To sit with thee in parliament
Doth not content
Me, verayment,
Like laughing at lovers after Lent.
Haha! Hahaha!
[_Exit._]
Ho! Shire of Kent!
JOHANNA
So--Kent? He mocks my title, doth he?
O gall! If he have made a fool of me--
Yet, if he’ve made a fool of me, O sweet,
Sweet gall!
SQUIRE
[_Outside._]
Johanna!
JOHANNA
Aubrey!
SQUIRE
[_Returning with Prioress._]
He hath told thee?
JOHANNA
Nay, hath he told me _true_?
SQUIRE
This is my aunt,
Dame Eglantine, my father’s sister.
ALISOUN
[_Aside._]
Death!
We must be quick.
FRIAR
[_Aside._]
I’ll win thy wager for thee.
[_Exit Friar at door, front left._]
PRIORESS
[_Extending her hand to Johanna._]
My nephew tells me you and he--
JOHANNA
Madame,
I blush to think of my late rudeness; ’twas
My jealousy. Yet you should pardon it;
For you that wear St. Chastity’s safe veil
Can never know how blind St. Cupid plagues
The eyes of worldlings.
PRIORESS
No?
SQUIRE
Love, you forgive me?
[_Reënter Chaucer._]
JOHANNA
Forgive you? By my heart--I’ll think about it.
Here comes our fool. Come hither, What’s-your-name.
CHAUCER
[_Coming forward with the love-knot._]
Your Grace’s secret-monger.
JOHANNA
Tut! tut!
[_Embarrassed, motions him to put it away._]
Rhymester,
If thou wilt come to court, I’ll have thee made
Court-fool.
SQUIRE
[_Aside._]
O mistress, hush!
JOHANNA
A cask of thy
Diameter should keep King Richard drunk
With laughter for a twelvemonth. Cask, I swear it,
Thou shalt be made court-fool.
SQUIRE
[_Aside to Chaucer._]
She doth not mean it.
PRIORESS
[_Aside to Squire._]
Nephew, I cannot quite approve your choice.
JOHANNA
Nay, keep my knot; my favour is renewed.
I’ll sue the king myself at Canterbury
To swaddle thee in motley.
[_Chaucer laughs aside._]
--Well, no thanks?
CHAUCER
Lady, pray God I live to see that day.
JOHANNA
Amen. Now, Aubrey, where’s your father? Let’s
Make merry all together.
PRIORESS
True, my brother;
Went he to chapel?
SQUIRE
Ladies, I am ’shamed
To make confession of my selfishness:
To-day, all day, in the sweet day and night
Of my own thoughts I have been wandering.
I have not seen my father since this morning.
I’ll go and seek him now.
CHAUCER
Nay, boy, remain.
Doubtless he’s gone to chapel. I will find him
And bring him to you here. First, though, let me
Anticipate my fool’s prerogative
And play the father to another’s bairns,
This vixen girl and boy.
[_With an affectionate smile he draws Johanna and Aubrey
together and kisses them._]
God bless ’em both!
PRIORESS
[_Aside._]
St. Loy! No more?
JOHANNA
Dear fool, thou’rt not so old.
Come now, how old?
CHAUCER
Ah, lass, my crop is rowen.
When grey hairs creep like yarrow into clover,
Farewell, green June! Thy growing days be over.
[_Aside._]
Bewitching Eglantine!
[_Exit left._]
PRIORESS
[_At the casement, aside._]
Some other star!
[_Aloud._]
Nephew!
[_The Squire and Johanna stand absorbed in their own whisperings._]
Nephew!
SQUIRE
Madame!
PRIORESS
I pray you, tell
Your father, when he comes, I am retired
A moment to my room.
SQUIRE
I will, Madame.
[_Exit Prioress, right._]
My lady, we’re alone.
JOHANNA
Alas, then come,
Sit and be sad.
[_She sits in the niche by the fireplace._]
SQUIRE
Sad? Must I wear a mask, then?
Mistress! Mistress, masks fall away from love
Like husks from buds in April. By love’s light
Lovers can look through mountains to their joy
As through these black beams I see heaven. Nay,
Hear me! When I have won my spurs--
FRIAR
[_Sings within._]
What, ho! What, ho!
Dan Cupido!
A spurless knight usurps thy halls.--
JOHANNA
What’s that?
SQUIRE
The friar! ’Tis his voice.
FRIAR
[_Sings within._]
Thy fortress falls,
And all her rosèd charms--
JOHANNA
Is’t in the cellar?
SQUIRE
Or the wall?
[_They look up the chimney._]
FRIAR
[_Sings within._]
To arms, Dan Cupido! To arms,
Dan Cupido!
[_With a rush of soot, he falls into the fireplace._]
Bon soir!
JOHANNA
’Od’s fiends!
SQUIRE
[_Seizing Friar, drags him forth._]
Sneak thief, at last I have thee--What!
A chimney-sweep?
FRIAR
Did scare the ladykin?
SQUIRE
Was’t thou that sung?
FRIAR
Sung-la?
JOHANNA
[_Brushing herself off._]
My taffeta!
SQUIRE
Sing! Didst thou sing?
FRIAR
Oh, sing! You mean the friar, sir.
SQUIRE
[_Peremptorily._]
Where?
FRIAR
In the cellar. He’s a-hiding, sir.
SQUIRE
I warrant him. Here--
[_Gives Friar a coin._]
Come, show me the scoundrel.
FRIAR
[_Examining coin._]
A noble!
[_Sings._]
Oh, rare
Sweet miller,
Lady-killer,
Not there, not there!
SQUIRE
[_Eyeing Friar with suspicion._]
What?
[_The Miller slips stealthily from the cellar door and
joins Alisoun in the cupboard._]
FRIAR
Was’t so he sung, sir?
SQUIRE
Yes.
JOHANNA
[_Still brushing her gown._]
Ruined!
FRIAR
Sir, follow, sir. I know him well.
A begging friar?
SQUIRE
Yes.--One moment, Mistress.--
I’ll flay the beggar. Now!
FRIAR
[_The Friar opens cellar door; Squire snatches his candle
and precedes him._]
A sneaking friar--
A noble!--a swindling, skulking, lying friar.
[_Aside to Bob Miller, who joins him from the cupboard._]
O rare Bob-up-and-down!
[_Exeunt; Alisoun leaves the cupboard and exit stealthily at
door, left front._]
JOHANNA
Stay; are they gone?
Mass! mass! I’m spotted worse than ink. And kneel
In Canterbury kirk in such a gown!
I’ll eat it first. Oh, Lord! Lord, now who comes?
[_Enter, left back, the Canon’s Yeoman and the Carpenter;
after whom the Wife of Bath, disguised._]
ALISOUN
Good fellow, you there, can you propagate
Unto my vision--a young prioress?
CANON’S YEOMAN
No, sir, I cannot.
ALISOUN
Or a marchioness?
[_The pilgrims pass on._]
JOHANNA
[_Aside._]
A marchioness!
ALISOUN
[_Twirling her sword-scabbard._]
Hum! Hum!
CARPENTER
How went the sermon?
CANON’S YEOMAN
God’s blood! Old Wycliffe hammered the pope flat.
The pulpit rang like a hot anvil.
CARPENTER
Aye,
There’ll be skulls cracked yet.
[_Exeunt right._]
ALISOUN
[_To Johanna._]
Amorous Minerva!
JOHANNA
Signor!
[_Aside._]
My left sleeve’s clean.
ALISOUN
I have a son,
Whose aunt--
JOHANNA
Are you the Knight of Algezir?
ALISOUN
I am--Dan Roderigo d’Algezir.
JOHANNA
My Aubrey’s father.
ALISOUN
Bones! Are you Johanna?
JOHANNA
[_Aside._]
Bones!
ALISOUN
Corpus arms! it sticks me to the heart
To gaze on your sweet face, my dear.
JOHANNA
[_Aside._]
My dear!
ALISOUN
Ah! the fat rogue! He said your face was worth
Unbuckling an off eye to pop it in;
But such a pretty finch!
JOHANNA
Finch! Sir, perhaps
You are deceived in me.--Who sent you here?
ALISOUN
Yon chum of that sweet spindle-shanks, my son--
Yon rhymester, Master Geoffrey.
JOHANNA
Yes; ’twas he.
[_Aside._]
Saints! is _this_ Aubrey’s father?
[_Aloud._]
Doubtless, sir,
There’s no mistake. Your sister left you word--
ALISOUN
O villain! Aye, though I ha’ bred him! What
Though ’tis my own son--villain! God’s teeth!
JOHANNA
Sir!
ALISOUN
Your pardon, dainty dame. Before I speak
I do not rinse my mouth in oleander.
I am a blunt knight. Nay, I cannot sigh
A simoon hot with sonnets like my son.
I am a blunt knight who, on Satan’s heel,
Hath rode it and strode it, wenched it, wived it, and knived it,
Booted and footed ’t, till--by Venus’ shoestring,
I be a blunt and rough but honest soldier.
JOHANNA
Signore, I believe it.
ALISOUN
Blunt’s the word, then;
And here’s the blunt point. You’re deceived.
JOHANNA
By whom?
ALISOUN
By Aubrey.
JOHANNA
What!
ALISOUN
Aye, by my smiling son
Wi’ the pretty curls. Where is he now?
JOHANNA
Why, he--
He’s gone to find the friar.
ALISOUN
Aye.
JOHANNA
Good Heaven!
Can he have harmed him?
ALISOUN
Who--the friar? The friar’s
His pal--his pal; and so is Geoffrey; aye,
And that lascivious, Latin-singing nun--
JOHANNA
What! Eglantine?
ALISOUN
Yes, she; those four! Child, child,
Wouldst not believe it, how they’ve sneaked and schemed,
Plotted my life, aye, for my money. But
’Twas lust, lust egged him on. Oh God! my son!
And ’twas a cherub ’fore this Geoffrey warped him!
JOHANNA
[_To herself._]
They whispered here: and there she said “Dear Aubrey.”
ALISOUN
And their disguises; oh, you’d not believe it!
That devil friar plays the chimney-sweep.
And--
JOHANNA
Chimney-sweep! ’Twas he, then, sung? Oh, come;
Help!
ALISOUN
Where?
JOHANNA
They’re in the cellar.
ALISOUN
Like enough;
They’re plotting, plotting. God’s wounds! ’Tis a trap.
Where be they all? Geoffrey to send me here--
My son to leave you with the friar--Ha!
They’re with that sly, deceptive Prioress;
’Tis she--
JOHANNA
Why, she’s your sister.
ALISOUN
[_As if taken back._]
What--my sister!
Is _she_ the Prioress? _She_ Eglantine?
JOHANNA
Yes, yes; and she, too, left upon a pretext.
Sir Roderigo, say, what shall we do?
ALISOUN
My sister--and my son!
JOHANNA
[_Calls._]
Aubrey!--no answer?
Aubrey!
ALISOUN
My son and sister!
JOHANNA
Oh, poor soldier!
ALISOUN
Oh, monstrous brood, hatched in a vampire’s nest!
But I will be revenged. Go to your room;
Lock fast the door; but when I call, “A brooch,
A brooch!” come forth and raise the house.
JOHANNA
Why “brooch”?
ALISOUN
A watchword. Quick; go! I hear footsteps. Go!
[_Urges her toward door, right back._]
Blunt is the word; your presence dangers me--
Your room. No, no, I fear not.
JOHANNA
Poor Sir Roderick!
[_Exit; Alisoun shuts door; voices outside, left._]
ALISOUN
A miss is as good’s a mile.
REEVE
[_Outside._]
Where went your knight?
[_Enter Reeve, Doctor, and Chaucer._]
CHAUCER
To chapel.
REEVE
Na, na, na; I saw him not.
CHAUCER
[_To Doctor._]
Nor you?
DOCTOR
A knight, say you, from the Holy Land?
CHAUCER
Yes, a crusader.
DOCTOR
[_Points at Alisoun._]
Is that he?
CHAUCER
Ah, thank you;
[_Starts forward, but sees he is mistaken._]
Nay, ’tis another man.
DOCTOR
Good even, sir.
REEVE
[_To Doctor._]
’Twas the first time I heard the devil preach
In chapel.
DOCTOR
Wycliffe?
REEVE
[_Nods._]
Curse him and his Lollards!
[_Exeunt, right front._]
CHAUCER
[_Follows them to door, and calls._]
Aubrey!
ALISOUN
[_Claps her hands._]
Host!
CHAUCER
Signorino!
ALISOUN
Host here!
[_Enter from cellar the Miller and Bottlejohn. As the door
is closing, the chink is filled with the faces of the
Swains, threatening Bottlejohn._]
MILLER
[_His dagger drawn, aside to Bottlejohn._]
Mum!
Quick! Be thy ribs good whetstones?
BOTTLEJOHN
[_Ducking to Alisoun._]
Here, sweet lording.
ALISOUN
Thou’rt slow.
MILLER
[_Aside._]
Ribs!
BOTTLEJOHN
Slow, sweet lording.
ALISOUN
Tell me, host,
Hast thou residing in this hostelry
A gentle prioress?
CHAUCER
[_Aside._]
What?
MILLER
[_Aside to Bottlejohn, sharpening his dagger on an ale mug._]
Whetstones!
BOTTLEJOHN
Aye,
Sweet lording.
ALISOUN
Good; go tell her that her brother
Awaits her here.
CHAUCER
[_Aside._]
Her brother!
[_Draws nearer._]
HOST
Aye, sweet lording.
[_Starts for door, right back, Miller following._]
ALISOUN
Her brother, say--Dan Roderigo.
BOTTLEJOHN
Aye,
Sweet lording.
MILLER
Host, hast thou a whetstone in
Thy pocket?
BOTTLEJOHN
Aye, sweet lording.
MILLER
[_Winking at Alisoun._]
“Aye, sweet lording.”
[_Exeunt Bottlejohn and Miller._]
[_Alisoun ignores Chaucer’s presence._]
CHAUCER
[_Approaching her._]
Your pardon, sir, I trespass. By your cross
You come--
ALISOUN
From Palestine. Well met. You, friend?
CHAUCER
Nay, I’m a door-mouse, sir; a doze-at-home.
My home’s near by at Greenwich. You have friends--
Friends at the inn?
ALISOUN
A friend, sir; a fair friend;
By Jupiter, a sweet friend.
CHAUCER
Ah!
ALISOUN
A sister.
She is a nun.
CHAUCER
Good God!
ALISOUN
A prioress.
CHAUCER
It cannot be!
ALISOUN
Signor!
CHAUCER
Her name? Her name?
ALISOUN
What’s that to you--her name?
CHAUCER
[_Disconcerted._]
It may be--
ALISOUN
Ah!
Perhaps you know her--what? ’Tis Eglantine.
CHAUCER
Impossible!--Sir, pardon me; I must
Have made some strange mistake.
ALISOUN
Nay, friend; I guess
’Tis I have made the blunder.
CHAUCER
You, sir?
ALISOUN
Sooth,
I might as well stick both feet in the mire
And wade across my blushes. We old lads
With beards, who sees our blushes, what? So, then,
This prioress, she is not just my sister.
CHAUCER
No?
ALISOUN
No.
CHAUCER
What then?
ALISOUN
Vous savez bien, these nuns,
When they would have a friend, they clepe him “brother.”
Especially on holy pilgrimage
It hath a proper sound: “My _brother_ meets me;
My _brother_ is a knight.” You cannot blame ’em;
’Tis more discreet; we men must humour ’em.
Therefore this little honeysuckle nun
Doth take delight to call me _brother_.
CHAUCER
Liar!
[_As Chaucer lifts his hand about to strike Alisoun, she
raises hers to guard; seizing it, he beholds her ring._]
What!--“Amor vincit omnia.”--Even her!
ALISOUN
Take back your lie!
CHAUCER
That ring--tell me--that ring!
ALISOUN
St. Madrian! It is my love-ring. She,
My sweet nun, gave it me. She wears a brooch
To match it, on her wrist.
[_Enter, right, Bottlejohn and Miller._]
BOTTLEJOHN
The Prioress,
Sweet lording.
[_Enter the Prioress._]
PRIORESS
Brother! Welcome, brother!
CHAUCER
No!
God! God! I’ll not believe it. Aubrey! Aubrey!
[_Exit, left._]
ALISOUN
My pretty virgin sister!
PRIORESS
[_Gives her hand, reticently._]
Roderigo!
[_Looking after Chaucer._]
He need not, sure, have gone.
ALISOUN
Put up thy chin,
My snow-white dove. Aha, but thou art grown!
The silver slip o’ girlhood that I kissed
Good-by when I set out for Palestine
Hath mellowed into golden womanhood.
Give me thy lips.
PRIORESS
Nay, brother, nay; my vows!
I may not kiss a man.
ALISOUN
Toot! never fear, then;
Thou shalt not break thy vows against _my_ beard.
What, I’m thy brother; come!
PRIORESS
Adieu, mon frère.
ALISOUN
Soft, soft, my startled fawn. You need not jump
Because your brother is a true crusader.
Or didst thou fancy I was cut in stone,
With my cold gauntlets crossed above my breast,
Like a dumb, marble knight upon a tomb?
Art not thou glad to see me, sister?
PRIORESS
Yes,
Mon frère. Forgive me, I had thought--You see,
My nephew--’tis a pretty mannered youth;
You’re not alike, are you?
ALISOUN
[_Laughing._]
By Peter’s toe,
I hope not. Saints deliver me from being
A new-hatched chicken’s feather.
PRIORESS
What! your son?
ALISOUN
Next, thou’ll be wishing I were like that fellow
That fetched me here--yon what’s-his-name, yon Geoffrey.
PRIORESS
Why, ’tis a noble gentleman.
[_Enter, from cellar door, Summoner, Shipman, Cook, Friar,
and Manciple; they look on._]
ALISOUN
Hoho!
Your noble gentleman! Why, harkee, sweet;
He told me he’s betrothèd to an ale-wife.
PRIORESS
He told you--when?
ALISOUN
Just now, coming from chapel.
PRIORESS
Her name?
ALISOUN
[_Ruminating, winks at the Swains._]
What was her name, now?--Alisoun,
The Wife of Bath, they call her.
PRIORESS
O gran Dieu!
That _person_!
ALISOUN
Person! God wot, ’twas not so
Your Geoffrey called her. “Alisoun,” quoth he;
“My lily Alisoun, my fresh wild-rose,
My cowslip in the slough of womankind,
Bright Alisoun shall be my bride.”
PRIORESS
[_Throwing herself into Alisoun’s arms._]
Mon frère!
Oh, keep me safe, mon frère!
[_She hides her face._]
MILLER
[_Laughing._]
By Corpus bones!
SUMMONER
Look!
SHIPMAN
Hold me up!
BOTTLEJOHN
[_Whispers._]
Lady, beware!
MILLER
Mum!
PRIORESS
What
Are these?
ALISOUN
Begone, you varlets!
COOK
[_Bowing._]
Yes, sweet lord.
SUMMONER
We know our betters.
[_They withdraw a little._]
ALISOUN
Come, what cheer, my girl?
Hath that churl Geoffrey wronged thee?
PRIORESS
No, no, no!
ALISOUN
Nay, if the churl hath wronged thee, by this locket--
PRIORESS
Swear not by that. _He_ swore by that.
ALISOUN
O vile!
He swore by this--the brooch that holds my hair,
Thy brother’s hair?
PRIORESS
But, Roderigo--
ALISOUN
What!
Give’t here! Or maybe thou hast promised it
To him?
PRIORESS
No, no, mon frère. Here, take it--keep it.
ALISOUN
So! By this brooch--
[_Aside._]
Now, lads, learn how to woo!
Now, by this golden brooch of Eglantine,
And by this little, slender wrist of pearl,
Where once it hung; and by the limpid eyes
Of Eglantine, and by her ripe, red mouth,
Yea, by the warm white doves which are her breasts
And flutter at the heart of Eglantine,
I swear I will be ever Eglantine’s
And lacerate the foes of Eglantine.
PRIORESS
Brother, such words--
ALISOUN
Call me not brother, sweet;
A brother’s blood is lukewarm in his limbs,
But mine for thee is lightning. Look at me!
Was Jove a finer figure of a man
Than me? Had Agamemnon such an arm,
Or Hector such a leg?
PRIORESS
Forbear! Forbear!
ALISOUN
Alack, she scorns me. Stay, Venus of virgins!
Why dost thou wimple all the lovely dawn
Of thy young body in this veil of night?
Why wilt thou cork thy sweetness up, and, like
A mummy, wrapped in rose and ivory,
Store all thy beauty till the judgment-day?
God did not paint thee on a window-glass.
Step down from thy cold chapel, rosy saint,
And take thy true-knight in thine arms.
PRIORESS
Help! help!
BOTTLEJOHN
Pray, lady, pray! It is Satanas! They
Be devils all!
ALISOUN
Love--Eglantine--I kneel.
PRIORESS
Joannes! Marcus!
[_Seizing her crucifix._]
Tibi, Domine!
[_Enter, right, Joannes, Marcus, and Paulus. They are
immediately driven back by the Summoner, Shipman, and
Cook._]
JOANNES
Madame.
SHIPMAN
Come on!
PRIORESS
Help! Save me!
[_Enter Chaucer, left._]
ALISOUN
[_To Prioress._]
Lovely nymph,
Come to my arms--
CHAUCER
[_To Alisoun, with his sword drawn._]
Embrace me.
PRIORESS
[_Goes to his protection._]
Cher monsieur!
ALISOUN
God save you, Master Geoffrey.
CHAUCER
Draw!
FRIAR
[_Aside._]
Lord! Lord!
The pot boils. Now to add the salt and pepper.
[_Exit down cellar._]
[_Enter, left back, in quick succession, all the pilgrims, returning
with their links from chapel._]
PRIORESS
[_To Chaucer._]
Monsieur--
CHAUCER
[_To Alisoun._]
Draw!
PRIORESS
Do not fight, Monsieur!
CHAUCER
Wilt draw, I say?
ALISOUN
Draw what? Draw _you_? Merci,
I’m not a dray-horse.
CHAUCER
Is this man your brother?
PRIORESS
Oh, sir, I know not; but he hath insulted--
CHAUCER
Insulted you? Enough. By all the devils,
Defend yourself!
ALISOUN
[_Drawing._]
To arms then, sweet Achilles.
[_They fight. Re-enter right, Shipman, Summoner, and Cook.
They rush to Alisoun’s aid._]
SHIPMAN
Boardside the fat churl.
PILGRIMS
Come! A fight!
FRANKLIN
[_Entering._]
Who are they?
MERCHANT
A Lollard and Papist.
PRIORESS
Stay them! Stop them!
PILGRIMS
Down with the Papists!
PRIORESS
Oh, St. Loy!
CHAUCER
[_To the crowd._]
Stand off!
PILGRIMS
Down with the Lollards!
[_They close in and fight confusedly with staves._]
ALISOUN
[_Holding up the locket._]
Hold! A brooch! A brooch!
CHAUCER
I’ll make thee yield it, ruffian.
[_From the cellar enter the Friar and the Squire, the
latter sword in hand, fragments of cut ropes still clinging
to him._]
SQUIRE
[_To Chaucer--plunging at Alisoun._]
Sir, I’m with you.
[_Enter, right, Johanna._]
ALISOUN
[_To Squire._]
Unnatural son!
JOHANNA
Help!
[_Throws herself between them._]
Brave Sir Roderick!
[_To Squire._]
Shame! Shame! Your father’s blood?
SQUIRE
You, lady?
[_Enter, left, Wycliffe._]
WYCLIFFE
[_To the pilgrims._]
Peace!
CHAUCER
You, marchioness! What does this mean?
ALISOUN
[_Stripping off her beard and wig--her own hair falling
over her shoulders--snatches a warming-pan from the
chimney, and confronts Chaucer._]
Sweet Geoffrey,
It means this pan shall warm our wedding sheets.
MILLER
What devil!
CHAUCER
Alisoun!--My bet is lost.
FRANKLIN
The Wife of Bath!
[_The pilgrims crowd round and laugh._]
JOHANNA
[_Turning away._]
Impostors!
ALISOUN
[_To Chaucer._]
Come, sweet chuck,
And kiss the brooch that hath betrothed our hearts.
PRIORESS
M’sieur, is this true?
[_As Chaucer turns to the Prioress in a kind of blank
dismay, enter, from the cellar, swathed in a long gown, the
real Knight and the Friar._]
KNIGHT
[_To Friar._]
Where?
[_Friar points to Prioress; he advances._]
Eglantine!
PRIORESS
[_Aghast at this apparition, runs to the priedieu._]
No more!
CHAUCER
[_Struck, at a flash, by this medley of incongruities, bursts into
laughter, and seizing an ale mug, lifts it high._]
Alis, I drink to thee and woman’s wit.
FRIAR
God save the vintner and the Wife of Bath!
PILGRIMS
[_Shout._]
God save the vintner and the Wife of Bath!
ALISOUN
[_Sharing the ale mug with Chaucer._]
Sweetheart!
Explicit pars tertia.
ACT FOURTH
“And specially, from every shires ende
Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende,
The holy blisful martyr for to seke,
That hem hath holpen whan that they were seke.”