_THE GROUP OF POETS._
The nation was young, virile, and productive. Around Chaucer was a whole
swarm of poets; he towers above them as an oak towers above a coppice;
but the oak is not isolated like the great trees that are sometimes seen
beneath the sun, alone in the midst of an open country. Chaucer is
without peer but not without companions; and, among those companions,
one at least deserves to be ranked very near him.
He has companions of all kinds, nearly as diverse as those with whom he
had associated on the road to Canterbury. Some are continuators of the
old style, and others are reformers; some there are, filled with the
dreamy spirit of the Anglo-Saxons; there are others who care little for
dreams and theories, who are of the world, and will not leave the earth;
some who sing, others who hum, others who talk. Certain poems are like
clarions, and celebrate the battle of Crecy, of which Chaucer had not
spoken; others resemble lovers' serenades; others a dirge for the dead.
I.
The old styles are continued; the itinerant poets, jugglers, and
minstrels have not disappeared; on the contrary, they are more numerous
than ever. "Merry England" favours them; they continue to play, as
under the first Angevins,[568] a very considerable and multiple part,
which it is difficult to estimate. Those people, with their vast memory,
are like perambulating libraries; they instruct, they amuse, they edify.
Passing from county to county, hawking news, composing satirical songs,
they fill also the place of a daily gazette; they represent public
opinion, sometimes create it, and often distort it; they are living
newspapers; they furnish their auditors with information about the
misdeeds of the Government, which, from time to time, seizes the most
talkative, and imprisons them to keep them silent. The king has
minstrels in his service; they are great personages in their way,
pensioned by the prince and despising the others. The nobles also keep
some in their pay, which does not prevent their welcoming those who
pass; they feast them when they have sung well, and give them furred
robes and money.[569]
They continue to prosper in the following century. We see at that time
the king of England's minstrels, people clever and of good instruction,
protesting against the increasing audacity of sham minstrels, whose
ignorance casts discredit on the profession. "Uncultured peasants," says
the king in a vengeful statute, "and workmen of different kinds in our
kingdom of England ... have given themselves out to be our own
minstrels."[570] Without any experience or understanding of the art,
they go from place to place on festival days, and gather all the money
that should have enriched the true artists, those who really devote
themselves to their profession and ply no manual craft. Vain efforts;
decline was imminent; minstrels were not to recover their former
standing. The Renaissance and the Reformation came; and, owing to the
printing-press, gay scavoir found other means of spreading through the
country. In the sixteenth century, it is true, minstrels still abound,
but they are held in contempt; right-minded people, like Philip Stubbes,
have no terms strong enough to qualify "suche drunken sockets and bawdye
parasits as range the cuntreyes, ryming and singing of uncleane,
corrupt, and filthie songes in tavernes, ale-houses, innes, and other
publique assemblies.... Every towne, citie, and countrey is full of
these minstrelles to pype up a dance to the devill; but of dyvines, so
few there be as they maye hardly be seene."[571]
Before this awful time comes for them, however, the minstrels thrive
under the last Plantagenets. Their bill is a varied one, and includes
the best and the worst; they sometimes recite the "Troilus" of
Chaucer,[572] and sometimes the ancient romances of chivalry, altered,
spoiled, shorn of all their poetry. Chaucer had ridiculed these versions
of the old heroic stories, written in tripping verses, but in vain.
Throughout his life, after as well as before "Sir Thopas," he could
wonder and laugh at the success of stories, composed in the very style
of his own burlesque poem, about heroes who, being all peerless, are
necessarily all alike: one is "stalworthe and wyghte," another "hardy
and wyght," a third also "hardy and wyght"; and the fourth, fifth, and
hundredth are equally brave and invincible. They are called Isumbras,
Eglamour, Degrevant[573]; but they differ in their names and in nothing
more. The booksellers of the Renaissance who printed their histories
could make the same woodcut on the cover serve for all their portraits.
By merely altering the name beneath, they changed all there was to
change; one and the same block did duty in turn for Romulus or Robert
the Devil.[574] Specimens of this facile art swarm indefinitely; they
are scattered over the country, penetrate into hamlets, find their way
into cottages, and make the people acquainted with the doughty deeds of
Eglamour and Roland. We now find ourselves really in the copse.
In the middle of the copse are trees of finer growth. Some among the
poets, while conforming to the old style, improve upon their models as
they proceed; they add an original note of their own, and on that
account deserve to be listened to. Far above those empty, tripping
metrical stories, and superior even to "Morte Arthure" and to "William
of Palerne,"[575] written in English verse at the time of Chaucer, ranks
"Sir Gawayne and the Green Knight,"[576] being incomparably the best
specimen of the style. Instead of puppets with jerky movements, and
wooden joints that we hear crack, the English poet shows in this work
real men and women, with supple limbs and red lips; elegant, graceful,
and charming to behold. These knights and ladies in their well-fitting
armour or their tight dresses, whom we see stretched in churches on
their fourteenth-century tombs, have come back to life once more; and
now they move, they gaze on each other, they love again.
On Christmas day, in presence of Arthur and his whole Court, Sir Gawayne
cuts off the head of the Green Knight. This giant knight is doubtless an
enchanter, for he stoops, picks up his head, and, remounting his horse,
bids Sir Gawayne meet him a year hence at the Green Chapel, where he
will give him blow for blow.
The year passes. Gawayne leaves the Court with his horse "Gringolet,"
and without quitting England, rides through unknown lands, having no
one to speak to save God. He reaches the gate of a splendid castle, and
is welcomed by a knight of ordinary stature, under whose present
appearance he does not recognise his adversary the giant. Three days are
left before the date of the tryst; they are spent in amusements. The
knight goes daily to hunt; he agrees to give all his game to his guest,
who remains at home with the lady of the castle, the most beautiful
woman ever seen, on condition that Gawayne, in his turn, will give him
what he has taken during his absence. Every night they gaily sup in the
hall; a bright light burns on the walls, the servants set up wax
torches, and serve at table. The meal is cheered by music and "caroles
newe,"[577] jests, and the laughter of ladies.[578] At three o'clock
each morning the lord of the castle rises, hears mass, and goes
a-hunting. Gawayne is awakened from sleep by his hostess; she enters his
room, with easy and graceful movements, dressed in a "mery mantyle" and
furred gown, trailing on the floor, but very low in the neck:
Hir breste bare bifore, and bihinde eke.
She goes to the window, opens it, and says, "with hir riche wordes":
A! mon, hou may thou sleep,
This morning is so clere![579]
She seats herself, and refuses to go. Gawayne is assailed by terrible
temptations. The thought of the Green Chapel, fortunately, helps him to
overcome them, and the first, second, and third night his fair friend
finds him equally coy. She kisses him once, twice, thrice, and jeers at
him for forgetting each day what she had taught him on the previous one,
namely, to kiss. When the hunter returns in the evening, Gawayne gives
him the kisses he has received in exchange for the spoils of the chase:
a buck, a boar, and a fox. He had, however, accepted besides a
marvellous belt, which protected the wearer from all danger, but he says
nothing about this, and puts it on: "Aux grands coeurs donnez quelques
faiblesses," our author obviously thinks, with Boileau.
On the fourth day Gawayne starts with a guide, and reaches the Green
Chapel; the Green Giant is there, ready to give him back the blow
received a year before. Gawayne stoops his head under the dreadful axe,
and just as it falls cannot help bending his shoulders a little. You are
not that Gawayne, says the giant, held in such high esteem. At this,
Arthur's knight straightens himself; the giant lifts his axe again and
strikes, but only inflicts a slight wound. All is now explained: for the
kisses Gawayne should have received mortal blows, but he gave them back;
he kept the belt, however, and this is why he will bear through life a
scar on his neck. Vexed, he throws away the belt, but the giant returns
it to him, and consoles him by admitting that the trial was a superhuman
one, that he himself is Bernlak de Haut-Desert, and that his guest has
been the sport of "Morgan the fairy," the companion of his hostess:
Thurgh myght of Morgne la Faye that in my hous lenges (dwells).
Gawayne declares that should he ever be tempted by pride, he need only
look at the belt, and the temptation will vanish. He rejoins Arthur and
his peers, and tells his adventures, which afford food both for laughter
and for admiration.
The poem is anonymous. The same manuscript contains another, on a
totally different subject, which seems to be by the same author. This
poem has been called "The Pearl;"[580] it is a song of mourning. It must
have been written some time after the sad event which it records, when
the bitterness of sorrow had softened. The landscape is bathed in
sunlight, the hues are wonderfully bright. The poet has lost his
daughter, his pearl, who is dead; his pearl has fallen in the grass, and
he has been unable to find it; he cannot tear himself away from the spot
where she had been. He entered in that arbour green; it was August, that
sunny season, when the corn has just fallen under the sickle; there the
pearl had "trendeled doun" among the glittering, richly-coloured plants,
gilly-flowers, gromwell seed, and peonies, splendid in their hues,
sweeter in their smell.[581] He sees a forest, rocks that glisten in
the sun, banks of crystal; birds sing in the branches, and neither
cistern nor guitar ever made sweeter music. The sound of waters, too, is
heard; a brook glides over pebbles shining like the stars in a winter's
night, at the hour when the weary sleep.[582]
So great is the beauty of the place that the father's grief is soothed,
and he has a marvellous vision. On the opposite side of the stream he
sees a maiden clothed in white; and as he gazes he suddenly recognises
her: O pearl art thou in sooth my pearl, so mourned and wept for through
so many nights? Touching and consoling is the answer: Thou hast lost no
pearl, and never hadst one; that thou lost was but a rose, that flowered
and faded; now only has the rose become a pearl for ever.[583] The
father follows his child to where a glimpse can be caught of the
Celestial City, with its flowers and jewels, the mystic lamb, and the
procession of the elect; it seems as if the poet were describing
beforehand, figure by figure, Van Eyck's painting at St. Bavon of Ghent.
II.
An immense copse surrounds the oak. About Chaucer swarm innumerable
minstrels, anonymous poets, rhyming clerks, knightly ballad makers.[584]
The fragile works of these rhyming multitudes are for the most part
lost, yet great quantities of them still exist. They are composed by
everybody, and written in the three languages used by the English; some
being in French, some in English, some in Latin.
The Plantagenets were an art-loving race. Edward III. never thought of
cost when it came to painting and gilding the walls of St. Stephen's
Chapel; Richard II. disliked a want of conformity in architectural
styles, and, having the conscience of an artist, gave an example of a
rare sort in the Middle Ages, for he continued Westminster Abbey in the
style of Henry III. Members of the royal family were known to write
verses. The hero of Poictiers inserted in his will a piece of poetry in
French, requesting that the lines should be graven on his tomb, where
they can still be read in Canterbury Cathedral: "Such as thou wast, so
was I; of death I never thought so long as I lived. On earth I enjoyed
ample wealth, and I used it with great splendour, land, houses, and
treasure, cloth, horses, silver and gold; but now I am poor and bereft,
I lie under earth, my great beauty is all gone.... And were you to see
me now, I do not think you would believe that ever I was a man."[585]
The nobles followed suit; they put their passions into verse; but all
had not sufficient skill for such delicate pastimes. Many contented
themselves with copying some of those ready-made ballads, of which
professional poets supplied ready-made collections; just as sermons were
written for the benefit of obtuse parish priests, under the significant
title of "Dormi Secure"[586] (Sleep in peace, tomorrow's sermon is
ready). We find also in English manuscripts rubrics like the following:
"Loo here begynnethe a Balade whiche that Lydegate wrote at the request
of a squyer yt served in Love's court."[587] In their most elegant
language, with all the studied refinement of the flowery style, the
poets, writing to order, amplified, embellished, and spoilt: "ce mot, le
mot des dieux et des hommes: je t'aime!" We are not even in the copse
now, and we must stoop close to earth in order to see these blossoms of
a day.
Among men of the people, and plain citizens, as well as at Court, the
taste for ballads and songs imported from France became general in the
fourteenth century. In the streets of London, mere craftsmen could be
heard singing French burdens: for in spite of the progress of the
national tongue, French was not yet entirely superseded in Great
Britain. Langland in his Visions has London workmen who sing: "Dieu vous
sauve dame Emma."[588] Chaucer's good parson bears witness to the
popularity of another song, and declares in the course of his sermon:
"Wel may that man that no good werke ne dooth, singe thilke newe Frenshe
song: "J'ay tout perdu mon temps et mon labour."[589]
In imitation of what was done in the northern provinces of France, a
_Pui_ had been founded in London, that is an association established for
the purpose of encouraging the art of the _chanson_, which awarded
prizes to the authors of the best verses and the best music.[590] In the
fourteenth century the Pui of London was at the height of its
prosperity; it included both foreign and English merchants. It had been
instituted so that "jolity, peace, courtesy, gentleness, debonairity,
and love without end might be maintained, all good promoted, and evil
prevented." These merchants of divers countries evidently agreed in
thinking that music softens the manners, and tried to extinguish their
quarrels by songs. At the head of the Pui was a "prince" surrounded by
twelve "compaignouns," elected by the brotherhood, whose mission
included the duty of pacifying the squabblers. Each year a new prince
was chosen and solemnly enthroned. On the appointed day "the old prince
and his companions must go from one end of the hall to the other,
singing; the old prince will bear on his head the crown of the Pui, and
have in his hand a gilt cup full of wine. And when they shall have gone
all round, the old prince must give the one they have elected to drink,
and also give him the crown, and that one shall be prince."
To pass judgment on _chansons_ is no trifle, and the deed is surrounded
by every precaution befitting so important a sentence. The decision
rests with the old prince and the new, assisted by about fifteen "of the
most knowing among the companions," who are all obliged to take a solemn
oath: "They must find which is the best song, to the best of their
capacity, under oath that they will not fail for love, for hate, for
favour, for promise, for neighbourhood, for lineage, for any tie old or
new, or for any reason whatsoever." Moreover, two or three judges shall
be appointed "who are skilled in singing and music," to examine the tune
of the song: "For unless it be accompanied by music, a written text
cannot be called a _chanson_, neither can a _chanson royale_ be crowned
unless it be accompanied with the sweetness of melodious singing." The
winner is to receive the crown, and his composition, copied and fairly
written out, will be posted up in the hall, under the prince's coat of
arms: "The prince shall cause to be fastened under his coat of arms the
song crowned on the day he was chosen to be the new prince, clearly
written, and correctly, without fault."
At one time the Pui society was nearly ruined, owing to the expense
incurred for decking the hall. In future it will be more moderate: "It
is agreed henceforth that part of the hall where the feast of the Pui
is held, be not hung with silk or cloth of gold, neither shall the hall
itself be draped, but only fairly garnished with green boughs, the floor
strewn with rushes, benches prepared, as befits such a feast royal; only
the seat for the singers who are to sing the _chansons royales_ shall be
covered with cloth of gold."
After the competition, all dine together. Here is the bill of fare for
the feast: "And the bill of fare is thus ordained; be all the companions
liberally served, the poorest as well as the richest, after this
fashion, to wit, that to them be served good bread, good ale and good
wine, and then potage and a course of strong meat, and after that a
double roast in a dish, and cheese, and nothing else." Women were not
admitted to these gatherings, and so that slanderers might not say it
was for fear of quarrels, or worse, we are told by the society itself
that it was to teach the members to "honour, cherish, and praise them as
much in their absence as in their presence."
No feast was complete in the Middle Ages without a procession or
progress through the streets; the amusement was thus shared by the
people. The members of the Pui did not fail in this: "As soon as they
shall have given the crown to the best singer, they shall mount their
horses and ride through the town, and then accompany their new prince to
his hostel, and there all get down, and dance before departing; and
drink once, and return each to his hostel." With its songs and music,
its kind purpose, its crowns and green branches, this association seems
like a peaceful and verdant corner of Arcadia in the midst of London
City, peaceful and merry in spite of mercantile jealousies and
international hatreds.
This oasis is all the more charming to the sight because it is only an
oasis. Such sentiments were too courteous to be very common. While our
friends of the Pui endeavour to cherish and praise women even in their
absence, other makers of songs follow another mediaeval tradition and
satirise them mercilessly. Triads were dedicated to them, which were
nothing but slanderous litanies:
Herfor, and therfor, and therfor I came
And for to preysse this praty woman.
There wer three wylly, three wyly ther wer,
A fox, a fryyr and a woman.
Ther wer three angry, three angry ther wer:
A wasp a wesyll and a woman.[591]
So the litany continues, very different from the litany of the beauties
of woman sung in the same period, perhaps by the same men. Friars,
monks, and fops who adopt absurd fashions, and wear hose so tight that
they cannot stoop for fear of bursting them,[592] are, with women, the
subjects of these satirical songs:
Preste, ne monke, ne yit chanoun,
Ne no man of religioun,
Gyfen hem so to devocioun
As done thes holy frers,
For summe gyven ham chyvalry,
Somme to riote and ribaudery;
Bot ffrers gyven ham to grete study
And to grete prayers.[593]
An account follows of doings, studies, and prayers, by no means
edifying, and which recalls Chaucer rather than St. Francis.
III.
The tone becomes more elevated; and then we have forest songs in honour
of the outlaw Robin Hood.[594] The satire ceases to be simply mocking;
the singer's laughter no longer consoles him for abuses; he wants
reforms; he chides and threatens. In his speech to the rebel peasants in
1381, the priest John Ball takes from a popular song the burden that
comprises his whole theory:
Whan Adam dalf and Eve span,
Who was thanne the gentilman?[595]
The anonymous poet makes the dumb peasant speak, describe his woes, and
draw up a list of his complaints. By way of reply, anonymous clerks
compose songs, half English and half Latin, a favourite mixture at that
time, in which they express their horror of the rebels.[596] Others
sound the praises of the English heroes of the Hundred Years' War.
Contrary to what might be supposed, the number of these last songs is
not great, and their inspiration not exalted. The war, as has been seen,
was a royal and not a national one; and it happened, moreover, that none
of the famous poets of the time saw fit to celebrate Crecy and
Poictiers. We have, therefore, nothing but rough sketches, akin to
popular prints, barbarous in design, and coarse in colouring, but of
strong intent. Clerks, in their Latin, pursue France and Philip de
Valois, with opprobrious epithets:
Lynxea, viperea, vulpina, lupina, medea,
Callida, syrena, crudelis, acerba, superba.
Such is France according to them, and as to her king, his fate is
predicted in the following pun:
O Philippus Valeys, Xerxes, Darius, Bituitus,
Te faciet _maleys_ Edwardus, aper polimitus.[597]
To which the French replied:
Puis passeront Gauloys le bras marin,
Le povre Anglet destruiront si par guerre,
Qu'adonc diront tuit passant ce chemin:
Ou temps jadis estoit ci Angleterre.[598]
But both countries have survived, for other quarrels, other troubles,
and other glories.
The battles of Edward III. were also celebrated in a series of English
poems, that have been preserved for us in a single manuscript, together
with the name of their author, Laurence Minot,[599] concerning whom
nothing is known. In his rude verse, where alliteration is sometimes
combined with rhyme, both being very roughly handled, Minot follows
Edward step by step, and extols his prowess with the best will, but in
the worst poetry. Grand subjects do not need magnifying; and when
magnified by unskilful artists they run the risk of recalling the Sir
Thopas example: this risk Edward incurs at the hands of Laurence Minot.
On the other hand absurd and useless expletives, "suth to saine,"
"i-wis," and especially "both day and night" continually help Minot to
eke out his rhymes; and the reader is sorely tempted uncourteously to
agree with him when he exclaims:
Help me God, my wit es thin![600]
Besides these war-songs, and at the same time, laments are heard, as in
former days, sad and desponding accents. Defeats have succeeded to
victories, and they contribute to raise doubts as to the validity of
Edward's claims.[601] What if, after all, this ruinous war, the issue of
which is uncertain, should turn out to be an unjust war as well? Verses
are even composed on the subject of wrongs done to inoffensive people in
France: "Sanguis communitatis Franciae quae nihil ei nocebat quaeritur apud
Deum."[602]
In war literature the Scots did not fare better than the French at the
hands of their neighbours. At this time, and for long after, they were
still the foe, just as the Irish or French were. Following the example
given by the latter, the Scots replied; several of their replies, being
in English, belong to the literature of England. The most energetic is
the semi-historical romance called "The Bruce"; it is the best of the
patriotic poems deriving their inspiration from the wars of the
fourteenth century.
"The Bruce," composed about 1375 by John Barbour,[603] is divided into
twenty books; it is written in the dialect spoken in the south of
Scotland from Aberdeen to the frontier, the dialect employed later by
James I. and Sir David Lyndesay, who, like Barbour himself, called it
"inglis." Barbour's verse is octo-syllabic, forming rhymed couplets; it
is the same as Chaucer's in his "Hous of Fame."
Barbour's intention is to write a true history; he thus expects, he
says, to give twofold pleasure: firstly because it is a history,
secondly because it is a true one. But where passion has a hold it is
rare that Truth reigns paramount, and Barbour's feeling for his country
is nothing short of passionate love; so much so that, when a legend is
to the credit of Scotland, his critical sense entirely disappears, and
miracles become for him history. Thus with monotonous uniformity,
throughout his poem a handful of Scotchmen rout the English multitudes;
the highlanders perform prodigies, and the king still surpasses them in
valour; everything succeeds with him as in a fairy tale. This love of
the soil, of its rocks and its lochs, of its clans and their chieftains,
brings to mind the most illustrious of the literary descendants of
Barbour, Walter Scott, who more than once borrowed from "The Bruce" the
subjects of his stories.[604]
Besides the love of their land, the two compatriots have in common a
taste for picturesque anecdotes, and select them with a view of making
their heroes popular; the sense of humour is not developed to an equal
degree, but it is of the same quality in both; and the same kind of
happy answers are enjoyed by the two. Barbour delights, and with good
reason, in preserving the account of the fight in which the king,
traitorously attacked by three men while alone in the mountains, "by a
wode syde," smites them "rigorously," and kills them all, and, when
congratulated on his return:
"Perfay," said he,
"I slew bot ane forouten ma,
God and my hound has slane the twa."[605]
Barbour likes to show the king, simple, patriarchal and valorous, stern
to his foes, and gentle to the weak. He makes him halt his army in
Ireland, because the screams of a woman have been heard; it is a poor
laundress in the pangs of child-birth; the march is interrupted; a tent
is spread, under which the poor creature is delivered in peace.[606]
To England's threats Barbour replies by challenges, and by his famous
apostrophe to liberty:
A! fredome is a noble thing!...[607]
Some people, continues the good archdeacon, who cannot long keep to the
lyric style, have compared marriage to bondage, but they are
unexperienced men who know nothing about it; of course marriage is the
worst state in which it is possible to live, the thing is beyond
discussion; but in bondage one cannot live, one dies.
IV.
A little above the copse another head rises; that of Chaucer's great
friend, John Gower. Unlike Chaucer in this, Gower hated and despised
common people; when he allows them room in his works, the place assigned
to them is an unenviable one. He is aristocratic and conservative by
nature, so that he belongs to old England as much as to the new nation,
and is the last in date of the recognisable representatives of Angevin
Britain. Like the latter, Gower hesitates between several idioms; he is
not sure that English is the right one; he is tri-lingual, just as
England had been; he writes long poems in Latin and English, and when he
addresses himself to "the universality of all men" he uses French. He
writes French "of Stratford," it is true; he knows it and confesses it;
but nothing shows better how truly he belongs to the England of times
gone, the half-French England of former days: he excuses himself and
persists. "And if I stumble in my French, forgive me my mistakes;
English I am; and beg on this plea to be excused."[608]
Unlike Chaucer, Gower was rich and of good family. His life was a long
one; born about 1325, he died in 1408. He was related to Sir Robert
Gower; he owned manors in the county of Kent and elsewhere; he was known
to the king, and to the royal family, but undertook no public functions.
To him as we have seen, and to Strode, Chaucer dedicated his "Troilus":
O moral Gower, this book I directe
To thee and to the philosophical Strode,
To vouchen sauf, ther nede is, to corecte
Of your benignitees and zeles gode.[609]
Gower, in his turn, represents Venus addressing him as follows:
... Grete well Chaucer whan ye mete
As my disciple and my poete,
For in the floures of his youth,
In sundry wise as he well couth,
Of dittees and of songes glade,
The which he for my sake made,
The lond fulfilled is over all.[610]
Gower was exceedingly pious. When old age came he retired with his wife
to the priory of St. Mary Overy's (now St. Saviour), in that same suburb
of Southwark where Chaucer preferred to frequent the "Tabard," and spent
his last years there in devout observances. He became blind in 1400, and
died eight years after. He bequeathed to his wife three cups, two
salt-cellars, twelve silver spoons, all his beds and chests, and the
income of two manors; he left a number of pious legacies in order to
have lamps kept burning, and masses said for his soul. He gave the
convent two chasubles of silk, a large missal, a chalice, a martyrology
he had caused to be copied for this purpose, and begged that in exchange
he might be buried in the chapel of St. John the Baptist at St. Mary
Overy's; which was done. His tomb, restored and repainted, still exists.
He is represented lying with his hands raised as if for prayer, his
thick locks are bound by a fillet adorned with roses. The head of the
plump, round-cheeked poet rests on his three principal works; he wears
about his neck a collar of interwoven SS, together with the swan, emblem
of Henry IV. of England.[611]
The worthy man wrote immoderately, and in especial three great poems:
the "Speculum Meditantis," in French; the "Vox Clamantis," in Latin; the
"Confessio Amantis," in English. The first is lost; only an analysis of
it remains, and it shows that Gower treated there of the vices and
virtues of his day.[612] The loss is not very great: Gower has told
pretty clearly elsewhere what he thought of the vices of his time, and,
even had he not, it would have been easy to guess, for he was too
right-minded a man not to have thought of them all the evil possible.
Some French works of Gower have, however, come down to us; they are
ballads and madrigals, for imaginary Iris,[613] Court poems, imitations
of Petrarch,[614] the light verses of a well-taught man. He promises
eternal service to his "douce dame"; his "douce dame" being no one in
particular. He writes for others, and they are welcome to draw from his
works: "The love-songs thus far are composed specially for those who
expect love favours through marriage.... The ballads from here to the
end of the book are common to all, according to the properties and
conditions of lovers who are diversely wrought upon by fickle
love."[615] Here and there some fine similes are found in which figure
the chameleon, for instance, who was supposed to live on air alone, or
the hawk: "Chameleon a proud creature is, that lives upon air without
more; thus may I say in similar fashion only through the love hopes
which I entertain is my soul's life preserved."[616]
He excused himself, as we have seen, for the mistakes in his French
works, but neglected to do the same for his Latin poems: in which he was
wrong. The principal one, the "Vox Clamantis,"[617] was suggested to him
by the great rising of 1381, which had imperilled the Crown and the
whole social order. Gower, being a landowner in Kent, was in the best
situation fully to appreciate the danger.
In order to treat this terrible subject, Gower, who is not inventive,
adopts the form of a dream, just as if it were a new "Romaunt of the
Rose." It is springtime, and he falls asleep. Let us not mind it
overmuch, we shall soon do likewise; but our slumber will be a broken
one; in the midst of the droning of his sermon, Gower suddenly screams,
roars, flies into a passion--"Vox Clamantis!" His hearers open an eye,
wonder where they are, recognise Gower, and go off to sleep again.
Gower heaps up enormous and vague invectives; he fancies his style
resembles that of the apostle in Patmos. Animals and monsters fight and
scream; the common people have been turned into beasts, oxen, hogs,
dogs, foxes, flies, frogs; all are hideous or dangerous. Cursing as he
goes along, Gower drives before him, with hissing distichs, the strange
herd of his monsters, who "dart sulphureous flames from the cavern of
their mouth."[618]
These disasters are caused by the vices of the time, and Gower
lengthily, patiently, complacently, draws up an interminable catalogue
of them. A University education has taught him the importance of correct
divisions; he divides and subdivides according to the approved
scholastic methods. Firstly, there are the vices of churchmen; these
vices are of different kinds, as are ecclesiastics themselves; he
re-divides and re-subdivides. Some parsons "give Venus the tithes that
belong to God"; others are the terror of hares: "lepus visa pericla
fugit," and hearken to no chime but the "vociferations" of the
hounds[619]; others trade. Knights are too fond of women "with golden
locks"; peasants are slothful; merchants rapacious and dishonest; they
make "false gems out of glass."[620] The king himself does not escape a
lecture: let him be upright, pious, merciful, and choose his ministers
with care; let him beware of women: "Thou art king, let one sole queen
suffice thee."[621]
In one particular, however, this sermon is a remarkable one. What
predominates in these long tirades of poor verses is an intense feeling
of horror and dismay; the quiet Gower, and the whole community to which
he belonged, have suddenly been brought face to face with something
unusual and terrifying even for that period. The earth shook, and a gulf
opened; hundreds of victims, an archbishop of Canterbury among them,
disappeared, and the abyss still yawns; the consternation is general,
and no one knows what remedy to expect. Happily the two edges of the
chasm have at last united; it has closed again, hiding in its depths a
heaving sea of lava, the rumblings of which are still heard, and give
warning that it may burst forth at some future day. Gower, in the
meantime, scans his distichs.
Chaucer wrote in English, naturally, his sole reason being that it was
the language of the country. Gower, when he uses this idiom,[622] offers
explanations:
And for that fewe men endite
In oure Englishe, I thenke make,
A boke for Englondes sake.[623]
He has no idea to what extent this apology, so common a hundred years
before, is now out of place after the "Troilus" of Chaucer. His English
book is a lengthy compilation, written at the request of the young King
Richard,[624] wherein Gower seeks both to amuse and to instruct, giving
as he does,
Somwhat of lust, somwhat of lore.
In his turn, and after Boccaccio, he invents a plot that will allow him
to insert a whole series of tales and stories into one single work;
compositions of this sort being the fashion. Gower's collection contains
a hundred and twelve short stories, two or three of which are very well
told; one, the adventure of Florent, being, perhaps, related even better
than in Chaucer.[625] The rest resembles the Gower of the "Vox
Clamantis."
What will be the subject of this philosopher's talk? He will tell us of
a thing:
... wherupon the world mote stonde,
And hath done sithen it began,
And shall while there is any man,
And that is love.[626]
In order to treat of this subject, and of many others, Boccaccio had
conceived the idea of his gathering in the villa near Florence, and
Chaucer that of his pilgrimage. Moral Gower remains true to his
character, and imagines a confession. The lover seeks a priest of Venus,
a worthy and very learned old man, called Genius, who had already
figured as confessor in the "Roman de la Rose"[627]: "Benedicite," says
the priest; "Dominus," answers the lover; and a miniature shows the
lover in a pink gown, kneeling in a meadow at the feet of Genius, a
tonsured monk in frock and cowl.[628]
We find ourselves again among vices and virtues, classifications,
divisions, and subdivisions. Genius condemns the vices (those of his
goddess included, for he is a free speaking priest). He hates, above all
things, Lollardry, "this new tapinage," and he commends the virtues; the
stories come in by way of example: mind what your eyes do, witness
Actaeon; and your ears, witness the Sirens. He passes on to the seven
deadly sins which were apparently studied in the seminary where this
priest of Venus learnt theology. After the deadly sins the mists and
marvels of the "Secretum Secretorum" fill the scene. At last the lover
begs for mercy; he writes Venus a letter: "with the teres of min eye in
stede of inke." Venus, who is a goddess, deciphers it, hastens to the
spot, and scornfully laughs at this shivering lover, whom age and
wrinkles have left a lover. Gower then decides to withdraw, and make, as
he says, "beau retraite." In a last vision, the poor "olde grisel" gazes
upon the series of famous loving couples, who give themselves up to the
delight of dancing, in a paradise, where one could scarcely have
expected to find them together: Tristan and Iseult, Paris and Helen,
Troilus and Cressida, Samson and Dalila, David and Bathsheba, and
Solomon the wise who has for himself alone a hundred or so of "Jewes eke
and Sarazines."
In spite of the immense difference in their merit, the names of Chaucer
and Gower were constantly coupled; James of Scotland, Skelton, Dunbar,
always mention them together; the "Confessio" was printed by Caxton;
under Elizabeth we find Gower on the stage; he figures in "Pericles,"
and recites the prologue of this play, the plot of which is borrowed
from his poem.
FOOTNOTES:
[568] See above, p. 162.
[569] Against those practices Langland strongly protests in his
"Visions," text C. x. 133; xvi. 200. See following Chapter.
[570] Rymer, "Foedera," April 24, 1469. The classic instrument of the
minstrel was the vielle or viol, a sort of violin, which only true
artists knew how to use well (one is reproduced in "English Wayfaring
Life," p. 202). Therefore many minstrels early replaced this difficult
instrument by the common tabor, which sufficed to mark the cadence of
their chants. Many other musical instruments were known in the Middle
Ages; a list of them has been drawn up by H. Lavoix: "La Musique au
temps de St. Louis," in G. Raynaud's "Recueil des motets francais des
XIIe et XIIIe Siecles," vol. ii. p. 321.
[571] "Anatomy of Abuses," ed. Furnivall, London, 1877-79, 8vo, pp. 171,
172.
[572] Chaucer himself expected his poem to be said or _sung_; he says to
his book:
And red wher-so thou be, or elles songe;
That thou be understonde, I God beseche!
(Book v. st. 257.)
[573]
I wille yow telle of a knyghte
That bothe was stalworthe and wyghte.
(_Isumbras._)
Y schalle telle yow of a knyght
That was bothe hardy and wyght.
(_Eglamour._)
And y schalle karppe off a knyght
That was both hardy and wyght.
(_Degrevant._)
"The Thornton Romances," ed. Halliwell (Camden Society, 1844, pp. 88,
121, 177), from a MS. preserved in the cathedral of Lincoln, that
contains romances, recipes, prayers, &c., copied in the first half of
the fifteenth century, on more ancient texts. See notes on many similar
romances in Ward's "Catalogue of MS. Romances," 1883, vol. i. pp. 760
ff.
[574] See in "English Novel in the Time of Shakespeare," pp. 57 and 65,
facsimiles of woodcuts which served about 1510 and 1560 to represent,
the first, Romulus, Robert the Devil, &c., the second, Guy of Warwick,
Graund Amoure, and the "Squyr of Lowe Degre."
[575] Both published by the Early English Text Society: "Morte Arthure,"
ed. Brock, 1871; "William of Palerne," ed. Skeat, 1867. Both are in
alliterative verse; the first composed about the end, and the second
about the middle, of the fourteenth century.
[576] The unique MS. of this poem is in the British Museum: Cotton, Nero
A 10. It is of small size, and in a good handwriting of the fourteenth
century, but the ink is faded. It contains some curious, though not
fine, miniatures, representing the Green Knight leaving the Court, his
head in his hand; Gawayne and his hostess; the scene at the Green
Chapel; the return to King Arthur. The text has been published, _e.g._,
by R. Morris: "Sir Gawayne and the Green Knight, an alliterative romance
poem," London, Early English Text Society, 1864, 8vo. The date assigned
to the poem by Morris (1320-30) seems to be too early; the work belongs
more probably to the second half of the century. The immediate original
of the tale is not known; it was, however, certainly a French poem. See
on this subject Ward, "Catalogue of Romances," 1883, p. 387, and G.
Paris, "Histoire Litteraire de la France," vol. xxx.
[577]
Much glam and gle glent up ther-inne,
Aboute the fyre upon flat (floor) and on fele (many) wyse,
At the soper and after, mony athel songez,
As coundutes of Kryst-masse and caroles newe....
[578]
With merthe and mynstralsye, wyth metez at hor wylle,
Thay maden as mery as any men moghten
With laghyng of ladies, with lotes of bordes (play upon words).
(l. 1952.)
[579] l. 1746.
[580] "Pearl, an English Poem of the Fourteenth Century, edited with
modern rendering by Israel Gollancz," London, 1891, 8vo. The poem is
written in stanzas (_a b a b a b a b b c b c_); the author employs both
rhyme and alliteration. "Pearl" belongs apparently, like "Sir Gawayne,"
and some other poems on religious subjects, contained in the same MS.,
to the second half of the fourteenth century; there are, however, doubts
and discussions concerning the date. Some coarsely-painted miniatures,
by no means corresponding to the gracefulness of the poem, represent the
chief incidents of "Pearl;" they are by the same hand as those of "Sir
Gawayne." See the reproduction of one of them in "Piers Plowman, a
contribution to the History of English Mysticism," London, 1894, 8vo, p.
12.
[581]
I entred in that erber grene,
In Augoste in a hygh seysoun,
Quen corne is corven with crokez kene;
On huyle ther perle it trendeled doun;
Schadowed this wortes (plants) full schyre and schene,
Gilofre, gyngure and gromylyoun,
And pyonys powdered ay betwene.
Yif hit wacz semly on to sene,
A fayrie tiayr yet fro hit flot. (St. 4.)
[582]
As stremande sternes quen strothe men slepe,
Staren in welkyn in wynter nyght. (St. 10.)
[583]
For that thou lestes wacs bot a rose,
That flowred and fayled as kynde hit gefe. (St. 23.)
[584] The principal collections containing lyrical works and popular
ballads of that period are: "Ancient Songs and Ballads from the reign of
Henry II. to the Revolution," collected by John Ritson, revised by W. C.
Hazlitt, London, 1877, 12mo; "Specimens of Lyric Poetry, composed in
England in the reign of Edward I.," ed. Th. Wright, Percy Society, 1842,
8vo; "Reliquiae Antiquae, scraps from ancient MSS. illustrating chiefly
Early English Literature," ed. T. Wright and J. O. Halliwell, London,
1841-43, 2 vols. 8vo; "Political Songs of England, from the reign of
John to that of Edward II.," ed. Th. Wright, Camden Society, 1839, 4to;
"Songs and Carols now first printed from a MS. of the XVth Century," ed.
Th. Wright, Percy Society, 1847, 8vo; "Political Poems and Songs, from
Edward III. to Richard III.," ed. Th. Wright, Rolls, 1859-61, 2 vols.
8vo; "Political, Religious and Love Poems," ed. Furnivall, London, Early
English Text Society, 1866, 8vo; "Bishop Percy's Folio MS." ed. J. W.
Hales and F. J. Furnivall, Ballad Society, 1867, 8vo; "The English and
Scottish Popular Ballads," ed. F. J. Child, Boston, 1882 ff. Useful
indications will be found in H. L. D. Ward's "Catalogue of MS. Romances
in the British Museum," vol. i., 1883.
[585]
Tiel come tu es je autie fu,
Tu seras til come je su.
De la mort ne peusay-je mie
Tant come j'avoy la vie.
En terre avoy grand richesse
Dont je y fis grand noblesse,
Terre, mesons et grand tresor,
Draps, chivalx, argent et or,
Mes ore su-je povres et cheitifs,
Perfond en la terre gys,
Ma grand beaute est tout alee ...
Et si ore me veissez,
Je ne quide pas qe vous deeisez
Qe j'eusse onqes hom este.
(Stanley, "Historical Memorials of Canterbury.")
[586] Compiled in France in 1395. Lecoy de la Marche, "la Chaire
francaise au moyen age," 2nd ed., Paris, 1886, 8vo, p. 334.
[587] MS. R. iii. 20, in the Library of Trinity College, Cambridge, fol.
33. In the same MS.: "A roundell made ... by my lorde therlle of
Suffolk":
Quel desplaysier, quel courous quel destresse,
Quel griefs, quelx mauls viennent souvent d'amours, &c. (fol. 36).
The author is the famous Earl, afterwards Duke of Suffolk, who was
beaten by Joan of Arc, who married Alice, daughter of Thomas Chaucer,
and was beheaded in 1450. For ballads of the same kind, by Gower, see
below, p. 367. The same taste reigned in France; without mentioning
Charles d'Orleans, Pierre de Beauveau writes: "Le joyeulx temps passe
souloit estre occasion que je faisoie de plaisant diz et gracieuses
chanconnetes et balades." "Nouvelles Francoises du XIVe Siecle," ed.
Moland and d'Hericault, 1858, p. 303.
[588] "Visions concerning Piers Plowman," A. Prol. l. 103, written about
1362-3. See following Chapter.
[589] "Parson's Tale."--"Complete Works," vol. iv. p. 581.
[590] "Munimenta Gildhallae Londiniensis."--"Liber albus, Liber
custumarum; Liber Horn," Rolls, 1859, ed. Riley. The regulations (in
French) relating to the Pui are drawn from the "Liber Custumarum,"
compiled in 1320 (14 Ed. II.), pp. 216 ff. "The poetical competitions
called _puis_," established in the north of France, "seem to have given
rise to German and Dutch imitations, such as the _Master Singers_ and
the _Chambers of Rhetoric_." G. Paris, "Litterature francaise au moyen
age," paragraph 127. To these we can add the English imitation which now
occupies us.
[591] "Songs and Carols now first printed," ed. Th. Wright, Percy
Society, 1847, 8vo, p. 4.
[592]
For hortyng of here hosyn
Non inclinare laborant.
In the same piece, large collars, wide sleeves, big spurs are satirised.
Th. Wright, "Political Poems and Songs from Ed. III. to Ric. III.,"
Rolls, 1859, 2 vols. 8vo, vol. i. p. 275.
[593] "Political Poems," _ibid._, vol. i. p. 263.
[594] The greater part of those that have come down to us are of the
fifteenth and sixteenth centuries; but Robin was very popular, and his
praises were sung as early as the fourteenth century. The lazy parson in
Langland's Visions confesses that he is incapable of chanting the
services:
But I can rymes of Robin Hood | and Randolf erle of Chestre.
Ed. Skeat, text B. v. 402. See above, p. 224.
[595] Walsingham, "Historia Anglicana," Rolls, vol. ii. p. 32. See an
English miniature representing Adam and Eve, so occupied, reproduced in
"English Wayfaring Life," p. 283.
[596]
Nede they fre be most,
Vel nollent pacificari, &c.
"Political Poems," vol. i. p. 225. Satire of the heretical Lollards:
"Lollardi sunt zizania," &c. _Ibid._, p. 232; of friars become peddlers,
p. 264.
[597] "Political Poems." _ibid._, vol. i. pp. 26 ff.
[598] Ballad by Eustache des Champs, "Oeuvres Completes," ii. p. 34.
[599] "The Poems of Laurence Minot," ed. J. Hall, Oxford, 1887, 8vo,
eleven short poems on the battles of Edward III. Adam Davy may also be
classed among the patriotic poets: "Davy's five dreams about Edward
II.," ed. Furnivall, Early English Text Society, 1878, 8vo. They are
dreams interspersed with prophecies; the style is poor and aims at being
apocalyptic. Edward II. shall be emperor of Christendom, &c. Various
pious works, a life of St. Alexius, a poem on the signs betokening
Doomsday, &c., have been attributed to Davy without sufficient reason.
See on this subject, Furnivall, _ibid._, who gives the text of these
poems.
[600] _Ibid._, p. 21.
[601] Vices and faults of Edward: "Political Poems," vol. i. p. 159,
172, &c.
[602] "Political Poems," vol. i. p. 172.
[603] "The Bruce, or the book of the most excellent and noble Prince
Robert de Broyss, King of Scots," A.D. 1375, ed. Skeat, E.E.T.S.,
1879-89. Barbour, having received safe conducts from Edward III., went
to Oxford, and studied there in 1357 and in 1364, and went also to
France, 1365, 1368. Besides his "Bruce" he wrote a "Brut," and a
genealogy of the Stuarts, "The Stewartis Oryginale," beginning with
Ninus founder of Nineveh; these two last poems are lost. Barbour was
archdeacon of Aberdeen; he died in 1395 in Scotland, where a royal
pension had been bestowed upon him.
[604] "The incidents on which the ensuing novel mainly turns are derived
from the ancient metrical chronicle of the Bruce by Archdeacon Barbour,
and from," &c. "Castle Dangerous," Introduction.--"The authorities used
are chiefly those ... of Archdeacon Barbour...." "Lord of the Isles,"
Advertisement to the first edition.
[605] Book vii. line 483.
[606] Book xvi. line 270.
[607] Book i. line 235.
[608]
Et si jeo n'ai de Francois la faconde,
Pardonetz moi qe jeo de ce forsvoie;
Jeo suis Englois.
"Balades and other Poems by John Gower," London, Roxburghe Club, 1818
4to, _in fine_.
[609] Book v. st. 266.
[610] "Confessio Amantis," ed. Pauli, London, 1857, 3 vols, 8vo. vol.
iii. p. 374.
[611] Henry, then earl of Derby, had given him a collar in 1393; the
swan was the emblem of Thomas, duke of Gloucester, Henry's uncle,
assassinated in 1397; Henry adopted it from that date. A view of Gower's
tomb is in my "Piers Plowman," 1894, p. 46.
[612] "Primus liber, gallico sermone editus in decem dividitur partes et
tractans de viciis et virtutibus necnon de variis hujus seculi gradibus
viam, qua peccator transgressus, ad sui Creatoris agnicionem redire
debet, recto tramite docere conatur. Titulusque libelli istius Speculum
Meditantis nuncupatus est." This analysis is to be found in several
MSS.; also in the edition of the "Confessio," printed by Caxton; Pauli
gives it too: "Confessio," i. p. xxiii. The "Speculum Meditantis" was
sure to resemble much those works of moralisation (hence Chaucer's
"moral Gower"), numerous in French mediaeval literature, which were
called "bibles." See for example "La Bible Guiot de Provins":
Dou siecle puant et orrible
M'estuet commencier une bible.
"On this stinking and horrid world, I want to begin a bible;" and Guiot
reviews all classes of society, all trades and professions, and blames
everything and everybody; Gower did the same; everything for them is
"puant." Rome is not spared: "Rome nos suce et nos englot," says Guiot.
See text of Guiot's "Bible" in Barbazan and Meon, "Fabliaux," 1808, vol.
ii. p. 307.
[613] "Balades and other Poems," Roxburghe Club, 1818, 4to.
[614]
Jeo ris en plour et en sante languis,
Ars en gelee et en chalour fremis.
Ballad ix. No passage in Petrarch has been oftener imitated. Villon
wrote:
Je meurs de soif aupres de la fontaine ...
Je ris en pleurs et attens sans espoir, &c.
[615] "Les balades d'amour jesqes enci sont fait especialement pour
ceaux q'attendont lours amours par droite mariage. Les balades d'ici
jesqes au fin du livere sont universeles a tout le monde selonc les
propertes et les condicions des amants qui sont diversement travailez en
la fortune d'amour."
[616]
Camelion c'est une beste fiere
Qui vit tansoulement de l'air sanz plus;
Ensi pour dire en mesme la maniere,
De soule espoir qe j'ai d'amour concuz
Sont mes pensers en vie sustenuz.
Ballad xvi; what a chameleon is, was thus explained in a Vocabulary of
the fifteenth century: "Hic gamelion, animal varii coloris et sola aere
vivit--_a buttyrfle_" (Th. Wright, "Vocabularies," 1857, 4to, p, 220).
[617] "Poema quod dicitur Vox Clamantis," ed. Coxe, Roxburghe Club,
1850, 4to. He also wrote in Latin verse "Chronica Tripartita" (wherein
he relates, and judges with great severity, the reign of Richard II.,
from 1387 to the accession of Henry IV.), and several other poems on the
vices of the time, the whole printed by Th. Wright, in his "Political
Poems," vol. i. Rolls. The "Chronica" are also printed with the "Vox
Clamantis."
[618] P. 31. He jeers at the vulgarity of their names:
Hudde ferit, quos Judde terit, dum Cobbe minatur ...
Hogge suam pompam vibrat, dum se putat omni
Majorem Rege nobilitate fore.
Balle propheta docet, quem spiritus ante malignus
Edocuit ...
(p. 50.)
The famous John Ball is here referred to, the apostle of the revolt, who
died quartered. See below, p. 413.
[619]
Est sibi crassus equus, restatque scientia macra ...
Ad latus et cornu sufflans gerit, unde redundant
Mons, nemus, unde lepus visa pericla fugit....
Clamor in ore canum, dum vociferantur in unum,
Est sibi campana psallitur unde Deo.
Stat sibi missa brevis devotio longaque campis,
Quo sibi cantores deputat esse canes.
(p. 176.)
[620]
Conficit ex vitris gemma oculo pretiosas.
(p. 275.)
[621]
Rex es, regina satis est, tibi sufficit una.
(p. 316.)
[622] "Confessio Amantis." There exists of it no satisfactory edition,
and it is to be hoped the Early English Text Society, that has already
rendered so many services, will soon render this greatly needed one,
Pauli's edition, London, 1857, 3 vols. 8vo, is very faulty; H. Morley's
edition (Carisbrooke Library, London, 1889, 8vo) is expurgated. Gower
wrote in English some minor poems, in especial "The Praise of Peace" (in
the "Political Poems," of Wright, Rolls). The "Confessio" is written in
octo-syllabic couplets, with four accents. This poem should be compared
with French compilations of the same sort, and especially with the
"Castoiement d'un pere a son fils," thirteenth century, a series of
tales in verse, told by the father to castigate and edify the son, text
in Barbazan and Meon, "Fabliaux," Paris, 1808, 4 vols. 8vo, vol. ii.
[623] "Confessio," Pauli's ed., p. 2.
[624] Gower wrote two successive versions of his poem: the first about
1384, the second about 1393. In this last one, having openly taken the
side of the future Henry IV. (which was very bold of him), he suppressed
all allusions to Richard. In the first version, instead of,
A boke for Englondes sake,
he had written:
A boke for King Richardes sake.
[625] Vol. i. pp. 89 ff. In Chaucer, the story is told by the Wife of
Bath.
[626] Beginning of Book i.
[627] Already had been seen in the "Roman":
Comment Nature la deesse
A son pretre se confesse ...
"Genius, dit-elle, beau pretre,
D'une folie que j'ai faite,
A vous m'en vuel faire confesse;"
and under pretence of confessing herself, she explains the various
systems of the universe at great length.
[628] In Mrs. Egerton, 1991, fol. 7, in the British Museum, reproduced
in my "Piers Plowman," p. 11.