Kevin Wald: Chaucer's "Franklin's Tale"


For Dorigen, the fairest of all ladies,
I swooned, and sighed, and wept into my ale;
I wrote complaints, and virelays, and roundels,
And slept no more than doth a nightingale.

At last, I asked her at a dance
(The kind we have in proto-France)
If e'er her love, in mercy, could be mine;
She sighed, and said, "Remove the rocks
That lie offshore -- the wall that blocks
My husband's safe return -- and it is thine."

   Good morning, Armorica, how are you?
   Hail, Apollo -- thou, my native sun!
   I'm the swain they call Aurelius, back from Orleans;
   I'll be out one thousand pounds when this lay is done.

I prayed, like any self-respecting pagan,
To Phoebus, to oppose Lucina e'er,
And make the spring flood last, but (_pace_ Sagan)
The Cosmos didn't get me anywhere.

In Orleans, though (or just outside)
I found a clerk who said he'd hide
The rocks by _magic naturel_, for gold.
When all were gone, to Dorigen
I came and made my plea again,
Full mindful of her vow, now two years old.

   Good morning, Armorica, how are you?
   Hail Apollo -- thou, my native sun!
   I'm the swain they call Aurelius, back from Orleans;
   I'll be out one thousand pounds when this lay is done.

When, later on that week, I met my lady,
She said she'd keep her word, and cried, "Alas!"
Her husband (long returned) had sadly bid it,
When she had told him what had come to pass.

Such gentilesse I could not quite
With meanness, though I am no knight;
I released her from her bond. Now who most free
Has acted: Me or Dorigen,
Her husband -- or the clerk, who, when
I told him what had happened, dropped his fee?

   Good night, Armorica, how are you?
   Hail Lucina! (Phoebus has y-run.)
   I'm the swain they call Aurelius, back from Orleans;
   I'm not out one thousand pounds, and this lay is done.