The genuine Prologue is alive with manners, pa.s.sions, idiomatic conversations, and natural incidents. The copy is by comparison a dead, insipid dissertation. The mode in which Pope has abridged the narrative is one of many proofs that he only cared for characters in their broad outline, and had either no perception of the subtler workings of the mind, or no appreciation of them. If ever a reader masters the full sense of an author it must be when he translates him, and yet Pope has overlooked or rejected many of the happiest traits in Chaucer, and has falsified others, to the invariable injury of the story, and sometimes with a total disregard to consistency. Particular deficiencies are of little moment in the midst of general excellence, but in the present instance there is nothing to redeem the blots, and the narrative from first to last is a pale and feeble reflection of the original.

Warton a.s.serts, on the authority of Harte, that Fenton believed that the version of the Prologue to the Canterbury Tales, which appeared in Lintot's Miscellany under the name of Betterton, was the work of Pope, and Johnson adds that "Fenton made Pope a gay offer of five pounds if he would show the characters in Betterton's hand." The celebrated actor certainly left some literary papers behind him, if we may a.s.sume that a letter from Caryll to Pope, and which was published by the poet himself, is a genuine production. "I am very glad," Caryll writes, May 23, 1712, "for the sake of the widow, and for the credit of the deceased, that Betterton's remains are fallen into such hands, as may render them reputable to the one, and beneficial to the other." In a note Pope states that the remains were the modernised portions of Chaucer contained in the Miscellany of Lintot. There was no apparent motive for deception on the subject, and the internal evidence supports the conclusion that Betterton composed the translation, and that Pope merely revised it. It is a bald, worthless production, with a few lines or couplets which seem to have proceeded from a more practised versifier than the novice who put together the bulk of the work. The choicest parts are very little better than bad; for Pope was a provident poet, and he did not decorate Betterton with feathers which would have shone with l.u.s.tre in his own plumage. The great actor, on his side, has signally failed in the point where his art might have been expected to teach him better. He who had such a deep insight into the characters he personated, and who gave voice, action, and gesture to all the pa.s.sions with such fidelity and power, has pared away the dramatic vivacity of Chaucer and left only a vapid, hybrid compound which is neither modern nor mediaeval. The sketch of the good parson is omitted altogether, doubtless because Dryden had already tried his hand upon it, and it was thought imprudent to provoke a comparison with his masterly paraphrase.

THE WIFE OF BATH.

HER PROLOGUE.

Behold the woes of matrimonial life, And hear with rev'rence an experienced wife; To dear-bought wisdom[1] give the credit due, And think for once, a woman tells you true.

In all these trials I have borne a part, 5 I was myself the scourge that caused the smart; For, since fifteen,[2] in triumph have I led Five captive husbands from the church to bed.

Christ saw a wedding once, the Scripture says, And saw but one, 'tis thought, in all his days; 10 Whence some infer, whose conscience is too nice, No pious Christian ought to marry twice.

But let them read, and solve me, if they can, The words addressed to the Samaritan:[3]

Five times in lawful wedlock she was joined; 15 And sure the certain stint was ne'er defined.

"Encrease and multiply," was heav'n's command, And that's a text I clearly understand.

This too, "Let men their sires and mothers leave, And to their dearer wives for ever cleave." 20 More wives than one by Solomon were tried, Or else the wisest of mankind's belied.

I've had myself full many a merry fit; And trust in heav'n I may have many yet.

For when my transitory spouse, unkind, } 25 Shall die, and leave his woeful wife behind, } I'll take the next good Christian I can find. }

Paul, knowing one could never serve our turn, Declared 'twas better far to wed than burn.

There's danger in a.s.sembling fire and tow; 30 I grant 'em that, and what it means you know.

The same apostle too has elsewhere owned, No precept for virginity he found: 'Tis but a counsel, and we women still Take which we like, the counsel, or our will. 35

I envy not their bliss, if he or she Think fit to live in perfect chast.i.ty; Pure let them be, and free from taint or vice; I, for a few slight spots, am not so nice.

Heav'n calls us diff'rent ways, on these bestows 40 One proper gift, another grants to those: Not ev'ry man's obliged to sell his store, And give up all his substance to the poor; Such as are perfect, may, I can't deny; But, by your leaves, divines, so am not I. 45 Full many a saint, since first the world began, Lived an unspotted maid, in spite of man: Let such (a G.o.d's name) with fine wheat be fed, And let us honest wives eat barley bread.

For me, I'll keep the post a.s.signed by heav'n, 50 And use the copious talent it has giv'n: Let my good spouse pay tribute, do me right, And keep an equal reck'ning ev'ry night: His proper body is not his, but mine; For so said Paul, and Paul's a sound divine.[4] 55 Know then, of those five husbands I have had, Three were just tolerable, two were bad.[5]

The three were old, but rich and fond beside, And toiled most piteously to please their bride: But since their wealth, the best they had, was mine, 60 The rest, without much loss, I could resign.

Sure to be loved, I took no pains to please,[6]

Yet had more pleasure far than they had ease.

Presents flowed in apace: with show'rs of gold, They made their court, like Jupiter of old. 65 If I but smiled, a sudden youth they found, And a new palsy seized them when I frowned.

Ye sov'reign wives! give ear, and understand, Thus shall ye speak, and exercise command.[7]

For never was it giv'n to mortal man, 70 To lie so boldly as we women can: Forswear the fact, though seen with both his eyes, And call your maids to witness how he lies.

Hark, old Sir Paul, 'twas thus I us'd to say, Whence is our neighbour's wife so rich and gay? 75 Treated, caressed, where'er she's pleased to roam-- I sit in tatters, and immured at home.

Why to her house dost thou so oft repair?

Art thou so am'rous? and is she so fair?

If I but see a cousin or a friend, 80 Lord! how you swell, and rage like any fiend!

But you reel home, a drunken beastly bear, Then preach till midnight in your easy chair; Cry, wives are false, and ev'ry woman evil, And give up all that's female to the devil. 85 If poor, you say she drains her husband's purse; If rich, she keeps her priest, or something worse; If highly born, intolerably vain, Vapours and pride by turns possess her brain, Now gayly mad, now sourly splenetic, 90 Freakish when well, and fretful when she's sick.

If fair, then chaste she cannot long abide, By pressing youth attacked on ev'ry side: If foul, her wealth the l.u.s.ty lover lures, Or else her wit some fool-gallant procures, 95 Or else she dances with becoming grace, Or shape excuses the defects of face.

There swims no goose so grey, but soon or late, She finds some honest gander for her mate.

Horses, thou say'st, and a.s.ses men may try, 100 And ring suspected vessels ere they buy: But wives, a random choice, untried they take, They dream in courtship, but in wedlock wake; Then, nor till then, the veil's removed away, And all the woman glares in open day. 105 You tell me, to preserve your wife's good grace, Your eyes must always languish on my face, Your tongue with constant flatt'ries feed my ear, And tag each sentence with, My life! my dear!

If, by strange chance, a modest blush be raised, 110 Be sure my fine complexion must be praised.

My garments always must be new and gay, And feasts still kept upon my wedding-day.

Then must my nurse be pleased, and fav'rite maid: And endless treats, and endless visits paid, 115 To a long train of kindred, friends, allies; All this thou say'st, and all thou say'st, are lies.

On Jenkin too you cast a squinting eye: What! can your 'prentice raise your jealousy?

Fresh are his ruddy cheeks, his forehead fair; 120 And like the burnished gold his curling hair.

But clear thy wrinkled brow, and quit thy sorrow, I'd scorn your 'prentice, should you die to-morrow.

Why are thy chests all locked? on what design?

Are not thy worldly goods and treasures mine? 125 Sir, I'm no fool; nor shall you, by St. John, Have goods and body to yourself alone.

One you shall quit, in spite of both your eyes; I heed not, I, the bolts, the locks, the spies.

If you had wit, you'd say, "Go where you will, 130 Dear spouse, I credit not the tales they tell; Take all the freedoms of a married life; I know thee for a virtuous, faithful wife."

Lord! when you have enough, what need you care How merrily soever others fare? 135 Though all the day I give and take delight, Doubt not, sufficient will be left at night.

'Tis but a just and rational desire, To light a taper at a neighbour's fire.

There's danger too, you think, in rich array, 140 And none can long be modest that are gay: The cat, if you but singe her tabby skin, The chimney keeps, and sits content within; But once grown sleek, will from her corner run, Sport with her tail, and wanton in the sun; 145 She licks her fair round face, and frisks abroad, To show her fur, and to be catterwawed.[8]

Lo thus, my friends, I wrought to my desires These three right ancient venerable sires.

I told 'em, Thus you say, and thus you do, 150 And told 'em false, but Jenkin swore 'twas true.

I, like a dog, could bite as well as whine, And first complained, whene'er the guilt was mine.[9]

I taxed them oft with wenching and amours, When their weak legs scarce dragged 'em out of doors; 155 And swore the rambles that I took by night, Were all to spy what damsels they bedight.

That colour brought me many hours of mirth;[10]

For all this wit is given us from our birth; Heav'n gave to woman the peculiar grace, 160 To spin, to weep, and cully human race.

By this nice conduct, and this prudent course, By murm'ring, wheedling, stratagem, and force, I still prevailed, and would be in the right, Or curtain lectures made a restless night. 165 If once my husband's arm was o'er my side, What! so familiar with your spouse? I cried: I levied first a tax upon his need: Then let him--'twas a nicety indeed!

Let all mankind this certain maxim hold, 170 Marry who will, our s.e.x is to be sold.

With empty hands no ta.s.sels you can lure,[11]

But fulsome love for gain we can endure; For gold we love the impotent and old, And heave, and pant, and kiss, and cling, for gold. 175 Yet with embraces, curses oft I've mixed, Then kissed again, and chid, and railed betwixt.

Well, I may make my will in peace, and die, For not one word in man's arrears am I.

To drop a dear dispute I was unable, 180 Ev'n though the Pope himself had sat at table.[12]

But when my point was gained, then thus I spoke, "Billy, my dear, how sheepishly you look?

Approach, my spouse, and let me kiss thy cheek; Thou should'st be always thus resigned and meek! 185 Of Job's great patience since so oft you preach, Well should you practise, who so well can teach.

'Tis difficult to do, I must allow, But I, my dearest, will instruct you how.

Great is the blessing of a prudent wife, 190 Who puts a period to domestic strife.

One of us two must rule, and one obey; } And since in man right reason bears the sway, } Let that frail thing, weak woman, have her way. } The wives of all my family have ruled 195 Their tender husbands, and their pa.s.sions cooled.

Fye, 'tis unmanly thus to sigh and groan; What! would you have me to yourself alone?

Why take me, love! take all and ev'ry part!

Here's your revenge! you love it at your heart. 200 Would I vouchsafe to sell what nature gave, You little think what custom I could have.

But see! I'm all your own--nay hold--for shame!

What means my dear--indeed--you are to blame."

Thus with my first three lords I pa.s.sed my life; 205 A very woman, and a very wife.

What sums from these old spouses I could raise, Procured young husbands in my riper days.

Though past my bloom,[13] not yet decayed was I, Wanton and wild, and chattered like a pye. 210 In country dances still I bore the bell.

And sung as sweet as ev'ning Philomel.

To clear my quail-pipe, and refresh my soul, Full oft I drained the spicy nut-brown bowl; Rich luscious wines, that youthful blood improve, 215 And warm the swelling veins to feats of love: For 'tis as sure as cold ingenders hail, A liqu'rish mouth must have a lech'rous tail; Wine lets no lover unrewarded go, As all true gamesters by experience know. 220 But oh, good G.o.ds! whene'er a thought I cast On all the joys of youth and beauty past, To find in pleasures I have had my part, Still warms me to the bottom of my heart.

This wicked world was once my dear delight; 225 Now all my conquests, all my charms, good night!

The flour consumed, the best that now I can, Is e'en to make my market of the bran.[14]

My fourth dear spouse was not exceeding true!

He kept, 'twas thought, a private miss or two: 230 But all that score I paid--as how? you'll say, Not with my body, in a filthy way: But I so dressed, and danced, and drank, and dined; And viewed a friend, with eyes so very kind, As stung his heart, and made his marrow fry,[15] 235 With burning rage, and frantic jealousy.

His soul, I hope, enjoys eternal glory, For here on earth I was his purgatory.

Oft, when his shoe the most severely wrung, He put on careless airs, and sat and sung. 240 How sore I galled him, only heav'n could know, And he that felt, and I that caused the woe.

He died, when last from pilgrimage I came, With other gossips, from Jerusalem;[16]

And now lies buried underneath a rood,[17] 245 Fair to be seen, and reared of honest wood.

A tomb indeed, with fewer sculptures graced, Than that Mausolus' pious widow placed,[18]

Or where inshrined the great Darius lay; But cost on graves is merely thrown away. 250 The pit filled up, with turf we covered o'er; So bless the good man's soul, I say no more.

Now for my fifth loved lord, the last and best; (Kind heav'n afford him everlasting rest) Full hearty was his love, and I can shew 255 The tokens on my ribs in black and blue; Yet, with a knack, my heart he could have won, While yet the smart was shooting in the bone.

How quaint an appet.i.te in woman reigns!

Free gifts we scorn, and love what costs us pains: 260 Let men avoid us, and on them we leap; A glutted market makes provision cheap.[19]

In pure good will I took this jovial spark, Of Oxford he, a most egregious clerk.