Lo, in such maner of rym is Dauntes tale;
Ful seeld uprisith by his braunchis smale
Prowes of man, for God of his prowesse
Wol that we clayme of him our gentilesse;
For of our auncestres we no thing clayme
But temporal thing, that men may hurt and mayme.
Ek every wight wot this as wel as I,
If gentiles were plaunted naturelly
Unto a certayn lignage doun the line,
Privé ne apert, they wolde never fine
To don of gentilesce the fair office,
Thay mighte nought doon no vileny or vice.
Take fuyr and ber it in the derkest hous
Bitwixe this and the mount Caukasous,
And let men shitte the dores, and go thenne,
Yit wol the fuyr as fair and lighte brenne
As twenty thousand men might it biholde;
His office naturel ay wol it holde,
Up peril on my lif, til that it dye.
Her may ye se wel, how that genterye
Is nought annexid to possessioun,
Sithins folk ne doon her operacioun
Alway, as doth the fuyr, lo, in his kynde
For God it wot, men may ful often fynde
A lordes sone do schame and vilonye.
And he that wol have pris of his gentrie,
For he was boren of a gentil hous,
And had his eldres noble and vertuous,
And nyl himselve doo no gentil dedis,
Ne folw his gentil aunceter, that deed is,
He is nought gentil, be he duk or erl;
For vileyn synful deedes maketh a cherl,
For gentilnesse nys but renomé
Of thin auncestres, for her heigh bounté,
Which is a straunge thing to thy persone;
Thy gentilesce cometh fro God alloone.
Than comth oure verray gentilesse of
It was no thing biquethe us with oure place.
Thinketh how nobil, as saith Valerius,
Was thilke Tullius Hostilius,
That out of povert ros to high noblesse.
Redith Senek, and redith eek Boece,
Ther schuln ye se expresse, that no dred is,
That he is gentil that doth gentil dedis.
And therfor, lieve housbond, I conclude,
Al were it that myn auncetres wer rude,
Yit may the highe God, and so hope I,
Graunte me grace to lyve vertuously;
Than am I gentil, whan that I bygynne
To lyve vertuously, and weyven synne.
And ther as ye of povert me repreve,
The heighe God, on whom that we bilieve,
In wilful povert ches to lede his lif;
And certes, every man, mayden, or wyf,
May understonde that Jhesus, heven king,
Ne wolde not chese a vicious lyvyng.
Glad
povert is an honest thing certayn ;
This wol Senek and other clerkes sayn.
Who that holt him payd of his povert,
I hold him riche, al had he nought a schert.
He that coveitith is a pore wight,
For he wold have that is not in his might.
But he that nought hath, ne coveyteth nought to have,
riche, although ye hold him but a knave;
Verray povert is synne proprely.
"Juvenal saith of povert merily,
pore man whan he goth by the waye
Bifore the theves he may synge and playe.
Povert is hatel good, and, as I gesse,
A ful gret brynger out of busynesse ;
A gret amender eek of sapiens
To him that takith it in paciens.
Povert is this, although it seme elenge,
Possessioun that no wight wil chalenge.
Povert, ful often, whan a man is lowe,
Makith him his God and eek himself to knowe.
Povert a spectacle is, as thinkith me,
Thurgh which he may his verray
And therfor, sir, syth that I yow nought greve,
Of my povert no more ye me repreve.
"Now, sir, of elde ye repreve me ;
And certes, sir, though noon auctorité
Were in no book, ye gentils of honour
Sayn that men schuld an old wight doon favour,
And clepe him fader, for your gentilesse ;
And auctours I schal fynden,
"Now ther that ye sayn I am foul and old,
Than drede you nought to ben a cokewold.
For filthe and elde, al-so mot I the,
Ben grete wardeyns upon chastité.
But natheles, sith I knowe your delyt,
I schal fulfille youre worldly appetyt.
Chese, now," quod sche, "oon of these thinges tweye,
To have me foul and old til that I deye,
And be to yow a trewe and humble wyf,
And never yow displease in al my lyf;
Or elles ye
wol have me yong and fair,
And take your aventure of the repair
That schal be to your hous bycause of me,
Or in som other place it may wel be.
Now chese yourselven whethir that yow liketh."
This knight avysith him, and sore sikith,
But atte last he sayd in this manere:
"My lady and my love, and wyf so deere,
I putte me in your wyse governaunce,
Chesith yourself which may be most pleasaunce
And most honour to yow and me also,
I do no fors the whether of the tuo,
For as yow likith, it suffisith me."
"Than have I gete of yow the maystry," quod sche,
"Sith I may govern and chese as me list?"
"Ye certes, wyf," quod he, "I hold it best."
"Kys me," quod sche, "we ben no lenger wrothe,
For, by my trouthe, I wol be to yow bothe,
That is to saye, ye, bothe fair and good.
I pray to God that I mot sterve wood;
But I be to yow al-so good and trewe
As ever was wyf, siththen the world was newe;
And but I be to morow as fair to seen
As eny lady, emperesse, or queen,
That is bitwixe thest and eek the west,
Doth by my lyf right even as you lest.
Cast up the cortyns, and look what this is."
And whan the knyght saugh verrayly al this,
That sche so fair was, and so yong therto,
For joye he hent hir in his armes tuo;
His herte bathid in a bath of blisse,
A thousand tyme on rowe he gan hir kisse.
And sche obeyed him in every thing
That mighte doon him pleisauns or likyng.
And thus thay lyve unto her lyves end
In parfyt joye; and Jhesu Crist us sende
Housbondes meke, yonge, and freissche on bedde,
And grace to overbyde hem that we wedde.
And eek I pray to Jhesus schort her lyves,
That wil nought be governed after her wyves.
And old and angry nygardes of dispense,
God send hem sone verray pestilence!
THE reader has had before him in the Preface to the Fables, and will have before him in the Prefaces contained in this and the two following volumes, so abundant and various an exposition
of Dryden's general ideas on Translation, that it is hardly necessary to attempt anything more than the briefest summary of them here. All that is necessary for intelligent perusal is to
remember that the poet again and again disclaims an attempt at what is now called fidelity; that he aims, though with varying range of licence, at a paraphrase rather than at a translation; and that, on the whole, he may be said to provide a poem in his own style, but on the author's theme and with the author's details, rather than a poem in the author's style but in a different language. The Virgil is somewhat less lax than most of the others; but the characteristics of each will, where it is necessary, be indicated in their place.
This system of Dryden's makes it at once unnecessary and impossible to annotate his
Translations as if they were written from the point of view of the scholar. An equal proportion of notes and text would hardly suffice to point out his verbal variations, omissions, and additions, while an attempt to account for any of the three classes would, save in very rare instances, be labour wholly lost. This of itself constitutes the strongest reason for reprobating the presumptuous folly of those who, especially in the Virgil, have altered Dryden's text because, forsooth, it did not seem to them to be a correct translation. Scott's partial condescension to this folly, though a mistake, was, it need hardly be said, founded on no presumption, but the reverse his modest consciousness of a deficient acquaintance with the learned languages leading him to defer to those who had such learning. All such miscorrections have been recorrected (oversights of course excepted) in the present edition; the readers of which, it may be hoped, agree with the Editor in wishing to read what Dryden wrote, and not what some forgotten pedant thought that Dryden should have written. Those who want a literal and scholarly version, either of Virgil or of any other classical poet, will not be likely to come to Dryden at all. Besides these presumptuous sins, there are others in Scott's text which had to be corrected, the origin of which is less obvious. Scott has occasionally dropped clauses, sentences, and
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