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He was of knighthood and of freedom flower; Fortune made him her heir to honour's bower; Save wine and women, nothing might assuage His high intent in arms; all men must cower, So filled he was of leonine courage. What praise were it to him, though 'gain were told Darius' tale or of others brought low Of kings and dukes and earls and princes bold, The which he conquered and brought down to woe? I say, as far as man may ride or go The world was his, to tell it in a trice. For though I wrote or told you always, so, Of his knighthood, the time would not suffice. Twelve years he reigned, as tells us Maccabee; And Philip's son of Macedon he was, Who first was king of Greece, the whole country. O noble Alexander, O alas! That ever you should come to such a pass! For poisoned by your very own you were; Your six did Fortune turn into an ace, And yet for you she never wept a tear! Who shall give me the tears now to complain For death of gentle blood and high franchise? He all the world did wield as one domain, And yet he thought it could not long suffice, So full his heart was of high enterprise. Alas! And who shall help me to indict False Fortune, and all poison to despise? For these I blame for all the woe I write. JULIUS CAESAR By wisdom, manhood, and by great labour, From humble bed to royal majesty Up rose he, Julius the conqueror, Who won the Occident by land and sea, By force of arms, or else by clear treaty, And unto Rome made all this tributary; And then of Rome the emperor was he, Till Fortune came to be his adversary. O mighty Caesar, who in Thessaly Against great Pompey, father of yours in law, That of the East had all the chivalry From farthest places that the sun e'er saw, You, by your knighthood broke them for death's maw, Save those few men who thence with Pompey fled, Whereby you put the Orient in awe. The Canterbury Tales The Canterbury Tales 171Thank Fortune now that you so well have sped. But now a little while I will bewail This Pompey, this so noble governor Of Rome, who fled when battle's chance did fail; I say, one of his men, a false traitor, Smote off his head to win himself favour With Julius, and there the head he brought. Alas, Pompey! Of Orient conqueror, That Fortune such an end for thee hath wrought! To Rome again repaired great Julius, To have his triumph, laureate full high; But on a time Brutus and Cassius, Who ever had of great estate envy, Full secretly did lay conspiracy Against this Julius, in subtle wise, And fixed the place at which he soon should die By dagger thrusts, as I shall you apprise. This Julius, to the Capitol he went Upon a day, as he'd been wont to go, And there they seized on him, as well they meant, This treacherous Brutus and each other foe, And struck him with their daggers, high and low, And gave him many a wound and let him die; But never groaned he, save at one stroke, no (Or two perchance), unless his legend lie. So manly was this Julius in his heart, And so well loved he stately decency, That, though his deadly wounds did burn and smart, His mantle yet about his hips cast he, That no man there should see his privity.