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And as he lay there, dying, in a trance, And knew that he was dying, verily, Of decency yet had he remembrance. Lucan to tell this story I commend, Suetonius too, Valerius also, Who of the tale have written to the end And told how, of these mighty conquerors two, Fortune was first the friend and then the foe. No man may trust in Fortune's favour long, But as one fearing ambush must he go. Witness the end of all these conquerors strong. CROESUS The wealthy Croesus, Lydia's sometime king, Of which Croesus King Cyrus had such dread, Yet was he taken, in his pride swelling, And to be burned upon a pyre was led. But such a rain down from the clouds was shed As quenched the fire and let him there escape; But to be warned, no grace was in him spread Till Fortune on the gallows made him gape. The Canterbury Tales The Canterbury Tales 172When he'd escaped, not changed was his intent To march at once into new wars again. He thought right well 'twas Fortune that had sent Such chance that he'd escape because of rain, And that by foes he never should be slain; And then a vision in the night he met, At which he waxed so proud and grew so fain That upon vengeance all his heart was set. Upon a tree he was, or so he thought, Where Jupiter did wash him, back and side, And Phoebus, then, a fair white towel brought To dry him with and thereby swell his pride; And to his daughter, who stood there beside, And well, he knew, in knowledge did abound, He bade interpret what it signified, And she his dream in this wise did expound. "The tree," she said, "the gallows is to mean, And Jupiter betokens snow and rain, While Phoebus with his towel white and clean, That is the sunbeams beating down amain;

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You shall be hanged, O father, 'tis certain; The rain shall wash you and the sun shall dry." And thus she gave him warning flat and plain, His daughter, who was Phania, say I. So hanged was Croesus, that proud Lydian king, His royal throne could nothing then avail. Tragedy is no other kind of thing; Nor can the singer cry aught, or bewail, But that Dame Fortune always will assail With unwarned stroke those great ones who are proud; For when men trust her most, then will she fail And cover her bright face as with a cloud. Explicit tragedia HERE THE KNIGHT HALTED THE MONK IN HIS TALE THE PROLOGUE TO THE NUN'S PRIEST'S TALE Hold!" cried the knight. "Good sir, no more of this, What you have said is right enough, and is Very much more; a little heaviness Is plenty for the most of us, I guess. For me, I say it's saddening, if you please, As to men who've enjoyed great wealth and ease, To hear about their sudden fall, alas! But the contrary's joy and great solace, As when a man has been in poor estate The Canterbury Tales The Canterbury Tales 173And he climbs up and waxes fortunate, And there abides in all prosperity. Such things are gladsome, as it seems to me, And of such things it would be good to tell." "Yea," quoth our host, "and by Saint Paul's great bell, You say the truth; this monk, his clapper's loud. He spoke how 'Fortune covered with a cloud' I know not what, and of a 'tragedy,' As now you heard, and gad! no remedy It is to wail and wonder and complain That certain things have happened, and it's pain. As you have said, to hear of wretchedness. Sir monk, no more of this, so God you bless! Your tale annoys the entire company; Such talking is not worth a butterfly; For in it is no sport nor any game. Wherefore, sir monk, Don Peter by your name, I pray you heartily tell us something else, For truly, but for clinking of the bells That from your bridle hang on either side, By Heaven's king, Who for us all has died, I should, ere this, have fallen down for sleep, Although the mud had never been so deep; Then had your story all been told in vain. For certainly, as all these clerks complain, 'Whenas a man has none for audience, It's little help to speak his evidence.' And well I know the substance is in me To judge of things that well reported be. Sir, tell a tale of hunting now, I pray." "Nay," said this monk, "I have no wish to play; Now let another tell, as I have told." Then spoke our host out, in rude speech and bold, And said he unto the nun's priest anon: "Come near, you priest, come hither, you Sir John, Tell us a thing to make our hearts all glad; Be blithe, although you ride upon a jade. What though your horse may be both foul and lean? If he but serves you, why, don't care a bean; Just see your heart is always merry. So." "Yes, sir," said he, "yes, host, so may I go, For, save I'm merry, I know I'll be blamed." And right away his story has he framed, And thus he said unto us, every one, This dainty priest, this goodly man, Sir John. Explicit The Canterbury Tales The Canterbury Tales 174THE NUN'S PRIEST'S TALE OF THE COCK AND HEN, CHANTICLEER AND PERTELOTE A widow poor, somewhat advanced in age, Lived, on a time, within a small cottage Beside a grove and standing down a dale.