FullReads

Then came there leaping in a rout,* *crowd
And gan to clappen* all about *strike, knock
Every man upon the crown,
That all the hall began to soun’;
And saide; “Lady lefe* and dear, *loved
We be such folk as ye may hear.
To tellen all the tale aright,
We be shrewes* every wight, *wicked, impious people
And have delight in wickedness,
As goode folk have in goodness,
And joy to be y-knowen shrews,
And full of vice and *wicked thews;* *evil qualities*
Wherefore we pray you *on a row,* *all together*
That our fame be such y-know
In all things right as it is.”
“I grant it you,” quoth she, “y-wis.
But what art thou that say’st this tale,
That wearest on thy hose a pale,* *vertical stripe
And on thy tippet such a bell?”
“Madame,” quoth he, “sooth to tell,
I am *that ilke shrew,* y-wis, *the same wretch*
That burnt the temple of Isidis,
In Athenes, lo! that city.” <79>
“And wherefore didst thou so?” quoth she.
“By my thrift!” quoth he, “Madame,
I woulde fain have had a name
As other folk had in the town;
Although they were of great renown
For their virtue and their thews,* *good qualities
Thought I, as great fame have shrews
(Though it be naught) for shrewdeness,
As good folk have for goodeness;
And since I may not have the one,
The other will I not forgo’n.
So for to gette *fame’s hire,* *the reward of fame*
The temple set I all afire.
*Now do our los be blowen swithe,
As wisly be thou ever blithe.”* *see note <80>
“Gladly,” quoth she; “thou Aeolus,
Hear’st thou what these folk prayen us?”
“Madame, I hear full well,” quoth he,
“And I will trumpen it, pardie!”
And took his blacke trumpet fast,
And gan to puffen and to blast,
Till it was at the worlde’s end.

With that I gan *aboute wend,* *turn*
For one that stood right at my back
Me thought full goodly* to me spake, *courteously, fairly
And saide, “Friend, what is thy name?
Art thou come hither to have fame?”
“Nay, *for soothe,* friend!” quoth I; *surely*
“I came not hither, *grand mercy,* *great thanks*
For no such cause, by my head!
Sufficeth me, as I were dead,
That no wight have my name in hand.
I wot myself best how I stand,
For what I dree,* or what I think, *suffer
I will myself it alle drink,
Certain, for the more part,
As far forth as I know mine art.”
“What doest thou here, then,” quoth he.
Quoth I, “That will I telle thee;
The cause why I stande here,
Is some new tidings for to lear,* *learn
Some newe thing, I know not what,
Tidings either this or that,
Of love, or suche thinges glad.
For, certainly, he that me made
To come hither, said to me
I shoulde bothe hear and see
In this place wondrous things;
But these be not such tidings
As I meant of.” “No?” quoth he.
And I answered, “No, pardie!
For well I wot ever yet,
Since that first I hadde wit,
That some folk have desired fame
Diversely, and los, and name;
But certainly I knew not how
Nor where that Fame dwelled, ere now
Nor eke of her description,
Nor also her condition,
Nor *the order of her doom,* *the principle
Knew I not till I hither come.” of her judgments*
“Why, then, lo! be these tidings,
That thou nowe hither brings,
That thou hast heard?” quoth he to me.
“But now *no force,* for well I see *no matter*
What thou desirest for to lear.”
Come forth, and stand no longer here.
And I will thee, withoute dread,* *doubt
Into another place lead,
Where thou shalt hear many a one.”