Classic Poem

" THE moral of this tale is that a man
Should take good care how he spies on his wife
Or friend and by his foolish trickery
Discovers her in any open lapse;
For he should know that worse she will become
When once her fault is proved; nor will he have
From her obedience or friendliness
When once he's caught her, moved by jealousy.
Than jealousy, which burns and fills with care
The jealous one, there's no more foolish vice;
But she with feigned complaint will oft pretend
To jealousy, thus to deceive the fool.
The more she hoodwinks him, the more he burns.
And, if he deign not to excuse himself,
But, to increase her anger, says 'tis true
That he another mistress entertains,
Let him beware if she refuse to scold.
'Twill have more meaning than may there appear
If he's procured himself another friend
And she cares not a button, so she says,
How much the ribald plays the whoremaster;
And if she make pretense that he in turn
Believes, because she cannot love renounce,
That she has wished to find another friend,
And that she does it to get rid of him
From whom she's willing now to be divorced,
For certainly from him she is estranged;

And if he says, " You've wronged me far too much —
I must revenge myself for your misdeeds —
Since you have made me cuckold. I will serve
You with a drink from out the self-same cup — "
Then worse than ever will become his case,
If still he loves her, for he can expect
No further consolation from her love.
None feels the flames of love within his breast
Like him who fears he may be cuckolded.
" Just at this point appears the chambermaid
With fearful face, and says, " Alas! we're lost;
My master, or some other man, has come —
He's entering our courtyard even now."
The wife must interrupt the work in hand
And run away; but first she hides the youth
In stable, barn, or even rabbit hutch,
Where he must stay until she calls for him
When she returns. Thus he who had such joy
At coming gladly would be gone, I think,
So much he now feels terror and despair.
" Then if it prove to be another friend
To whom she's given untimely rendezvous,
However dear the first one be to her,
Let her at no deception hesitate,
But lead the second comer to her room,
Grant him her favors soon, but let him know
That he can not remain, on which account
Heavy of heart and angry he will be,
For plainly will the lady say to him:
" This is no time to stay; my husband's here
And cousins four, so help me, Saint Germain.
When at some other time you please to come,
I'll do whatever you may wish me to;
But with that promise you must be content.
Now I must go, for they're awaiting me."
Then she will hurry him outside the house
That she may thenceforth nothing have to fear.
" Then to the first the woman should return
That in discomfort he may not remain
Too long; she would not have him too displeased.
So she recomforts him and calls him out
From his imprisonment, and bids him come
To bed with her, and takes him in her arms.
But let her guard lest he unfearful lie,
And let her make him clearly understand
That she's too bold and foolish; let her swear
That by her father's soul she buys his love
Too dearly when she such great chances takes,
And let her say that she's no more secure
Than those who sport in vineyards and in fields.
All this she does because secure delight
Less pleasant is, and counted of less worth.
" When they've together lain all night, and yet
He stays until he sees the daylight clear,
Let her take care lest for another bout
She preparations make before she's drawn
The shades at all the windows, that the room
May be but dimly lit; for, if she have
Some spot or blemish on her body, he
Must nothing know of it. If he should spy
Some filthiness that marred her pulchritude,
He'd soon be on his way, and take to flight
Like frightened cur with tail between his legs.
This were a most embarrassing disgrace!
" Whenever on the sea of love they swim,
Each one should play his part so skillfully
That, both together, they will have one joy
Rather than partial, separate delights;
And both should strive to reach a common goal.
Neither should let the other swim alone,
Nor leave the sport till they in unison
Arrive at port. 'Tis this makes joy complete.
If she feels no delight, she still should feign
Enjoyment, giving all the evidence
Of joy she knows is most appropriate,
That he may think she gratefully accepts
Attentions worthless as a nut to her.
" If he is able to persuade the dame
That free from interruption they would be
If she should come some time to where he lives,
Then on the day she undertakes to go
Let her delay a little, thus to fan
His amorous desire for her embrace.
The game of love is such that when deferred
It's more delightful than when promptly played
Less appetite has he who has his will.
" When to his house she comes, and is received
Most lovingly, then she should let him know
That she so fears her husband's jealousy
That she is all a tremble and alarmed,
Most sorely doubting that she can escape
Scolding or beating when she shall return.
But howsoever much she may lament,
And whether she shall lie or tell the truth,
Assuredly the fright she should pretend,
Accepting his assuagement anxiously,
And thus enhance the joys of dalliance.
" In case she finds no chance to go to him
And dares not entertain him at her house
Because her jealous husband keeps close watch,
Then should she, if she can, make drunk her spouse
If of no better plan she can conceive;
And if the wine have no effect on him,
She may employ a pound or more of herbs
Which without danger he may eat or drink.
Then will he sleep so sound he'll let them do
Whatever they may wish; he can't oppose.
" If she has servants, she will send them forth,
One here, one there, or win them with small gifts
So that they'll help her to receive her friend;
Or, if she fears them, she may make them drunk.
" Or, if she please, she'll to her husband say:
" With I know not what illness I'm afire —
Apostema or fever or the gout —
That runs through all my body; needs must I
Go to the public bath. Our two bathtubs
Will not suffice; we have no steaming box,
And what I really need's a thermic bath."
After the jealous wretch has thought awhile,
Ungraciously, perhaps, he'll give her leave.
Then with some neighbor or her chambermaid,
Who's in her confidence, and who will have
Some friend herself the dame may know about,
She'll to the baths repair; but she'll not seek
The swimming pool or tub bath, but will couch
There with her lover, if it seem not good
To them to bathe together. He'll be there
If of her destination he's informed.
" No man can keep a woman under guard
If for her honor she has no respect,
Though it were Argus' self who kept the watch
And spied upon her with his hundred eyes,
Of which half kept awake while t'others slept
Until he lost his head by Jove's command
When Mercury was sent to cut it off
Because by Juno he had been ordained
To see that Jove no assignations kept
With Io, whom the ruler of the gods
Had changed from lovely maid into a cow —
And then his watch was worthless. He's a fool
Who strives to safeguard such a worthless thing.
" But let no woman be so great a sot
As to believe, whatever clerks may say,
Or laymen, that by magic, sorcery,
Enchantment, necromancy, or by charm,
Though Balenus should help with all his lore,
She may compel a man to fall in love
With her or hate another for her sake.
Medea's incantations could not hold
Her Jason; nor could Circe's witchcraft keep
Ulysses when he wished to flee from her.
" A lady should take care to give no gift
Of any value to her friend, though he
May claim her love. A pillow she may give,
Or napkin, kerchief, hood, if not too dear,
A needlecase, a leash, or even a belt
With clasp not too expensive, or a knife
That's small but fair, or little ball of wool
Such as the cloistered nuns are wont to give.
But to associate with them is rash;
To love the worldly women's better far.
There is less chance of being blamed for that,
And they more freedom have to do their will.
Well they know how to feed with specious words
Their husbands and their other relatives;
And, though it well may be that neither costs
More than she's worth, the sisters cost the most.
" The man who would be wise will doubt all gifts
A woman makes him; for, to tell the truth,
They are but nets set to entrap a male.
Against her nature every woman sins
Who shows the fault of liberality.
Leave largesse to the men; when dames are free
With gifts, it is great mishap and great vice.
It is the devil who has made them soft.
But naught care I, for women are but few.
Who are accustomed to give much away.
" Such gifts as I have mentioned will do well,
Unless they're given deceivingly, to please
The boobies better. And be sure you keep
All that is given you. Have well in mind
The bourne toward which is tending all your youth,
If you may live so long; that is old age,
Which never, day nor night, will intermit
To press upon us. When that time shall come,
Be no such one as men will call a fool;
Have then a well-lined purse, and be not mocked;
For acquisition without husbanding
Is hardly worth a grain of mustard seed.
" Alas! I did not thus, and now I'm poor
By reason of my own neglectfulness.
Great gifts from those who gave themselves to me
I gave in turn to those I better loved.
Men gave to me; I gave to men; and now
There's nothing I've retained. Munificence
Has brought me indigence. I never thought
Of my old age, in which I've such distress.
I let time go as lightly as it came;
I feared not poverty and took no care
To moderate my rash expenditures.
" Had I been wise, I might, upon my soul,
Have been a wealthy woman; for I knew,
When I was young and better dressed, great men
From whom I could have any price secured;
But whatsoever presents I received
From them, by God and Saint Thibaud I swear,
I gave unto a wretch who shamed me much,
But it was he who then pleased me the most.
I called the rest my friends; but him I loved.
Know well, for me a pea he did not care,
And even told me so. A bad one he!
I've never seen a worse. He loved me not,
The wretch, and to despise me never ceased.
He used to say I was a common whore!
Poor judgment have all women; I was one,
Decidedly. I never loved a man
Who loved me in return. But do you know
If he had thrown my shoulder out of joint
Or broke my head, I would have thanked the wretch!
He ne'er beat me so much that I refused
To do his will; he well could make his peace,
No matter how he had mistreated me.
Against me he had never done so much —
Beaten and dragged me, scratched and blackened my face,
And called me shameful names — that he'd not ask
My pardon ere he went, and beg a truce.
He would entice me to the game of Love,
And then we'd quiet be and in accord.
He had me on his leash, the traitorous wretch,
For he was a fierce lover, I'll admit.
I could not live without him; and I wished,
So much he solaced and delighted me,
Always to follow him. If he had fled,
To London, England, I had gone with him.
He shamed me, and I him; for he would lead,
Upon my gifts to him, a riotous life.
He would not put my savings in the bank,
But spent them all in taverns and on dice.
He never learned another trade than this,
And this he never mastered to his gain
All men were then my tenants; what they paid
He freely spent, and always in debauch,
His body e'er inflamed with lechery.
He was so tender mouthed that he could bear
No bridle. He would occupy himself
With nothing good; it pleased him not to live
Except in pleasure and in laziness.
But toward the end, when gifts less often came,
He spent a sorry life in poverty;
He had to beg his bread, for by that time
I had not cash to buy two hackle combs,
Nor had I wedded spouse to succor me.
Then came I here, as I've already told,
My temples scratched with all the underbrush.
" May my estate example be to you,
My fair, sweet son; keep it in memory.
After my tutelage, may you be wise
To act so that you'll be the better off!
For when your Rose is withered, and white hair
Besieges your creased brow, you'll feel the lack of gifts. "