From Geoffrey Chaucer's "The Canterbury Tales", The Franklin's Tale, lines 139-192

From The Canterbury Tales:
The Franklin's Tale
lines 139-192: Dorigen's friends provide games and comfort

	Now stood hir castel faste by the see;
140	And often with hir freendes walketh she
	Hire to disporte, upon the bank an heigh,
	Where as she many a ship and barge seigh
	Seillynge hir cours, where as hem liste go.
	But thanne was that a parcel of hir wo,
145	For to hirself ful ofte "Allas," seith she,
	"Is ther no ship of so many as I se
	Wol bryngen hoom my lord? Thanne were myn herte
	Al warisshed of hisse bittre peynes smerte."
	Another tyme ther wolde she sitte and thynke
150	And caste hir eyen dounward fro the brynke;
	But whan she saugh the reisly rokkes blake,
	For verray feere, so wolde hir herte quake
	That on hire feet she myghte hir noght sustene.
	Thanne wolde she sitte adoun upon the grene,
155	And pitously into the see biholde,
	And seyn right thus, with sorweful sikes colde:

	Now stood her castle very near the sea,
140	And often with her good friends wandered she
	For pleasure on the cliffs that reared so high,
	Whence she saw many a ship and barge go by,
	Sailing their courses where they wished to go;
	But that was part and parcel of her woe.
145	For to herself full oft, "Alas!" said she,
	"Is there no ship, of many that I see,
	Will bring me home my lord? Then were my heart
	Recovered of its bitter pains that smart."
	At other times there would she sit and think,
150	And cast her two eyes downward from the brink.
	But when she saw the grisly rocks all black,
	For very fear her heart would start aback
	And quake so that her feet would not sustain
	Her weight. Then on the grass she'd sit again
155	And piteously upon the sea she'd stare,
	And say, with dull sighs on the empty air:

	"Eterne God, that thurgh thy purveiaunce
	Ledest the world by certein governaunce,
	In ydel, as men seyn, ye no thyng make.
160	But, lord, thise grisly feendly rokkes blake,
	That semen rather a foul confusioun
	Of werk, than any fair creacioun
	Of swich a parfit wys God and a stable,
	Why han ye wroght this werk unresonable?
165	For by this werk, south, north, ne west ne eest
	Ther nys yfostred man, ne bryd, ne beest.
	It dooth no good, to my wit, but anoyeth,
	Se ye nat, lord, how mankynde it destroyeth?
	An hundred thousand bodyes of mankynde
170	Han rokkes slayn, al be they nat in mynde;
	Which mankynde is so fair part of thy werk
	That thou it madest lyk to thyn owene merk.
	Thanne semed it ye hadde a greet chiertee
	Toward mankynde; but how thanne may it bee
175	That ye swiche meenes make it to destroyen,
	Whiche meenes do no good, but evere anoyen?
	I woot wel clerkes wol seyn, as hem leste,
	By argumentz, that al is for the beste,
	Though I ne kan the causes nat yknowe,
180	But thilke God that made wynd to blowe
	As kepe my lord; this my conclusioun.
	To clerkes lete I al this disputisoun-
	But wolde God, that alle thise rokkes blake,
	Were sonken into helle for his sake!
185	Thise rokkes sleen myn herte for the feere!"
	Thus wolde she seyn, with many a pitous teere.

	"Eternal God, who by your providence
	Leadest the world with a true governance,
	Idly, as men say, do you nothing make;
160	But, Lord, these grisly, fiendish rocks, so black,
	That seem but rather foul confusion thrown
	Awry than any fair world of your own,
	Aye of a perfect wise God and stable,
	Why have you wrought this insane work, pray tell?
165	For by this work, north, south, and west and east,
	There is none nurtured, man, nor bird, nor beast;
	It does no good, to my mind, but annoys.
	See'st you not, Lord, how mankind it destroys?
	A hundred thousand bodies of mankind
170	Have died on rocks, whose names are not in mind,
	And man's a creature made by you most fair,
	After your image, as you did declare.
	Then seemed it that you had'st great charity
	Toward mankind; but how then may it be
175	That you had wrought such means man to destroy,
	Which means do never good, but ever annoy?
	I know well, clerics gladly do attest,
	By arguments, that all is for the best,
	Though I can never the real causes know.
180	But O you God who made'st the wind to blow,
	Keep you my lord! This is my argument;
	To clerks I leave disputing on what's meant.
	But O would God that all these rocks so black
	Were sunken down to Hell for my lord's sake!
185	These rocks, they slay my very heart with fear."
	Thus would she say, with many a piteous tear.

	Hir freendes sawe that it was no disport
	To romen by the see, but disconfort,
	And shopen for to pleyen somwher elles;
190	They leden hir by ryveres and by welles,
	And eek in othere places delitables;
	They dauncen, and they pleyen at ches and tables.

	Her friends saw that to her it was no sport
	To wander by the sea, but discomfort;
	And so arranged to revel somewhere else.
190	They led her along rivers and to wells,
	And such delightful places; and told fables,
	They danced, and they played at chess and tables.