Previous: From The Monk's Tale, lines 519-574: De Hugelino Comite de Pize

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575        Al though that Nero were vicius As any feend that lith in helle adoun, Yet he, as telleth us Swetonius, This wyde world hadde in subjeccioun, Bothe Est and West, South and Septemtrioun; 580 Of rubies, saphires, and of peerles white Were alle hise clothes brouded up and doun, For he in gemmes greetly gan delite.

575        Though viciousness had Nero in overplus, As ever fiend that's low in torment thrown. Yet he, as tells us old Suetonius, This whole wide world held subject; aye, did own, East, west, south, north, wherever Rome was known. 580 Of rubies, sapphires, and of great pearls white Were all his garments broidered up and down, For he in jewels greatly did delight.

Moore delicaat, moore pompous of array, Moore proud was nevere emperour than he. 585 That ilke clooth that he hadde wered o day, After that tyme he nolde it nevere see. Nettes of gold-threed hadde he greet plentee, To fisshe in Tybre, whan hym liste pleye. His lustes were al lawe in his decree, 590 For Fortune as his freend hym wolde obeye.

More delicate, more pompous of array, More proud was never emperor than he; 585 That toga which he wore on any day, After that time he nevermore would see. Nets of gold thread he had in great plenty To fish in Tiber when he pleased to play. His lusts were all the laws in his decree, 590 For Fortune was his friend and would obey.

He Rome brende for his delicasie; The senatours he slow upon a day, To heere how men wolde wepe and crie; And slow his brother, and by his suster lay. 595 His mooder made he in pitous array, For he hir wombe slitte, to biholde Wher he conceyved was, so weilaway That he so litel of his mooder tolde!

He burned Rome for his delicate profligacy; Some senators he slew upon a day Only to learn how men might weep and cry; He killed his brother and with his sister lay. 595 His mother put he into piteous way, For he her belly ripped up just to see Where he had been conceived; alack-a-day, That but so little for her life cared he!

No teere out of hise eyen for that sighte 600 Ne cam; but seyde, "A fair womman was she." Greet wonder is how that he koude or myghte Be domesman of hir dede beautee. The wyn to bryngen hym comanded he, And drank anon; noon oother wo he made, 605 Whan myght is joyned unto crueltee, Allas, to depe wol the venym wade!

No tear out of his two eyes for that sight 600 Came, but he said: "A woman fair was she." Great wonder is it how he could or might Pass judgment thus upon her dead beauty. Wine to be brought him then commanded he And drank straightway; no other sign he made. 605 When power is combined with cruelty, Alas, too deep its venom will pervade!

In yowthe a maister hadde this emperour To techen hym lettrure and curteisye, For of moralitee he was the flour, 610 As in his tyme, but if bookes lye. And whil this maister hadde of hym maistrye, He maked hym so konnyng and so sowple, That longe tyme it was, er tirannye Or any vice dorste on hym uncowple.

A master had, in youth, this emperor, To teach him letters and all courtesy, For of morality he was the flower 610 In his own time, unless the old books lie; And while this master held his mastery, So well he taught him wiles and subtle ways That before could tempt him vice or tyranny Was, it is said, the length of many days.

615 This Seneca, of which that I devyse By cause Nero hadde of hym swich drede, For he fro vices wolde hym chastise Discreetly as by word, and nat by dede - "Sire," wolde he seyn, "an emperour moot nede 620 Be vertuous and hate tirannye."- For which he in a bath made hym to blede On bothe hise armes, til he moste dye.

615 This Seneca, of whom I do apprise, By reason Nero held him in such dread, Since he for vices spared not to chastise, Discreetly, though, by word and not by deed- "Sir," would he say, "an emperor must need 620 Be virtuous and hate all tyranny"- For which, in bath, did Nero make him bleed From both his arms until he had to die.

This Nero hadde eek of acustumaunce In youthe agayns his maister for to ryse, 625 Which afterward hym thoughte greet grevaunce; Therefore he made hym dyen in this wise, But nathelees, this Seneca the wise Chees in a bath to dye in this manere, Rather than han anoother tormentise, 630 And thus hath Nero slayn his maister deere.

This Nero had, though, out of arrogance, Been wont, in youth, against the rod to rise, 625 Which afterward he thought a great grievance; Wherefore he made him perish in this wise. Nevertheless, this Seneca the wise Chose in a bath to die, as you did hear, Rather than suffer in some other guise; 630 And thus did Nero slay his master dear.

Now fil it so, that Fortune liste no lenger The hye pryde of Nero to cherice; For though that he was strong, yet was she strenger; She thoughte thus, "By God, I am to nyce 635 To sette a man that is fulfild of vice In heigh degree, and emperour hym calle. By God, out of his sete I wol hym trice, Whan he leest weneth, sonnest shal he falle."

Now it befell that Fortune cared no longer To Nero's high pride to be accomplice; For though he might be strong, yet she was stronger; She thought thus: "By God, I am none too nice, 635 Setting a man who is but filled with vice In high degree, emperor over all. By God, up from his seat I will him trice; When he least thinks of it, then shall he fall."

The peple roos upon hym on a nyght 640 For his defaute, and whan he it espied Out of hise dores anoon he hath hym dight Allone, and ther he wende han been allied He knokked faste, and ay the moore he cried, The fastere shette they the dores alle. 645 For drede of this hym thoughte that he dyed, And wente his wey; no lenger dorste he calle.

The people rose against him, on a night, 640 For all his faults; and when he it espied, Out of the doors he went and took to flight Alone; and where he thought he was allied He knocked; but always, and the more he cried The faster did they bar the doors, aye all; 645 Then learned he well he'd been his own worst guide, And went his way, nor longer dared to call.

The peple cride, and rombled up and doun, That with his erys herde he how they seyde, "Where is this false tiraunt, this Neroun?" 650 For fere almoost out of his wit he breyde, And to his goddes pitously he preyde For socour, but it myghte nat bityde. For drede of this hym thoughte that he deyde, And ran into a gardyn hym to hyde.

The people cried and rumbled up and down, And, having ears, he heard the thing they said: "Where's this false tyrant Nero, where's he flown?" 650 For fear almost out of his wits he strayed, And to his gods, then, piously he prayed For succour, but no help might him betide. For fear of this he wished himself unmade, And ran into a garden, there to hide.

655 And in this gardyn foond he cherles tweye, That seten by a fyr greet and reed, And to thise cherles two he gan to preye To sleen hym and to girden of his heed, That to his body whan that he were deed 660 Were no despit ydoon, for his defame. Hymself he slow, he koude no bettre reed, Of which Fortune lough and hadde a game.

655 And in this garden were two fellows, yea, Who sat before a great fire and a red, And to those fellows he began to pray That they would slay him and strike off his head, But of his body, after he was dead, 660 They should do nothing to its further shame. Himself he slew, no better counsel sped, Whereat Dame Fortune laughed and made a game.

Next: From The Monk's Tale, lines 663-686: De Oloferno