From Geoffrey Chaucer's "The Canterbury Tales", The Monk's Tale, lines 663-686

Previous:
From The Monk's Tale, lines 575-662:
Nero

From The Canterbury Tales:
The Monk's Tale
lines 663-686: De Oloferno

De Oloferno

Was nevere capitayn under a kyng

That regnes mo putte in subjeccioun,

665 Ne strenger was in feeld of alle thyng

As in his tyme, ne gretter of renoun,

Ne moore pompous in heigh presumpcioun,

Than Oloferne, which Fortune ay kiste

So likerously, and ladde hym up and doun

670 Til that his heed was of er that he wiste.

Was never captain, no, of any king's

That had more kingdoms in subjection thrown,

665 Nor stronger was, in field; above all things,

Nor in his time a greater of renown,

Nor had more pomp with high presumption shown,

Than Holofernes, whom Dame Fortune kissed

Right lecherously, and led him up and down

670 Until his head was off before 'twas missed.

Nat oonly that this world hadde hym in awe

For lesynge of richesse or libertee,

But he made every man reneyen his lawe.

"Nabugodonosor was god," seyde hee,

675 "Noon oother god sholde adoure bee."

Agayns his heeste no wight dorste trespace,

Save in Bethulia, a strong citee,

Where Eliachim a preest was of that place.

Not only did this world hold him in awe

For taking all its wealth and liberty,

But he made every man renounce old law.

"Nebuchadnezzar is your god," said he,

675 "And now no other god shall worshipped be."

Against his order no man dared to stand,

Except in Bethulia, a strong city,

Where Eliachim priest was of the land.

But taak kepe of the deeth of Oloferne;

680 Amydde his hoost he dronke lay a-nyght,

Withinne his tente, large as is a berne;

And yet, for al his pompe and al his myght

Judith, a womman, as he lay upright

Slepynge, his heed of smoot, and from his tente

685 Ful prively she stal from every wight,

And with his heed unto hir toun she wente.

But from the death of Holofernes learn.

680 Amidst his host he lay drunk, on a night,

Within his tent, as large as ever barn,

And yet, for all his pomp and all his might,

Judith, a woman, as he lay upright,

Sleeping, smote off his head and from his tent

685 Stole secretly away from every wight,

And with the head to her own town she went.

Next:
From The Monk's Tale, lines 687-742:
De Rege Anthiocho illustri