From Geoffrey Chaucer's "The Canterbury Tales", The Monk's Tale, lines 687-742

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

From The Canterbury Tales:
The Monk's Tale
lines 687-742: De Rege Anthiocho illustri

De Rege Anthiocho illustri

What nedeth it of kyng Anthiochus

To telle his hye roial magestee,

His hye pride, hise werkes venymous?

690 For swich another was ther noon as he,

Rede which that he was in Machabee,

And rede the proude wordes that he seyde,

And why he fil fro heigh prosperitee,

And in an hill how wrecchedly he deyde.

What needs it, as for King Antiochus,

To tell his high and royal majesty,

His great pride and his deeds so venomous?

690 There never was another such as he.

Go read what's said of him in Maccabee,

And all the haughty sayings that he said,

And how he fell from high prosperity,

And on a hill how wretchedly lay dead.

695 Fortune hym hadde enhaunced so in pride

That verraily he wende he myghte attayne

Unto the sterres upon every syde,

And in balance weyen ech montayne,

And alle the floodes of the see restrayne.

700 And Goddes peple hadde he moost in hate;

Hem wolde he sleen in torment and in payne,

Wenynge that God ne myghte his pride abate.

695 Fortune had so enhanced the man's great pride

That verily he thought he might attain

Unto the utter stars on every side,

And in a balance weigh the high mountain,

And all the flood-tides of the sea restrain.

700 And God's own people held he most in hate.

Them would he slay with torment and with pain,

Thinking that God his pride would not abate.

And for that Nichanore and Thymothee

Of Jewes weren venquysshed myghtily,

705 Unto the Jewes swich an hate hadde he

That he bad greithen his chaar ful hastily,

And swoor, and seyde, ful despitously,

Unto Jerusalem he wolde eft-soone,

To wreken his ire on it ful cruelly;

710 But of his purpos he was let ful soone.

And because Nicanor and Timothy

Were vanquished by the Jews so mightily,

705 Unto all Jews so great a hate had he

That he bade bring his chariot hastily,

And swore an oath and said, impiteously,

That to Jerusalem he'd go ere noon

To wreak his ire on it full cruelly;

710 But from his purpose he was turned, and soon.

God for his manace hym so soore smoot

With invisible wounde, ay incurable,

That in hise guttes carf it so and boot

That hise peynes weren importable.

715 And certeinly, the wreche was resonable,

For many a mannes guttes dide he peyne,

But from his purpos cursed and dampnable

For al his smert he wolde hym nat restreyne;

God, for this menace, smote him then full sore

With wound invisible, incurable,

For in his guts he was so carved, aye more,

The pain of it was insupportable.

715 And certainly the thing was reasonable,

For many a man's guts he had caused to pain;

But from his purpose, cursed, damnable,

In spite of all he would not him restrain.

But bad anon apparaillen his hoost,

720 And sodeynly, er he was of it war,

God daunted al his pride and al his boost,

For he so soore fil out of his char,

That it hise lemes and his skyn totar,

So that he neyther myghte go ne ryde,

725 But in a chayer men aboute hym bar

Al forbrused, bothe bak and syde.

He gave command to marshal his great host,

720 And suddenly, or ere he was aware,

God daunted all his pride and all his boast.

For he so heavily fell from his car

That from his very bones the flesh did tear,

So that he might not either walk or ride,

725 But in a litter men were forced to bear

Him with them, bruised upon the back and side.

The wreche of God hym smoot so cruelly

That thurgh his body wikked wormes crepte;

And therwithal he stank so horribly

730 That noon of al his meynee that hym kepte

Wheither so he wook or ellis slepte,

Ne myghte noght for stynk of hym endure.

In this meschief he wayled and eek wepte,

And knew God lord of every creature.

The wrath of God smote him so cruelly

That through his body loathsome maggots crept;

And therewithal he stank so horribly

730 That none of those that round his person kept,

Whether he lay awake or whether slept,

Could, for the very stench of him, endure.

In this foul state he wailed and howled and wept;

That God was Lord of all he then was sure.

735 To all his hoost and to hymself also

Ful wlatsom was the stynk of his careyne,

No man ne myghte hym bere to ne fro,

And in this stynk and this horrible peyne

He starf ful wrecchedly in a monteyne.

740 Thus hath this robbour and this homycide,

That many a man made to wepe and pleyne,

Swich gerdoun as bilongeth unto pryde.

735 To all his host and to himself also

Full loathsome was his carrion, one great blain;

There were no men could bear him to and fro.

And in this stink and in this horrid pain

He died full wretchedly on a mountain.

740 Thus had this robber and this homicide,

Who made so many men weep and complain,

Such reward as belongs to too great pride.

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From The Monk's Tale, lines 743-782:
De Alexandro