Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Ralph Waldo Emerson, comp. (1803–1882). Parnassus: An Anthology of Poetry. 1880.

Duchesse Blanche

Geoffrey Chaucer (c. 1340–1400)

IT happed that I came on a day

Into a place, there that I say,

Truly the fairest companey

Of ladies that ever man with eye

Had seen together in one place,—

Shall I clepe it hap or grace?

Among these ladies thus each one

Sooth to say I saw one

That was like none of the rout,

For I dare swear without doubt,

That as the summer’s Sunne bright

Is fairer, clearer, and hath more light

Than any other planet in Heaven,

The moone, or the starres seven,

For all the world, so had she

Surmounten them all of beauty,

Of manner, and of comeliness,

Of stature, and of well set gladnesse,

Of goodly heed, and so well besey,—

Shortly what shall I more say,

By God, and by his holowes twelve,

It was my sweet, right all herselve.

She had so stedfast countenance

In noble port and maintenance,

And Love that well harde my bone

Had espied me thus soone,

That she full soone in my thought

As, help me God, so was I caught

So suddenly that I ne took

No manner counsel but at her look,

And at my heart for why her eyen

So gladly I trow mine heart, seyen

That purely then mine own thought

Said, ’Twere better to serve her for nought

Than with another to be well.

I saw her dance so comely,

Carol and sing so swetely,

Laugh and play so womanly,

And look so debonairly,

So goodly speak, and so friendly,

That certes I trow that evermore

N’as seen so blissful a treasore,

For every hair on her head,

Sooth to say, it was not red,

Nor neither yellow nor brown it n’as,

Methought most like gold it was,

And such eyen my lady had,

Debonnaire, good, glad, and sad,

Simple, of good mokel, not too wide,

Thereto her look was not aside,

Nor overtwhart, but beset so well

It drew and took up every dell.

All that on her ’gan behold

Her eyen seemed anon she would

Have mercy,—folly wenden so,

But it was never the rather do.

It was no counterfeited thing

It was her own pure looking

That the goddess Dame Nature

Had made them open by measure

And close; for, were she never so glad

Her looking was not foolish sprad

Nor wildly, though that she played;

But ever methought her eyen said

By God my wrath is all forgive.

Therewith her list so well to live,

That dulness was of her adrad,

She n’as too sober ne too glad;

In all thinges more measure

Had never I trowe creature,

But many one with her look she hurt,

And that sat her full little at herte:

For she knew nothing of their thought,

But whether she knew, or knew it not,

Alway she ne cared for them a stree;

To get her love no near n’as he

That woned at home, than he in Inde,

The foremost was alway behinde;

But good folk over all other

She loved as man may his brother,

Of which love she was wonder large,

In skilful places that bear charge:

But what a visage had she thereto,

Alas! my heart is wonder wo

That I not can describen it;—

Me lacketh both English and wit

For to undo it at the full.

And eke my spirits be so dull

So great a thing for to devise,

I have not wit that can suffice

To comprehend her beauté,

But thus much I dare saine, that she

Was white, ruddy, fresh, and lifely hued,

And every day her beauty newed.

And nigh her face was alderbest;

For, certes, Nature had such lest

To make that fair, that truly she

Was her chief patron of beauté,

And chief example of all her worke

And moulter: for, be it never so derke,

Methinks I see her evermo,

And yet, moreover, though all tho

That ever lived were now alive,

Not would have founde to descrive

In all her face a wicked sign,—

For it was sad, simple, and benign.

And such a goodly sweet speech

Had that sweet, my life’s leech,

So friendly, and so well y-grounded

Upon all reason, so well founded,

And so treatable to all good,

That I dare swear well by the rood,

Of eloquence was never found

So sweet a sounding faconde,

Nor truer tongued nor scornèd less,

Nor bét could heal, that, by the Mass

I durst swear, though the Pope it sung,

There was never yet through her tongue

Man or woman greatly harmèd

As for her was all harm hid,

No lassie flattering in her worde,

That, purely, her simple record

Was found as true as any bond,

Or truth of any man’es hand.

Her throat, as I have now memory,

Seemed as a round tower of ivory,

Of good greatness, and not too great,

And fair white she hete

That was my lady’s name right,

She was thereto fair and bright,

She had not her name wrong,

Right fair shoulders, and body long

She had, and armes ever lith

Fattish, fleshy, not great therewith,

Right white hands and nailès red

Round breasts, and of good brede

Her lippes were; a straight flat back,

I knew on her none other lack,

That all her limbs were pure snowing

In as far as I had knowing.

Thereto she could so well play

What that her list, that I dare say

That was like to torch bright

That every man may take of light

Enough, and it hath never the less

Of manner and of comeliness.

Right so fared my lady dear

For every wight of her mannere

Might catch enough if that he would

If he had eyes her to behold

For I dare swear well if that she

Had among ten thousand be,

She would have been at the best,

A chief mirror of all the feast

Though they had stood in a row

To men’s eyen that could know,

For whereso men had played or waked,

Methought the fellowship as naked

Without her, that I saw once

As a crown without stones.

Truely she was to mine eye

The solein phœnix of Araby,

For there liveth never but one,

Nor such as she ne know I none.

To speak of goodness, truely she

Had as much debonnairte

As ever had Hester in the Bible,

And more, if more were possible;

And sooth to say therewithal

She had a wit so general,

So well inclinèd to all good

That all her wit was set by the rood,

Without malice, upon gladness,

And thereto I saw never yet a less

Harmful than she was in doing.

I say not that she not had knowing

What harm was, or else she

Had known no good, so thinketh me:

And truly, for to speak of truth

But she had had, it had been ruth,

Therefore she had so much her dell

And I dare say, and swear it well

That Truth himself over all and all

Had chose his manor principal

In her that was his resting place;

Thereto she had the moste grace

To have stedfast perseverance

And easy attempre governance

That ever I knew or wist yet

So pure suffraunt was her wit.