Page:The Canterbury tales of Geoffrey Chaucer.djvu/214

 If the knot for which every tale is recounted be delayed till the pleasure of them be cold that have hearkened for it long, the savour passeth away more and more for fulsomeness of the prolixity, and for the same reason, methinketh, I should come to the knot and make soon an end of their walking.

Full high amid a withered tree as white as chalk, while Canacee roamed in her pastime, there sat a falcon over her head that with piteous voice so gan to cry that of her wail all the wood resounded. So piteously hath she beaten herself with both her wings that the red blood ran all adown the tree whereon she rested. And ever alike she cried and screamed, and so stabbed herself with her beak, that there is no tiger, nor cruel beast that dwelleth in woods, that would not have wept, if he could weep, for pity of her—so loud she screamed alway. For there was never yet a man alive—if I could describe this falcon well—that heard of such another for fairness both of plumage and nobility of shape, and of all things that may be reckoned. A falcon peregrine she seemed, from a foreign land, and evermore again and again she swooneth for lack of blood, till she is well nigh fallen from the tree.

This fair king's-daughter, that wore on her finger the wondrous ring, through which she understood fully all that any bird may say in his jargon, and could in his jargon answer him again, this Canacee hath understood what this falcon said and well nigh she died for ruth. And to the tree she goeth in haste and looketh pitifully on this falcon, and held wide her kirtle, for well she wist the falcon must fall from the bough, when next it swooned for lack of blood. A long time she stood to watch it, till at the last she spake in such fashion to the hawk as ye shall hear.

"What is the cause, if it may be told, that ye be in this