Chaucer's Translation of Boethius's "De Consolatione Philosophiae"Boethius
ReligionComparative
Chaucer's Translation of Boethius's "De Consolatione Philosophiae"
Boethius
Happiness; Philosophy and religion
¶ Allas now lieþ he emptid of lyȝt of hys þouȝt. {and}
hys nekke is p{re}ssid wiþ heuy cheynes {and} bereþ his
chere enclined adoune for þe greet[e] weyȝt. and is
constreyned to loke on foule erþe. 124
[Linenotes:
101 _gone_--goon
102 _bisines_--bysynesse
_outen_--owte
103 _worldly_--wordely
104 _sumtyme_--whilom
105 _gone_--goon
106 _paþes_--paathes
_sauȝ_--sawh
_lyȝtnesse_--lythnesse
_sunne_--sonne
_sauȝ_--MS. sue, C. sawgh
107 _wyche_--which
108 _risorses_--recourses
111 _seche_--seken
_sounyng_--sownynge
114 _ryseþ oute_--aryseth owt
_falle_--fallen
115 _westren_--westrene
116 _fyrste_--fyrst
119 _eke_--ek
120 _dyuerses_--diuerse
_yhid_--MS. yhidde
121 _lieþ_--lith
_emptid_--emted
123 _adoune_--adown
_greet[e] weyȝt_--grete weyhte
124 _loke----foule_--looken on the fool]
[Headnote:
PHILOSOPHY ENLIGHTENS BOETHIUS.]
SET MEDICINE INQUIT TEMPUS.
[Sidenote: [The ij^de p{ro}se.]]
[Sidenote: More need of medicine than of complaint.]
++Bvt tyme is now q{uo}d sche of medicine more þen of
compleynte. ¶ Forsoþe þen sche entendyng to
me warde wiþ al þe lokyng of hir eyen saide.
[Sidenote: Philosophy addresses Boethius.]
¶ Art
not þou he q{uo}d sche þat su{m}tyme I-norschid wiþ my 128
mylke {and} fostre[d] wiþ my meetes were ascaped {and}
comen to corage of a p{er}fit man. ¶ Certys I ȝaf þe
syche armures þat ȝif þou þi self ne haddest first caste [[pg 9]]
hem away. þei schulden haue defendid þe in sykernesse 132
þat may not be ouer-comen. ¶ Knowest þou me not.
[Sidenote: She fears his silence proceeds from shame rather than
from stupidity.]
[Sidenote: [* fol. 4 _b_.]]
*Why art þou stille. is it for schame or for astonynge.
It were me leuer þat it were for schame. but it semeþ
me þat astony{n}ge haþ opp{re}ssed þe.
[Sidenote: She finds him, however, in a lethargy, the distemper of
a disordered mind.]
¶ And whan 136
sche say me not oonly stille. but wiþ-outen office of
tonge {and} al doumbe. sche leide hir honde softely vpon
my brest {and} seide. ¶ Here nis no p{er}il q{uod} sche.
¶ He is fallen in to a litargie. whiche þat is a comune 140
sekenes to hertes þat ben desceiued. ¶ He haþ a litel
forȝeten hym self. but certis he schal lyȝtly reme{m}bren
hym self. ¶ Ȝif so be þat he haþ knowe{n} me or now.
[Sidenote: To make his recovery an easy matter, she wipes his
eyes, which were darkened by the clouds of mortal things, and
dries up his tears.]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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