The Canterbury Tales; The Seconde Nonnes Tale Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: A B C C DDDDDAA EFEFFAA EDEDDBB DGDGGCC H CACAA II GIGIIAA DDDDDII DADIAJJ ACACCKK DDDDDGG AGAGGDD ADADDAA CDCAALL MAMMDD IAIAACC EDEDADD AMAMMAA C NAOAAAA GMGMMII ADE DAA GDGDDE DDDDDFF AEAEED ADADDD DDDDDCC AAAAAG GMGMMAA C

PartA
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GROUP GB
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THE SECONDE NONNES TALEC
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The Prologe of the Seconde Nonnes TaleC
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The ministre and the norice unto vicesD
Which that men clepe in Englissh ydelnesseD
That porter of the gate is of delicesD
To eschue and by hir contrarie hir oppresseD
That is to seyn by leveful bisynesseD
Wel oghten we to doon al oure ententeA
Lest that the feend thurgh ydelnesse us shenteA
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For he that with hise thousand cordes slyeE
Continuelly us waiteth to biclappeF
Whan he may man in ydelnesse espyeE
He kan so lightly cacche hym in his trappeF
Til that a man be hent right by the lappeF
He nys nat war the feend hath hym in hondeA
Wel oghte us werche and ydelnesse withstondeA
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And though men dradden nevere for to dyeE
Yet seen men wel by resoun douteleesD
That ydelnesse is roten slogardyeE
Of which ther nevere comth no good encreesD
And seen that slouthe hir holdeth in a leesD
Oonly to slepe and for to ete and drynkeB
And to devouren al that othere swynkeB
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And for to putte us fro swich ydelnesseD
That cause is of so greet confusiounG
I have heer doon my feithful bisynesseD
After the legende in translaciounG
Right of thy glorious lyf and passiounG
Thou with thy gerland wroght with rose and lilieC
Thee meene I mayde and martir seint CecilieC
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Invocacio ad MariamH
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And thow that flour of virgines art alleC
Of whom that Bernard list so wel to writeA
To thee at my bigynnyng first I calleC
Thou confort of us wrecches do me enditeA
Thy maydens deeth that wan thurgh hir meriteA
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The eterneel lyf and of the feend victorieI
As man may after reden in hir storieI
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Thow mayde and mooder doghter of thy soneG
Thow welle of mercy synful soules cureI
In whom that God for bountee chees to woneG
Thow humble and heigh over every creatureI
Thow nobledest so ferforth oure natureI
That no desdeyn the makere hadde of kyndeA
His sone in blood and flessh to clothe and wyndeA
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Withinne the cloistre blisful of thy sydisD
Took mannes shape the eterneel love and peesD
That of the tryne compas lord and gyde isD
Whom erthe and see and hevene out of releesD
Ay heryen and thou virgine wemmeleesD
Baar of thy body and dweltest mayden pureI
The creatour of every creatureI
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Assembled is in thee magnificenceD
With mercy goodnesse and with swich piteeA
That thou that art the sonne of excellenceD
Nat oonly helpest hem that preyen theeI
But oftentyme of thy benygnyteeA
Ful frely er that men thyn help bisecheJ
Thou goost biforn and art hir lyves lecheJ
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Now help thow meeke and blisful faire maydeA
Me flemed wrecche in this desert of galleC
Thynk on the womman Cananee that saydeA
That whelpes eten somme of the crommes alleC
That from hir lordes table been yfalleC
And though that I unworthy sone of EveK
Be synful yet accepte my bileveK
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And for that feith is deed withouten werkisD
So for to werken yif me wit and spaceD
That I be quit fro thennes that moost derk isD
O thou that art so fair and ful of graceD
Be myn advocat in that heighe placeD
Ther as withouten ende is songe OsanneG
Thow Cristes mooder doghter deere of AnneG
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And of thy light my soule in prison lighteA
That troubled is by the contagiounG
Of my body and also by the wighteA
Of erthely lust and fals affecciounG
O havene of refut O salvaciouneG
Of hem that been in sorwe and in distresseD
Now help for to my werk I wol me dresseD
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Yet preye I yow that reden that I writeA
Foryeve me that I do no diligenceD
This ilke storie subtilly to enditeA
For bothe have I the wordes and sentenceD
Of hym that at the seintes reverenceD
The storie wroot and folwe hir legendeA
I pray yow that ye wole my werk amendeA
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First wolde I yow the name of seinte CecileC
Expowne as men may in hir storie seeD
It is to seye in Englissh hevenes lilie'C
For pure chaastnesse of virginiteeA
Or for she whitnesse hadde of honesteeA
And grene of conscience and of good fameL
The soote savour lilie was hir nameL
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Or Cecilie is to seye the wey to blynde '-
For she ensample was by good techyngeM
Or elles Cecile as I writen fyndeA
Is joyned by a manere conjoynyngeM
Of hevene' and lia ' and heere in figuryngeM
The hevene' is set for thoght of hoolynesseD
And lia' for hir lastynge bisynesseD
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Cecile may eek be seyd in this manereI
Wantynge of blyndnesse ' for hir grete lightA
Of sapience and for hire thewes cleereI
Or elles loo this maydens name brightA
Of hevene' and leos' comth for which by rightA
Men myghte hir wel the hevene of peple' calleC
Ensample of goode and wise werkes alleC
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For leos' peple' in Englissh is to seyeE
And right as men may in the hevene seeD
The sonne and moone and sterres every weyeE
Right so men goostly in this mayden freeD
Syen of feith the magnanymyteeA
And eek the cleernesse hool of sapienceD
And sondry werkes brighte of excellenceD
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And right so as thise philosophres writeA
That hevene is swift and round and eek brennyngeM
Right so was faire Cecilie the whiteA
Ful swift and bisy evere in good werkyngeM
And round and hool in good perseveryngeM
And brennynge evere in charite ful brighteA
Now have I yow declared what she highteA
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Here bigynneth the Seconde Nonnes tale of the lyf of Seinte CecileC
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This mayden bright Cecilie as hir lyf seithN
Was comen of Romayns and of noble kyndeA
And from hir cradel up fostred in the feithO
Of Crist and bar his gospel in hir myndeA
She nevere cessed as I writen fyndeA
Of hir preyere and God to love and dredeA
Bisekynge hym to kepe hir maydenhedeA
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And whan this mayden sholde unto a manG
Ywedded be that was ful yong of ageM
Which that ycleped was ValerianG
And day was comen of hir mariageM
She ful devout and humble in hir corageM
Under hir robe of gold that sat ful faireI
Hadde next hir flessh yclad hir in an haireI
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And whil the orgnes maden melodieA
To God allone in herte thus sang sheD
'O Lord my soule and eek my body gyeE
Unwemmed lest that I confounded be '-
And for his love that dyde upon a treeD
Every seconde and thridde day she fasteA
Ay biddynge in hir orisons ful fasteA
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The nyght cam and to bedde moste she gonG
With hir housbonde as ofte is the manereD
And pryvely to hym she seyde anonG
'O sweete and wel biloved spouse deereD
Ther is a conseil and ye wolde it heereD
Which that right fayn I wolde unto yow seyeE
So that ye swere ye shul me nat biwreye '-
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Valerian gan faste unto hire swereD
That for no cas ne thyng that myghte beD
He sholde nevere mo biwreyen hereD
And thanne at erst to hym thus seyde sheD
'I have an Aungel which that loveth meD
That with greet love wher so I wake or sleepeF
Is redy ay my body for to kepeF
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And if that he may feelen out of dredeA
That ye me touche or love in vileynyeE
He right anon wol sle yow with the dedeA
And in youre yowthe thus ye sholden dyeE
And if that ye in clene love me gyeE
He wol yow loven as me for youre clennesseD
And shewen yow his joye and his brightnesse '-
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Valerian corrected as God woldeA
Answerde agayn 'If I shal trusten theeD
Lat me that aungel se and hym biholdeA
And if that it a verray aungel beeD
Thanne wol I doon as thou hast prayed meD
And if thou love another man forsotheD
Right with this swerd thanne wol I sle yow bothe '-
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Cecile answerde anon right in this wiseD
'If that yow list the aungel shul ye seeD
So that ye trowe in Crist and yow baptizeD
Gooth forth to Via Apia ' quod sheD
'That fro this toun ne stant but miles threD
And to the povre folkes that ther dwelleC
Sey hem right thus as that I shal yow telleC
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Telle hem that I Cecile yow to hem senteA
To shewen yow the goode Urban the oldeA
For secree thynges and for good ententeA
And whan that ye Seint Urban han biholdeA
Telle hym the wordes whiche that I to yow toldeA
And whan that he hath purged yow fro synneG
Thanne shul ye se that aungel er ye twynne '-
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Valerian is to the place ygonG
And right as hym was taught by his lernyngeM
He foond this hooly olde Urban anonG
Among the seintes buryeles lotyngeM
And he anon withouten tariyngeM
Dide his message and whan that he it toldeA
Urban for joye his handes gan up holdeA
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The teeris from hise eyen leet he falleC

Geoffrey Chaucer



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