of pleasure in the town.  But I will no more offend against good manners.  I am sensible, as I ought to be, of the scandal I have given by my loose writings; and make what reparation I am able by this public acknowledgment.  If any thing of this nature, or of profaneness, be crept into these poems, I am so far from defending it, that I disown it. Totum hoc indicium volo. Chaucer makes another manner of apology for his broad-speaking, and Boccace makes the like; but I will follow neither of them.  Our countryman, in the end of his characters, before the Canterbury tales, thus excuses the ribaldry, which is very gross in many of his novels.

  “But first, I pray you of your courtesy,
  That ye ne arrettee it nought my villainy,
  Though that I plainly speak in this mattere,
  To tellen you her words, and eke her chere: 
  Ne though I speak her words properly,
  For this ye knowen as well as I,
  Who shall tellen a tale after a man,
  He mote rehearse as nye as ever he can: 
  Everich word of it been in his charge,
  All speke he, never so rudely, ne large. 
  Or else he mote tellen his tale untrue,
  Or feine things, or find words new: 
  He may not spare, although he were his brother,
  He mote as well say o word as another,
  Christ spake himself full broad in holy writ,
  And well I wote no villainy is it;
  Eke Plato saith, who so can him rede,
  the words mote been cousin to the dede.”

Yet, if a man should have inquired of Boccace or of Chaucer what need they had of introducing such characters, where obscene words were proper in their mouths, but very indecent to be heard,—­I know not what answer they could have made; for that reason, such tale shall be left untold by me.  You have here a specimen of Chaucer’s language, which is so obsolete, that his sense is scarce to be understood; and you have likewise more than one example of his unequal numbers, which were mentioned before.  Yet many of his verses consist of ten syllables, and the words not much behind our present English; as, for example, these two lines in the description of the carpenter’s young wife: 

  “Wincing she was, as is a jolly colt,
  Long as a mast, and upright as a bolt.”

I have almost done with Chaucer when I have answered some objections relating to my present work.  I find some people are offended that I have turned these tales into modern English, because they think them unworthy of my pains, and look on Chaucer as a dry, old-fashioned wit not worth reviving.  I have often heard the late Earl of Leicester say that Mr Cowley himself was of that opinion, who, having read him over at my lord’s request declared he had no taste of him.  I dare not advance my opinion against the judgment of so great an author, but I think it fair, however, to leave the decision to the public.  Mr Cowley was too modest to set up for a dictator, and being shocked, perhaps, with