[Illustration: MEDIEVAL MUMMERS. (From Strutt's "Sports and Pastimes")]
But, however he may have revelled with the rest in his wilder youth, the elvish and retiring poet of the "Canterbury Tales" mentions the sports of the townsfolk only with gentle irony. "Merry Absolon," the parish clerk, who played so prominent a part in street plays, who could dance so well "after the school of Oxenford ... and with his leggës casten to and fro," and who was at all points such a perfect beau of the 'prentice class to which he essentially belonged--all these small perfections are enumerated only that we may plumb more accurately the depths to which he is brought by woman's guile. The May-dance was probably as external to Chaucer as the Florentine carnival to Browning. While a thousand Absolons were casting to and fro with their legs, in company with a thousand like-minded giggëlots, around the Great Shaft of Cornhill, Chaucer had slipped out into the country. Many other townsfolk came out into the fields--young men and maidens, old men and children--but Chaucer tells us how he knelt by himself, worshipping the daisy as it opened to the sun--
Upon the smallë softë sweetë grass, That was with flowrës sweet embroidered all.
At another time we listen with him to the leaves rustling in undertone with the birds--
A wind, so small it scarcely might be less, Made in the leavës green a noisë soft, Accordant to the fowlës' song aloft.
Or watch the queen of flowers blushing in the sun--
Right as the freshë, reddë rosë new Against the Summer sunnë coloured is!
But for the daisy he has a love so tender, so intimate, that it is difficult not to suspect under the flower some unknown Marguerite of flesh and blood--
... of all the flowers in the mead Then love I most these flowers white and red Such as men callen daisies in our town. To them I have so great affectioun, As I said erst, when comen is the May, That in my bed there dawneth me no day But I am up and walking in the mead, To see this flower against the sunnë spread; ... As she that is of allë flowers flower, Fulfillèd of all virtue and honour, And ever y-like fair and fresh of hue. And I love it, and ever y-like new, And ever shall, till that mine heartë die.... I fell asleep; within an hour or two Me dreamèd how I lay in the meadow tho [then To see this flower that I love so and dread; And from afar came walking in the mead The God of Love, and in his hand a Queen, And she was clad in royal habit green; A fret of gold she haddë next her hair, And upon that a whitë crown she bare With fleurons smallë, and I shall not lie, For all the world right as a daÿsye Y-crowned is with whitë leavës lite, So were the fleurons of her coroune white; For of one pearlë, fine, oriental Her whitë coroune was y-maked all.