Another Squire's Tale

For our pull question on the Canterbury Tales, our class had the option of writing a tale of our own concerning the questions of marriage proposed by Chaucer. In class we discussed whether marriage kills the idealization of the beloved, so behold my sad attempt at answering this idea through my even sadder poetry skills. Enjoy!

In days of yore, while Arthur led the Knights of the Table Round,
When lady loves received vows of love profound,
There lived a timid squire, of scrawny stature and ruddy cheek
Whose voice was scarcely audible, his manner very meek.
This bashful youth would oft appear in the good King’s court
And with the noble gentry to consort.
Yet women-folk he did admire from afar,
Too gentle was the squire to approach them who are
In his opinion, of gracious spirit and superior wit
Who he could match but for a whit.
The women would gather and speak in a hush
While our goodly squire would stammer and blush.
However, till that time he’d never met one
To whom the strings of his heart were undone.
He’d stutter and start, he’d sputter and smirk
And yet, each one of these women would irk
His sensitive conscience and opinion, it’s true!
Preventing him to either marry or woo.
On Michaelmas day, this squire of tender years,
His trepidation to soon disappear,
Arrived at the court in proper pomp and stance
To view the courtly ladies all askance.
He was about to leave the murmuring throng
When he noticed, she to the heavens belong,
A woman of great stature and grace,
That his heart did but burst and flow to his face.
Her manner, her words, ay! Heaven above!
He knew in that instant that she was his love.
Were she carved out of marble, her perfection’s not matched,
All other collations the squire dist dispatch.
She was resplendent, a goddess, a lover,
And just as the stars in the heavens above her,
In her, the light of her Maker dist shine,
Mortal and divine beauty forever did twine.
Our squire, overcome with devotion to the lady,
Knew his heart to be bound to hers already.
The only obstacle that lay between him and his prize
Was to capture her fancy. So a plan to devise
The squire’s goal came to be, to gain
A love she might otherwise feign.
Each day he wrote sonnets and tied them with string
And each new day he would secretly bring
A new song through which of his love he would speak
And mention his courage and manly physique.
The lady would read this poetry and constantly sigh
And to pine for her brave hero she madly would cry,
“Where art thou, O lover divine?
You’ve given your heart, I might give you mine!
How brave and how manly and robust you sound,
With the wreathes of the gods you must surely be crowned.”
This lady’s maid knew of the verses
And rebuked her mistress with long, drawn out curses:
“You know not who this man be, or how he dost look
Wait not to reject him till your heart he does rook.
How foolish you are not know your love now
And wait till you’ve sealed your fate in marriage vow.”
The lady would have non of her maid’s prattle
And went off instead to write her own verses that’ll
Return her deep passion and continue this farce,
And proclaim her own virtues, which by troth were not sparse.
And so in her verse she hath promised to conjoin
With him in matrimony, their hearts to adjoin.
So squire and lady arranged through letters a day
They might be wed, much to her maid’s dismay.
The maid would rant and rave about the dangers of this plan
But the lady could see no fault with her man.
When the day of the wedding did finally arrive,
The squire knew nothing could now deprive
Him of his wife, his perfect idol, his star!
Even if he had only viewed her from afar.
So he put on his armor at leopard’s fast pace
With his sword at his side, and helmet over face.
His heart was a flutter for his lady all in white,
That he felt himself to be no longer a squire, but a knight.
She approached him with her face all aglow
And because of her love asked him timidly to show
The face and the form he had written so much about
The image to which she had been so devout.
But the wedding began before he could say naught
So that she might know who he is as she ought.
The nuptials now done, it was time to reveal
And soon to break each others’ ideal.
She pulled back her veil and with helmet off head,
They moved into kiss, but, alas, what instead?
A scrawny young squire of equal her years,
Yet all infatuation dist then disappear.
At the sight of his lady so angry and distressed
He knew that she was not the type of lady he meant to impress
For she seemed more concerned with outward appearance
Than with his poetry, love and strict perseverance.
They protested and cried, ranted and screamed
But the marriage was valid, or so the Church deemed.
The maid wildly cackled and said, “So I thought!
My lady and gent, what lessons you’ve been taught!”
His image of her, and her image of him
Were broken, and their outlook seemed grim
But the couple, resigned to their simple fate,
Decided to see if love they could create.
Each new day they would meet and discuss,
And so very often their meetings went thus:
A small salutation, a nod or a bow,
Then their own thoughts and ideas avow.
Some days she’d be shrewish, some days he a bore,
But after some months, they began to adore,
Overcoming the small faults seen in each other
That they finally knew they couldn’t seek another
To love or to cherish, to have and to hold,
The true image of beloved they now could behold.
For the first time they saw woman and man as meant to be seen,
The good times and bad, and all in between.
The false image destroyed had been restored by truth,
Patience, obedience and the passion of youth.
Yet think not this love will die with the years
As the couple that marries dost often fears.
By Heaven no! Their love hath lived on,
For by their own understanding was drawn
A marriage that would rise like the glorious sun,
And now I must think my tale is now done.
Be wary of lies, of false lovers, be sure!
In order that your love might endure.