252 CHAUCER. 



our notice, as where he satirises provincialism by the 

 cock, 



&quot; Who knew by nature each ascension 

 Of the equinoctial in his native town.&quot; 



Sometimes he turns round upon himself and smiles at a 

 trip he has made into fine writing : 



11 Till that the brighte sun had lost his hue, 

 For th orisont had reft the sun his light, 

 (This is as much to sayen as * it was night. &quot;) 



Nay, sometimes it twinkles roguishly through his very 

 tears, as in the 



&quot; Why wouldest thou be dead/ these women cry, 

 Thou haddest gold enough and Emily ? &quot; 



that follows so close upon the profoundly tender despair of 

 Arcite s farewell : 



&quot; What is this world ? What asken men to have ? 

 Now with his love now in the colde grave 

 Alone withouten any company ! &quot; 



The power of diffusion without being diffuse would seem 

 to be the highest merit of narration, giving it that easy 

 flow which is so delightful. Chaucer s descriptive style is 

 remarkable for its lowness of tone for that combination 

 of energy with simplicity which is among the rarest gifts in 

 literature. Perhaps all is said in saying that he has style 

 at all, for that consists mainly in the absence of undue 

 emphasis and exaggeration, in the clear uniform pitch 

 which penetrates our interest and retains it, where mere 

 loudness would only disturb and irritate. 



Not that Chaucer cannot be intense, too, on occasion; 

 but it is with a quiet intensity of his own, that comes in as 

 it were by accident. 



11 Upon a thicke palfrey, paper- white, 

 With saddle red embroidered with delight, 

 Sits Dido : 



And she is fair as is the brighte morrow 

 That healeth sicke folk of nightes sorrow. 



