De casibus tragedy Boccaccio, De casibus virorum illustrium ( ) De claris mulieribus (1374) Laurence de Premierfait Des Cas des Nobles Hommes et Femmes ( ) John Lydgate The Fall of Princes (1438) -- 36, 365 lines!! Chaucer The Monk’s Tale (1380s?)

Tragedie is to seyn a certeyn storie, As olde bookes maken us memorie, Of hym that stood in greet prosperitee, And is yfallen out of heigh degree Into myserie, and endeth wrecchedly. And they ben versified communely Of six feet, which men clepen exametron. In prose eek been endited many oon, And eek in meetre in many a sondry wyse. Lo, this declaryng oghte ynogh suffise. VII What other thynge bywaylen the cryinges of tragedyes but oonly the dedes of Fortune, that with an unwar strook overturneth the realms of greet nobleye? (Glose: Tragedye is to seyn a dite of a prosperite for a tyme that endeth in wrecchidnesse.) Boece, Bk II, prosa 2, lines

stōrīe Also stori, storri; pl. stories, etc. & storise, storius, (early) storien [From AF e)storie (vars. of OF estoire) & L storia (var. of historia history).] 1.(a) A narrative account, oral or written, of events that occurred or are believed to have occurred in the past, a story from history or accepted as history; a narrative drawn from the Bible or a saint's life, an account of a martyr, etc.; naked ~, an unvarnished account, a true story; (b) a narrative account, oral or written, of events which may be mythological or fictive, but which are accepted as quasi-historical by virtue of great age or long tradition; also, an invented tale with a plausible plot… 2. History as a branch of knowledge dealing with past events, the recorded knowledge of the past; historical narrative in general… (adapted from the Middle English Dictionary entry)

I wol biwaille in manere of tragedie The harm of hem that stoode in heigh degree, And fillen so that ther nas no remedie To brynge hem out of hir adversitee. For certein, whan that Fortune list to flee, Ther may no man the cours of hire withholde. Lat no man truste on blynd prosperitee; Be war by thise ensamples trewe and olde. VII

"Hoo!" quod the Knyght, "good sire, namoore of this! That ye han seyd is right ynough, ywis, And muchel moore; for litel hevynesse Is right ynough to muche folk, I gesse. I seye for me, it is a greet disese, Whereas men han been in greet welthe and ese, To heeren of hire sodeyn fal, allas! And the contrarie is joye and greet solas, As whan a man hath been in povre estaat, And clymbeth up and wexeth fortunat, And there abideth in prosperitee. Swich thyng is gladsom, as it thynketh me, And of swich thyng were goodly for to telle.“ “Ye," quod oure Hooste, "by Seint Poules belle! Ye seye right sooth; this Monk he clappeth lowde. He spak how Fortune covered with a clowde I noot nevere what; and als of a tragedie Right now ye herde, and, pardee, no remedie It is for to biwaille ne compleyne That that is doon, and als it is a peyne, As ye han seyd, to heere of hevynesse. Sire Monk, namoore of this, so God yow blesse! Youre tale anoyeth al this compaignye." (VII )

Whan that the Knyght had thus his tale ytoold, In al the route nas ther yong ne oold That he ne seyde it was a noble storie And worthy for to drawen to memorie, And namely the gentils everichon. Oure Hooste lough and swoor, "So moot I gon, This gooth aright; unbokeled is the male. Lat se now who shal telle another tale; For trewely the game is wel bigonne. Now telleth ye, sir Monk, if that ye konne, Somwhat to quite with the Knyghtes tale.“ (I )

Ryde forth, myn owene lord, brek nat oure game. But, by my trouthe, I knowe nat youre name. Wher shal I calle yow my lord daun John, Or daun Thomas, or elles daun Albon? Of what hous be ye, by youre fader kyn? I vowe to god, thou hast a ful fair skyn; It is a gentil pasture ther thow goost. Thou art nat lyk a penant or a goost: Upon my feith, thou art som officer, Som worthy sexteyn, or som celerer, For by my fader soule, as to my doom, Thou art a maister whan thou art at hoom; No povre cloysterer, ne no novys, But a governour, wily and wys, And therwithal of brawnes and of bones, A wel farynge persone for the nones. (VII )

Ryde forth, myn owene lord, brek nat oure game. But, by my trouthe, I knowe nat youre name. Wher shal I calle yow my lord daun John, Or daun Thomas, or elles daun Albon? Of what hous be ye, by youre fader kyn? I vowe to god, thou hast a ful fair skyn; It is a gentil pasture ther thow goost. Thou art nat lyk a penant or a goost: Upon my feith, thou art som officer, Som worthy sexteyn, or som celerer, For by my fader soule, as to my doom, Thou art a maister whan thou art at hoom; No povre cloysterer, ne no novys, But a governour, wily and wys, And therwithal of brawnes and of bones, A wel farynge persone for the nones. (VII )

Tragedie is to seyn a certeyn storie, As olde bookes maken us memorie, Of hym that stood in greet prosperitee, And is yfallen out of heigh degree Into myserie, and endeth wrecchedly. And they ben versified communely Of six feet, which men clepen exametron. In prose eek been endited many oon, And eek in meetre, in many a sondry wyse. Lo, this declaryng oghte ynogh suffise. (VII )

….I wol doon al my diligence, As fer as sowneth into honestee, To telle yow a tale, or two, or three. And if yow list to herkne hyderward, I wol yow seyn the lyf of Seint Edward; Or ellis, first, tragedies wol I telle, Of whiche I have an hundred in my celle. (VII )