But for to speke of vertuous beautee,
Thanne was she oon the faireste under sonne,
For povreliche yfostred up was she,
No likerous lust was thurgh hir herte yronne.
215 Wel ofter of the welle than of the tonne
She drank, and for she wolde vertu plese
She knew wel labour but noon ydel ese.


       If one should speak of virtuous beauty,
Then was she of the fairest under sun;
Since fostered in dire poverty was she,
No luxurious lust in her heart had run;
215 More often from the well than from the tun
She drank, and since she would chaste virtue please,
She knew work well, but knew not idle ease.


       But thogh this mayde tendre were of age,
Yet in the brest of hire virginitee
220 Ther was enclosed rype and sad corage;
And in greet reverence and charitee
Hir olde povre fader fostred shee.
A fewe sheepe, spynnynge on feeld she kepte,
She wolde noght been ydel, til she slepte.


       But though this maiden tender was of age,
Yet in the breast of her virginity
220 There was enclosed a ripe and grave courage;
And in great reverence and charity
Her poor old father fed and fostered she;
A few sheep grazing in a field she kept,
For she would not be idle till she slept.


225        And whan she homward cam, she wolde brynge
Wortes, or othere herbes tymes ofte,
The whiche she shredde and seeth for hir lyvynge,
And made hir bed ful harde and no thyng softe;
And ay she kepte hir fadres lyf on lofte
230 With everich obeisaunce and diligence
That child may doon to fadres reverence.


225        And when she homeward came, why she would bring
Roots and green herbs, full many times and oft,
The which she'd shred and boil for her living,
And made her bed a hard one and not soft;
Her father kept she in their humble croft
230 With what obedience and diligence
A child may do for father's reverence.

       Noght fer fro thilke paleys honurable
Ther as this markys shoop his mariage,
Ther stood a throop, of site delitable,
200 In which that povre folk of that village
Hadden hir beestes and hir herbergage,
And of hir lobour tooke hir sustenance,
After that the erthe yaf hem habundance.


       Not far from that same honoured palace where
This marquis planned his marriage, at this tide,
There was a village, on a site most fair,
200 Wherein the poor folk of the countryside
Stabled their cattle and did all abide,
And where their labour gave them sustenance
After the earth had yielded abundance.


       Amonges thise povre folk ther dwelte a man
205 Which that was holden povrest of hem alle;
But hye God somtyme senden kan
His grace into a litel oxes stalle
Janicula men of that throop hym calle.
A doghter hadde he, fair ynogh to sighte,
210 And Grisildis this yonge mayden highte.


       Amongst these humble folk there dwelt a man
205 Who was considered poorest of them all;
But the high God of heaven sometimes can
Send his grace to a little ox's stall;
Janicula men did this poor man call.
A daughter had he, fair enough to sight;
210 Griselda was this young maid's name, the bright.

       With hertely wyl they sworen and assenten
To al this thyng, ther seyde no wight nay,
Bisekynge hym of grace er that they wenten,
That he wolde graunten hem a certein day
180 Of his spousaille, as soone as evere he may,
For yet alwey the peple somwhat dredde
Lest that this markys no wyf wolde wedde.


       With hearty will they swore and gave assent
To all this, and no one of them said nay;
Praying him, of his grace, before they went,
That he would set for them a certain day
180 For his espousal, soon as might be; yea,
For still the people had a little dread
Lest that the marquis would no woman wed.


       He graunted hem a day, swich as hym leste,
On which he wolde be wedded sikerly,
185 And seyde he dide al this at hir requeste;
And they with humble entente, buxomly,
Knelynge upon hir knees ful reverently
Hym thonken alle, and thus they han an ende
Of hir entente, and hoom agayn they wende.


       He granted them the day that pleased him best
Whereon he would be married, certainly,
185 And said he did all this at their request;
And they with humble hearts, obediently,
Kneeling upon their knees full reverently,
All thanked him there, and thus they made an end
Of their design and homeward did they wend.


190        And heerupon he to hise officeres
Comaundeth for the feste to purveye,
And to hise privee knyghtes and squieres
Swich charge yaf, as hym liste on hem leye.
And they to his comandement obeye,
195 And ech of hem dooth al his diligence
To doon unto the feeste reverence.


190        And thereupon he to his officers
Ordered that for the fete they should provide,
And to his household gentlemen and squires,
Such charges gave as pleased him to decide;
And all obeyed him: let him praise or chide,
195 And each of them did all his diligence
To show unto the fete his reverence.

       Lat me allone in chesynge of my wyf,
That charge upon my bak I wole endure;
But I yow preye, and charge upon youre lyf
165 What wyf that I take, ye me assure
To worshipe hir, whil that hir lyf may dure,
In word and werk, bothe heere and everywheere,
As she an emperoures doghter weere.


       Let me alone in choosing of my wife,
That burden on my own back I'll endure;
But I pray you, and charge you on your life,
165 That what wife I may take, me you'll assure
You'll honour her life's tenure,
In word and deed, both here and everywhere,
As if she were an emperor's daughter fair.


       And forthermoore, this shal ye swere, that ye
170 Agayn my choys shul neither grucche ne stryve,
For sith I shal forgoon my libertee
At youre requeste, as evere moot I thryve,
Ther as myn herte is set, ther wol I wyve!
And but ye wole assente in this manere,
175 I prey yow, speketh namoore of this matere."


       And furthermore, this shall you swear, that you
170 Against my choice shall neither grouse nor strive;
Since I'm forgoing liberty, and woo
At your request, so may I ever thrive
As, where my heart is set, there will I wive;
And save you give consent in such manner,
175 I pray you speak no more of this matter."

       Hir meeke preyere and hir pitous cheere
Made the markys herte han pitee.
"Ye wol," quod he, "myn owene peple deere,
To that I nevere erst thoughte, streyne me.
145 I me rejoysed of my liberte,
That seelde tyme is founde in mariage.
Ther I was free, I moot been in servage.


       Their humble prayer and their so earnest cheer
Roused in the marquis' heart great sympathy.
"You'd have me," he replied, "my people dear,
Do what I've never yet thought necessary.
145 I have rejoiced in my fond liberty,
That men so seldom find in their marriage;
Where I was free, I must be in bondage.


       But nathelees I se youre trewe entente,
And truste upon youre wit, and have doon at;
150 Wherfore of my free wyl I wole assente
To wedde me, as soone as evere I may.
But ther as ye han profred me to-day
To chese me a wyf, I yow relesse
That choys, and prey yow of that profre cesse.


       Nevertheless, I see your true intent,
And know there's always sense in what you say;
150 Wherefore of my free will, will I consent
To marry a wife, as soon as ever I may.
But whereas you have offered here today
To choose a wife for me, I you release
From that, and pray that you thereof will cease.


155        For God it woot, that children ofte been
Unlyk hir worthy eldres hem bifore.
Bountee comth al of God, nat of the streen,
Of which they been engendred and ybore.
I truste in Goddes bountee; and therfore
160 My mariage, and myn estaat and reste,
I hym bitake, he may doon as hym leste.


155        For God knows well that children oft retain
Naught of their worthy elders gone before;
Goodness comes all from God, not of the strain
Whereof they were engendered; furthermore
I trust in God's great goodness, and therefore
160 My marriage and my state and all my ease
I leave to him to do with as he pleases.

85        Oonly that point his peple bar so soore,
That flokmeele on a day they to hym wente,
And oon of hem, that wisest was of loore -
Or elles that the lord best wolde assente,
That he sholde telle hym what his peple mente,
90 Or elles koude he shewe wel swich mateere -
He to the markys seyde as ye shul heere:


85        That point alone his people felt so sore
That in a flock one day to him they went,
And one of them, the wisest in all lore,
Or else because the lord would best consent
That he should tell him what the people meant,
90 Or else that he could make the matter clear,
He to the marquis spoke as you shall hear:


       "O noble Markys, youre humanitee
Asseureth us, and yeveth us hardinesse,
As ofte as tyme is of necessitee
95 That we to yow mowe telle oure hevynesse.
Accepteth, lord, now for youre gentillesse
That we with pitous herte unto yow pleyne,
And lat youre eres nat my voys desdeyne.


       "O noble marquis, your humanity
Assures us, aye, and gives us hardiness
As often as there is necessity
95 That we to you may tell our heaviness.
Accept, lord, now of your great nobleness
That we with sincere hearts may here complain,
Nor let your ears my humble voice disdain.


       Al have I noght to doone in this mateere
100 Moore than another man hath in this place;
Yet for as muche as ye, my lord so deere,
Han alwey shewed me favour and grace,
I dar the bettre aske of yow a space
Of audience to shewen oure requeste,
105 And ye, my lord, to doon right as yow leste.


       Though I have naught to do in this matter
100 More than another man has in this place,
Yet for as much as you, most honoured sir,
Have always showed me favour and much grace,
I dare the more to ask of you a space
Of audience, to set forth our request,
105 And you, my lord, will do as you like best.


       For certes, lord, so wel us liketh yow
And al youre werk, and evere han doon that we
Ne koude nat us-self devysen how
We myghte lyven in moore felicitee,
110 Save o thyng, lord, if it youre wille be,
That for to been a wedded man yow leste,
Thanne were youre peple in sovereyn hertes reste.


       For truly, lord, so well do we like you
And all your works (and ever have), that we-
We could not, of ourselves, think what to do
To make us live in more felicity,
110 Except one thing, lord, and if your will it be,
That to be wedded man you hold it best,
Then were your people's hearts at utter rest.


       Boweth youre nekke under that blisful yok
Of soveraynetee, noght of servyse,
115 Which that men clepeth spousaille or wedlock;
And thenketh, lord, among youre thoghtes wyse
How that oure dayes passe in sondry wyse,
For thogh we slepe, or wake, or rome, or ryde,
Ay fleeth the tyme, it nyl no man abyde.


       But bow your neck beneath that blessed yoke
Of sovereignty and not of hard service,
115 The which men call espousal or wedlock;
And pray think, lord, among your thoughts so wise,
How our days pass and each in different guise;
For though we sleep or wake or roam or ride,
Time flies, and for no man will it abide.


120        And thogh youre grene youthe floure as yit,
In crepeth age alwey, as stille as stoon,
And deeth manaceth every age, and smyt
In ech estaat, for ther escapeth noon;
And al so certein as we knowe echoon
125 That we shul deye, as uncerteyn we alle
Been of that day, whan deeth shal on us falle.


120
       And though your time of green youth flower as yet,
Age creeps in always, silent as a stone;
Death threatens every age, nor will forget
For any state, and there escapes him none:
And just as surely as we know, each one,
125 That we shall die, uncertain are we all
What day it is when death shall on us fall.


       Accepteth thanne of us the trewe entente
That nevere yet refuseden thyn heeste;
And we wol, lord, if that ye wole assente,
130 Chese yow a wyf in short tyme atte leeste,
Born of the gentilleste and of the meeste
Of al this land, so that it oghte seme
Honour to God, and yow, as we kan deeme.


       Accept then of us, lord, the true intent,
That never yet refused you your behest,
And we will, lord, if you will give consent,
130 Choose you a wife without delay, at least,
Born of the noblest blood and the greatest
Of all this land, so that it ought to seem
Honour to God and you, as we shall deem.


       Delivere us out of al this bisy drede,
135 And taak a wyf for hye Goddes sake,
For if it so bifelle, as God forbede,
That thurgh your deeth your lyne sholde slake,
And that a straunge successour sholde take
Youre heritage, o wo were us alyve!
140 Wherfore we pray you hastily to wyve."


       Deliver us from all our constant dread
135 And take yourself a wife, for High God's sake;
For if it so happens, which God forbid,
That by your death your noble line should break
And that a strange successor should come take
Your heritage, woe that we were alive!
140 Wherefore we pray you speedily to wive."

       I blame hym thus, that he considereth noght
In tyme comynge what hym myghte bityde,
80 But in his lust present was al his thoght,
As for to hauke and hunte on every syde.
Wel ny alle othere cures leet he slyde;
And eek he nolde - and that was worst of alle -
Wedde no wyf, for noght that may bifalle.


       I blame him thus, that he considered naught
Of what in coming time might him betide,
80 But on his present wish was all his thought,
As, he would hunt and hawk on every side;
Well-nigh all other cares would he let slide,
And would not, and this was the worst of all,
Marry a wife, for aught that might befall.

       Ther is, at the west syde of Ytaille,
Doun at the roote of Vesulus the colde,
A lusty playne, habundant of vitaille,
60 Where many a tour and toun thou mayst biholde
That founded were in tyme of fadres olde,
And many another delitable sighte,
And Saluces this noble contree highte.


       There is, in the west side of Italy,
Down at the foot of Mount Viso the cold,
A pleasant plain that yields abundantly,
60 Where many a tower and town one may behold,
That were there founded in the times of old.
With many another fair delightful sight;
Saluzzo is this noble region bright.


       A markys whilom lord was of that lond,
65 As were his worthy eldres hym bifore,
And obeisant and redy to his hond
Were alle his liges, bothe lasse and moore.
Thus in delit he lyveth, and hath doon yoore,
Biloved and drad thurgh favour of Fortune,
70 Bothe of his lordes and of his commune.


       A marquis once was lord of all that land,
65 As were his noble ancestors before;
Obedient and ready to his hand
Were all his lieges, both the less and more.
Thus in delight he lived, and had of yore,
Beloved and feared, through favour of Fortune,
70 Both by his lords and by the common run.


       Therwith he was, to speke as of lynage,
The gentilleste yborn of Lumbardye;
A fair persone, and strong, and yong of age,
And ful of honour and of curteisye,
75 Discreet ynogh his contree for to gye,
Save that in somme thynges that he was to blame,
And Walter was this yonge lordes name.


       Therewith he was, to speak of lineage,
Born of the noblest blood of Lombardy,
With person fair, and strong, and young of age,
And full of honour and of courtesy;
75 Discreet enough to lead his nation, he;
Except in some things wherein he was to blame,
And Walter was this young lord's Christian name.

       This worthy clerk benignely answerde,
"Hooste," quod he, "I am under youre yerde.
Ye han of us as now the governance;
And therfore wol I do yow obeisance
25 As fer as resoun axeth, hardily.
I wol yow telle a tale, which that I
Lerned at Padwe of a worthy clerk,
As preved by his wordes and his werk.
He is now deed, and nayled in his cheste;
30 I prey to God so yeve his soule reste.


       This worthy clerk, benignly he answered.
"Good host," said he, "I am under your yard;
You have of us, for now, the governance,
And therefore do I make you obeisance
25 As far as reason asks it, readily.
I will relate to you a tale that
Learned once, at Padua, of a worthy clerk,
As he proved by his words and by his work.
He's dead, now, and nailed down his chest,
30 And I pray God to give his soul good rest!


       Fraunceys Petrark, the lauriat poete,
Highte this clerk, whos rethorike sweete
Enlumyned al Ytaille of poetrie,
As Lynyan dide of philosophie,
35 Or lawe, or oother art particuler.
But deeth, that wol nat suffre us dwellen heer
But as it were a twynklyng of an eye,
Hem bothe hath slayn, and alle shul we dye.
       But forth to tellen of this worthy man,
40 That taughte me this tale as I bigan,
I seye, that first with heigh stile he enditeth
Er he the body of his tale writeth,
A prohemye in the which discryveth he
Pemond, and of Saluces the contree,
45 And speketh of Apennyn, the hilles hye,
That been the boundes of Westlumbardye;
And of Mount Vesulus in special,
Where as the Poo out of a welle smal
Taketh his firste spryngyng and his sours,
50 That estward ay encresseth in his cours
To Emele-ward, to Ferrare, and Venyse;
The which a long thyng were to devyse.
And trewely, as to my juggement,
Me thynketh it a thyng impertinent,
55 Save that he wole conveyen his mateere;
But this his tale, which that ye may heere."


       Francis Petrarch, the laureate poet,
Was this clerk's name, whose rhetoric so sweet
Illumed all Italy with poetry,
As did Lignano with philosophy,
35 Or law, or other art particular;
But Death, that suffers us not very far,
Nor more, as 'twere, than twinkling of an eye,
Has slain them both, as all of us shall die.
       But forth, to tell you of this worthy man,
40 Who taught this tale to me, as I began,
I say that first, with high style he indites,
Before the body of his tale he writes,
A proem to describe those lands renowned,
Saluzzo, Piedmont, and the region round,
45 And speaks of Apennines, those hills so high
That form the boundary of West Lombardy,
And of Mount Viso, specially, the tall,
Whereat the Po, out of a fountain small,
Takes its first springing and its tiny source
50 That eastward ever increases in its course
Toward Emilia, Ferrara, and Venice;
The which is a long story to devise.
And truly, in my judgment reluctant
It is a thing not wholly relevant,
55 Except that he introduces thus his gear:
But this is his tale, which you now may hear.

       "Sire Clerk of Oxenford," oure Hooste sayde,
"Ye ryde as coy and stille as dooth a mayde,
Were newe spoused, sittynge at the bord.
This day ne herde I of youre tonge a word.
5 I trowe ye studie about som sophyme;
But Salomon seith, `every thyng hath tyme.'
       For Goddes sake, as beth of bettre cheere;
It is no tyme for to studien heere,
Telle us som myrie tale, by youre fey!
10 For what man that is entred in a pley,
He nedes moot unto the pley assente;
But precheth nat as freres doon in Lente,
To make us for oure olde synnes wepe,
Ne that thy tale make us nat to slepe.


       Sir clerk of Oxford," our good host then said,
"You ride as quiet and still as is a maid
But newly wedded, sitting at the board;
This day I've heard not from your tongue a word.
5 Perhaps you mull a sophism that's prime,
But Solomon says, 'each thing to its own time.'
       For God's sake, smile and be of better cheer,
It is no time to think and study here.
Tell us some merry story, if you may;
10 For whatsoever man will join in play,
He needs must to the play give his consent.
But do not preach, as friars do in Lent,
To make us, for our old sins, wail and weep,
And see your tale shall put us not to sleep.


15        Telle us som murie thyng of aventures;
Youre termes, youre colours, and youre figures,
Keepe hem in stoor, til so be that ye endite
Heigh style, as whan that men to kynges write.
Speketh so pleyn at this tyme, we yow preye,
20 That we may understonde what ye seye."


15        Tell us some merry thing of adventures.
Your terms, your colours, and your speech-figures,
Keep them in store till so be you indite
High style, as when men unto kings do write.
Speak you so plainly, for this time, I pray,
20 'That we can understand what things you say."

       The lord, the lady, and ech man, save the frere,
Seyde that Jankyn spak, in this matere,
625 As wel as Euclide dide or Ptholomee.
Touchynge the cherl, they seyde, subtiltee
And heigh wit made hym speken as he spak;
He nys no fool, ne no demonyak.
And Jankyn hath ywonne a newe gowne. -
630 My tale is doon; we been almost at towne.


       The lord, the lady, and each man, save the friar,
Agreed that Jenkin spoke, as classifier,
625 As well as Euclid or as Ptolemy.
Touching the churl, they said that subtlety
And great wit taught him how to make his crack.
He was no fool, nor a demoniac.
And Jenkin by this means has won a gown.
630 My tale is done, we're almost into town.

       "My lord," quod he, "whan that the weder is fair,
590 Withouten wynd or perturbynge of air,
Lat brynge a cartwheel heere into this halle;
But looke that it have his spokes alle, -
Twelve spokes hath a cartwheel comunly.
And bryng me thanne twelve freres. Woot ye why?
595 For thrittene is a covent, as I gesse.
Youre confessour heere, for his worthynesse,
Shal parfoune up the nombre of his covent,
Thanne shal they knele doun, by oon assent,
And to every spokes ende, in this manere,
600 Ful sadly leye his nose shal a frere.
Youre noble confessour - there God hym save! -
Shal holde his nose upright under the nave.
Thanne shal this cherl, with bely stif and toght
As any tabour, hyder been ybroght;
605 And sette hym on the wheel right of this cart.
Upon the nave, and make hym lete a fart.
And ye shul seen, up peril of my lyf,
By preeve which that is demonstratif,
That equally the soun of it wol wende,
610 And eke the stynk, unto the spokes ende.
Save that this worthy man, youre confessour,
By cause he is a man of greet honour,
Shal have the firste fruyt, as resoun is.
The noble usage of freres yet is this,
615 The worthy men of hem shul first be served;
And certeinly he hath it well disserved.
He hath to-day taught us so muche good
With prechyng in the pulpit the he stood,
That I may vouche sauf, I sey for me,
620 He hadde the firste smel of fartes thre;
And so wolde al his covent hardily,
He bereth hym so faire and hoolily."


       "My lord," said he, "when next the weather's fair,
590 And there's no wind to stir the quiet air,
Let someone bring a cartwheel to this hall,
But see there are no missing spokes at all.
Twelve spokes a cartwheel has, sir, commonly.
And bring me then twelve friars, and know you why?
595 Because a convent's thirteen, as I guess.
The present confessor, for his worthiness,
He shall complete the tale of this convent.
Then shall they all kneel down, by one assent,
And at each spoke's end, in this manner, sire,
600 Let the nose be laid firmly of a friar.
Your noble sir confessor, whom God save,
Shall hold his nose upright beneath the nave.
Then shall this churl, with belly stiff and taut
As any tabour- let him here be brought;
605 And set him on the wheel of this same cart,
Upon the hub, and make him let a fart.
And you shall see, on peril of my life,
With proof so clear that there shall be no strife,
That equally the sound of it will wend,
610 And the stink too, to each spoke's utter end;
Save that this worthy man, your confessor,
Because he is a man of great honour,
Shall have first fruits, as reasonable it is;
The noble custom of all friars is this,
615 The worthy men of them shall be first served;
And certainly this has he well deserved.
He has today taught us so much of good,
With preaching in the pulpit where he stood,
That for my part I gladly should agree,
620 He might well have the first smell of farts three,
And so would all his convent, generously,
He bears himself so well and holily."

       Now stood the lordes squier at the bord,
580 That karf his mete, and herde word by word
Of alle thynges whiche I have yow sayd.
"My lord," quod he, "be ye nat yvele apayd,
I koude telle, for a gowne-clooth,
To yow, sire frere, so ye be nat wrooth,
585 How that this fart sholde evene deled be
Among youre covent, if it lyked me."


       Now the lord's squire stood ready near the board
580 To carve his meat, and he heard, word for word,
All of the things that I to you have said.
"My lord," said he, "be not ill pleased indeed;
For I could tell, for cloth to make a gown,
To you, sir friar, so you do not frown,
585 How this said fart evenly doled could be
Among your fellows, if the thing pleased me."


       "Tel," quod the lord, "and thou shalt have anon
A gowne-clooth, by God and by Seint John!"


       "Tell," said the lord, "and you shall have anon
Cloth for a gown, by God and by Saint John!"

       The lord sat stille as he were in a traunce,
And in his herte he rolled up and doun,
"How hadde this cherl ymaginacioun
555 To shewe swich a probleme to the frere?
Nevere erst er now herde I of swich mateere.
I trowe the devel putte it in his mynde.
In ars-metrike shal ther no man fynde,
Biforn this day, of swich a question.
560 Who sholde make a demonstracion
That every man sholde have yliche his part
As of the soun or savour of a fart?
O nyce, proude cherl, I shrewe his face!
Lo, sires," quod the lord, "with harde grace!
565 Who evere herde of swich a thyng er now?
To every man ylike, tel me how?
It is an inpossible, it may nat be.
Ey, nyce cherl, God lete him nevere thee!
The rumblynge of a fart, and every soun,
570 Nis but of eir reverberacioun,
And evere it wasteth litel and litel awey.
Ther is no man kan deemen, by my fey,
If that it were departed equally.
What, lo, my cherl, lo, yet how shrewedly
575 Unto my confessour to-day he spak!
I holde hym certeyn a demonyak!
Now ete youre mete, and lat the cherl go pleye;
Lat hym go honge hymself a devel weye!"


       The lord sat still as he were in a trance,
And in his mind he rolled it up and down:
"How had this churl imagination grown
555 To pose so fine a problem to the friar?
I never heard the like, or I'm a liar;
I think the devil stuck it in his mind.
And in arithmetic did no man find,
Before this day, such puzzling question shown.
560 Who could be able, now, to make it known
How every man should have an equal part
Of both the sound and savour of a fart?
O scrupulous proud churl, beshrew his face!
Lo, sirs," this lord said then, with hard grimace,
565 "Who ever heard of such a thing ere now?
To every man alike? But tell me how!
Why it's impossible, it cannot be!
Exacting churl, God give him never glee!
The rumbling of a fart, and every sound,
570 Is but the air's reverberation round,
And ever it wastes, by little and little, away.
There is no man can judge, aye, by my fay,
Whether it were divided equally.
Behold, my church And yet how cursedly
575 To my confessor has he made this crack!
I hold him surely a demoniac!
Now eat your meat and let the churl go play,
Let him go hang himself, the devil's way!"

       The lady of the hous ay stille sat
Til she had herd what the frere sayde.
"Ey, Goddes mooder," quod she, "Blisful mayde!
Is ther oght elles? telle me feithfully."


       The lady of the house right silent sat
Till she had heard all that the friar said:
"Eh, by God's Mother," cried she, "Blessed Maid!
Is there aught else? A point that we did miss?"


540        "Madame," quod he, "how thynke ye herby?"
       "How that me thynketh?" quod she, "So God me speede,
I seye, a cherl hath doon a cherles dede.
What shold I seye? God lat hym nevere thee!
His sike heed is ful of vanytee;
545 I holde hym in a manere frenesye."
       "Madame," quod he, "by god, I shal nat lye
But in on oother wyse may be wreke,
I shal disclaundre hym over al ther I speke,
This false blasphemour, that charged me
550 To parte that wol nat departed be,
To every man yliche, with meschaunce!"


540        "Madam," said he, "what do you think of this?"
       "What do I think?" she said, "So God me speed,
I say, a churl has done a churlish deed.
What should I say? May God desert him! See-
Why his sick head is full of vanity.
545 The man, no doubt, is more or less insane."
       "Madam," said he, "I will not lie or feign:
If otherwise I cannot vengeance wreak,
I will defame him wheresoe'er I speak,
This false blasphemer who has dared charge me
550 Thus to divide what won't divided be,
To every man alike, and with mischance!"

       "I have," quod he, "had a despit this day,
God yelde yow, adoun in youre village,
That in this world is noon so povre a page
515 That he nolde have abhomynacioun
Of that I have receyved in youre toun.
And yet ne greveth me nothyng so soore,
As that this olde cherl with lokkes hoore
Blasphemed hath oure hooly covent eke."
520        "Now, maister," quod this lord, "I yow biseke, - "
       "No maister, sire," quod he, "but servitour,
Thogh I have had in scole that honour.
God liketh nat that 'Raby' men us calle,
Neither in market ne in youre large halle."
525        "No fors," quod he, "but tel me al youre grief."
       "Sire," quod this frere, "and odious meschief
This day bityd is to myn ordre and me,
And so, per consequens, to ech degree
Of hooly chirche - God amende it soone!
530        "Sire," quod the lord, "ye woot what is to doone.
Distempre yow noght, ye be my confessour;
Ye been the salt of the erthe and the savour.
For Goddes love, youre pacience ye holde!
Tel me youre grief." And he anon hym tolde,
535 As ye han herd biforn - ye woot wel what.


       "I have," said he, "insulted been today-
May God reward you!- down in your village.
And in this world is not so poor a page
515 As would not feel the insult, if 'twere thrown
At him, that I have suffered in your town.
Yet nothing grieves me in this matter more
Than that this peasant, with his long locks hoar,
Has thus blasphemed our holy convent too."
520        "Now, master," said his lordship, "I pray you, -"
       "No master, sir," said he, "but servitor,
Though true, I had in school such honour, sir.
But rabbi- God's not pleased that men so call
Us, in the public square or your wide hall."
525        "No matter," said he, "tell me all your grief."
       "Sir," said this friar, "an odious mischief
Was this day done to my order and me,
And so, per consequens, to each degree
Of Holy Church, may God it soon amend!"
530        "Sir," said the lord, "the story I attend.
As my confessor, pray your wrath control;
Salt of the earth are you- the savour whole.
For love of God, I beg you patience hold;
Tell me your grievance." And anon he told
535 As you have heard before, you know well what.

       His meynee, whiche that herden this affray,
Cam lepynge in and chaced out the frere;
And forth he gooth, with a ful angry cheere,
495 And fette his felawe, ther as lay his stoor.
He looked as it were a wilde boor;
He grynte with his teeth, so was he wrooth.
A sturdy paas doun to the court he gooth,
Wher as ther woned a man of greet honour,
500 To whom that he was alwey confessour.
This worthy man was lord of that village.
This frere cam as he were in a rage,
Where as this lord sat etyng at his bord;
Unnethes myghte the frere speke a word,
505 Til atte laste he seyde, "God yow see!"
       This lord gan looke, and seide, "Benedicitee!
What, frere John, what maner world is this?
I se wel that som thyng ther is amys;
Ye looken as the wode were ful of thevys.
510 Sit doun anon, and tel me what youre grief is,
And it shal been amended, if I may."


       The servants, who had heard all this affray,
Came leaping in and chased the friar out;
And forth he scowling went, with angry shout,
495 And found his fellow, where he'd left his store.
He glared about as he were some wild boar;
He ground and gnashed his teeth, so wroth was he.
He quickly sought the manor, there to see
The lord thereof, whose honour was the best,
500 And always to the friar he confessed;
This worthy man was lord of that village.
The friar came, as he were in a rage,
Where sat the lord at dinner at his board.
And hardly could the friar speak a word,
505 Till at the last he said, "God be with ye!"
       This lord looked up and said then, "Ben'cite!
What, Friar John! What kind of world is this?
I see right well that something is amiss.
You look as if the wood were full of thieves,
510 Sit down, and tell me what it is that grieves,
And it shall be amended, if I may."

480        "A!" thoghte this frere, "That shal go with me!"
And doun his hand he launcheth to the clifte,
In hope for to fynde there a yifte.
And whan this sike man felte this frere
Aboute his tuwel grope there and heere,
485 Amydde his hand he leet the frere a fart,
Ther nys no capul, drawynge in a cart,
That myghte have lete a fart of swich a soun.
The frere up stirte as dooth a wood leoun, -
"A! false cherl," quod he, "for Goddes bones!
490 This hastow for despit doon for the nones.
Thou shalt abye this fart, if that I may!"


480        "Ah," thought the friar, "this shall go with me!"
And down he thrust his hand right to the cleft,
In hope that he should find there some good gift.
And when the sick man felt the friar here
Groping about his hole and all his rear,
485 Into his hand he let the friar a fart.
There is no stallion drawing loaded cart
That might have let a fart of such a sound.
The friar leaped up as with wild lion's bound:
"Ah, treacherous churl," he cried, "by God's own bones,
490 I'll see that he who scorns me thus atones;
You'll suffer for this fart- I'll find a way!"

       This sike man wax wel ny wood for ire;
He wolde that the frere had been on-fire,
With his false dissymulacioun.
460 "Swich thyng as is in my possessioun,"
Quod he, "that may I yeve yow, and noon oother.
Ye sey me thus, how that I am youre brother?"


       This sick man, he went well-nigh mad for ire;
He would have had that friar set afire
For the hypocrisy that he had shown.
460 "Such things as I possess and are my own,"
Said he, "those may I give you and no other.
You tell me that I am as your own brother?"


       "Ye, certes," quod the frere, "trusteth weel.
I took oure dame oure lettre with oure seel."
465        "Now wel," quod he, "and somwhat shal I yive
Unto youre hooly covent whil I lyve;
And in thyn hand thou shalt it have anon,
On this condicion, and oother noon,
That thou departe it so, my deere brother,
470 That every frere have also muche as oother.
This shaltou swere on thy professioun,
Withouten fraude or cavillacioun."
       "I swere it," quod this frere, "by my feith!"
And therwithal his hand in his he leith,
475 "Lo, heer my feith; in me shal be no lak."
       "Now thanne, put in thyn hand doun by my bak,"
Seyde this man, "and grope wel bihynde.
Bynethe my buttok there shaltow fynde
A thyng that I have hyd in pryvetee."


       "Yea, truly," said the friar, "trust me well;
I gave your wife a letter with our seal."
465        "That's well," said he, "and something will I give
Unto your holy convent while I live,
And right anon you'll have it in your hand,
       On this condition only, understand,
That you divide it so, my own dear brother,
470 That every friar shall have as much as other.
This shall you swear upon the faith you own,
And without fraud or cavil, be it known."
       "I swear it," said this friar, "on my faith!"
And on the sick man's laid his hand therewith.
475 "Lo, hear my oath! In me shall truth not lack."
"Now then, come put your hand right down my back,"
Replied this man, "and grope you well behind;
For underneath my buttocks shall you find
A thing that I have hid in privity."

425        "Now, Thomas, leeve brother, lef thyn ire;
Thou shalt me fynde as just as is a squyre.
Hoold nat the develes knyf ay at thyn herte -
Thyn angre dooth thee al to soore smerte -
But shewe to me al thy confessioun."
430        "Nay," quod the sike man, "by Seint Symoun!
I have be shryven this day at my curat.
I have hym toold hoolly al myn estat;
Nedeth namoore to speken of it," seith he,
"But if me list, of myn humylitee."
435        "Yif me thanne of thy gold, to make oure cloystre,"
Quod he, "for many a muscle and many an oystre,
Whan othere men han ben ful wel at eyse,
Hath been oure foode, our cloystre for to reyse.
And yet, God woot, unnethe the fundement
440 Parfourned is, ne of our pavement
Nys nat a tyle yet withinne oure wones.
By God! we owen fourty pound for stones.


425        "Now, Thomas, my dear brother, leave your ire;
You shall find me as just as is a squire.
Hold not the Devil's knife against your heart;
Your anger does too sorely burn and smart;
But show me all, now, in confession, son."
430        "Nay," said the sick man, "by Saint Simeon!
I have confessed today by my curate;
I have him told the whole truth of my state;
There's no more need to speak of it," said he,
"Save as I please, of my humility."
435        "Then give me of your gold to build our cloister,"
Said he, "for many a mussel and an oyster,
When other men have been well at their ease,
Have been our food, that building should not cease,
And yet, God knows, is finished nothing more
440 Than the foundation, while of all the floor
There's not a tile yet laid to call our own;
By God, we owe full forty pounds for stone!


       Now help, Thomas, for hym that harwed helle!
For elles moste we oure bookes selle.
445 And if yow lakke oure predicacioun,
Thanne goth the world al to destruccioun.
For whoso wolde us fro this world bireve,
So God me save, Thomas, by youre leve,
He wolde bireve out of this world the sonne.
450 For who kan teche and werchen as we konne?
And that is nat of litel tyme," quod he,
"But syn Elye was, or Elise,
Han freres been - that fynde I of record -
In charitee, ythanked be oure Lord!
455 Now Thomas, help, for seinte charitee!"
And doun anon he sette hym on his knee.


       Now help, Thomas, for Him that harried Hell!
Else must we turn about and our books sell.
445 And if you laymen lack our high instruction,
Then will the world go all to its destruction.
For whoso shall deny us right to live,
So may God save me, Thomas, by your leave,
He'll have deprived the whole world of the sun.
450 For who can teach and work as we have done?
And that's not been for little time," said he;
"Elias and Elisha used to be
Friars, you'll find the scriptures do record,
And beggars too, thanks be to the good Lord!
455 Now, Thomas, help for holy charity!"
And down he went then, kneeling on one knee.