“Whoa!” said the Knight, “good sir, that’s quite enough!
You’ve said what there’s to say about such stuff
And even more–a little of distress
Is quite enough for most folks, I would guess. 2770
As for myself, it’s worse than a disease
To speak of those who had great wealth and ease,
Then hear about their sudden fall and grief.
The opposite is joy and great relief,
As when a man who is in poorest state 2775
Climbs upward, Fortune lessening the weight,
Till he’s abiding in prosperity–
A thing for gladness, so it seems to me,
And of such things it would be good to tell.”
“Aye,” said our Host, “by Saint Paul and his bell, 2780
You speak the truth. This Monk, he chatters loud.
He tells how Fortune covered with a cloud
I know not what, and, too, of tragedy,
As you have heard. It is no remedy
For one to be bewailing, to complain 2785
That such and such is done. It’s all a pain,
Just as you say, to hear of such distress.
“Sir Monk, no more of this, God may you bless;
Your tale’s a nuisance, you annoy us by
Such talk, it isn’t worth a butterfly, 2790
For in it we can find no sport or game.
And so, Sir Monk–or Sir Piers by your name–
I pray that something else you might expound.
But for your bells with all their clanging sound
(Those bells hung on your bridle), I confide, 2795
By heaven’s King who for all of us died,
I would have fallen long ago asleep
Although the mire might be so ever deep;
Then would your tale have all been told in vain.
For certainly, as clerks can well explain, 2800
If there’s a man who has no audience,
It doesn’t help if he makes any sense–
Yet I know well there’s sense enough in me
If anything’s reported sensibly.
Say something of your hunting, sir, I pray.” 2805
“No,” said the Monk, “I’ve no desire to play.
Let’s have another tale, as I have told.”
Then spoke our Host, his speech both rude and bold,
Without delay to the Nun’s Priest. He said,
“Come forth, you priest–Sir John, now come ahead! 2810
Tell something that will gladden us inside,
Be blissful, though a nag you have to ride.
So what if you’ve a horse both foul and lean?
If he will serve you, should you care a bean?
Be merry in your heart and always so.” 2815
“Yes, sir,” said he, “yes, Host, so may I go,
If I’m not merry I know I’ll be blamed.”
To tell his tale at once the fellow aimed,
And here is what he said as he went on,
This gentle priest, this kindly man Sir John. 2820
The Nun’s Priest’s Tale
A widow who was rather old and poor
In a small cottage dwelt in days of yore,
Beside a grove that stood within a dale.
This widow whom I tell of in my tale
Had from the day that she was last a wife 2825
In patience led a very simple life,
So little were her gain and property.
With what God gave her, though, she thriftily
Cared for her daughters and herself. Three cows
She had, no more, along with three big sows, 2830
And but one sheep named Molly–that was all.
And sooty were the bedroom and the hall
In which she’d eaten many a scanty meal.
With pungent sauce she never had to deal.
No dainty morsel passed her throat, it’s not 2835
A fancy diet found in such a cot,
So overeating never caused her qualm.
A temperate diet was her only balm,
With exercise and a contented heart;
The gout did not stop dancing on her part, 2840
And apoplexy never hurt her head.
She had no wine to drink, nor white nor red,
Her board was mostly served with white and black
(Milk and brown bread, of which she found no lack),
Broiled bacon, and sometimes an egg or two. 2845
Her work was much like dairywomen do.
She had a yard that was enclosed about
By paling and a dried up ditch without,
In which she had a cock named Chanticleer,
In all the realm of crowing without peer. 2850
His voice was merrier than the play
Of the church’s organ each holy day.
And surer was his crowing than a clock
(Even that of the abbey), for this cock
By instinct knew each move of the equator 2855
As it progressed, that none too soon nor later
But on the dot, fifteen degrees ascended,
He crowed the hour no clock so well attended.
His comb was finest coral red and tall,
And battlemented like a castle wall. 2860
His bill was black and like the jet it glowed,
His legs and toes like azure when he strode.
His nails were whiter than the lilies bloom,
Like burnished gold the color of his plume.
This gentle cock commanded at his leisure 2865
A flock of seven hens to do his pleasure,
His paramours and sisters, each of whom
Like him had wondrous coloring in her plume.
But she with fairest coloring on her throat
Was that one called fair damsel Pertelote; 2870
Discreet and gentle, showing courtesy,
She was so gracious, such nice company,
Right from the day she was seven nights old,
That she had Chanticleer’s heart in her hold
Completely, as if under lock and key. 2875
He loved her, that was his felicity.
And such a joy it was to hear them sing,
At morning when the sun would brightly spring,
In sweet accord, “My Love’s Gone Far Away.”
(For in those days, so I have heard men say, 2880
The beasts and birds alike could speak and sing.)
It so befell, as day began to spring,
That Chanticleer was on his perch, with all
His seven wives there with him in the hall,
Beside him being fairest Pertelote, 2885
When he began to groan down in his throat
As men in troubled dreams have done before.
And when fair Pertelote thus heard him roar,
She was aghast and said to him, “Dear heart,
What’s ailing you that makes this groaning start? 2890
For shame, so sound a sleeper to complain!”
“My lady,” Chanticleer sought to explain,
“I pray, don’t take me wrong in my distress.
By God, I dreamt I was in such a mess
That even now my heart is full of fright. 2895
May God,” he said, “help me divine it right
Lest into foul captivity I go.
I dreamt that I was roaming to and fro
Here in our yard when I espied a beast
Much like a hound, who would have at the least 2900
Laid hold of me and left me cold and dead.
His color was betwixt yellow and red;
His tail as well as both his ears had hair
With tips of black, unlike his coat elsewhere.
His snout was small, a glow was in each eye. 2905
Still of that look I fear that I could die,
And this has caused my groaning, there’s no doubt.”
“Oh fie,” she said, “faint-hearted you’ve turned out!
Alas,” said she, “for by the Lord above,
Now you have lost my heart and all my love. 2910
I cannot love a coward, there’s no way!
For certainly, whatever women say,
We all desire, if heaven let it be,
Wise, hardy men of generosity,
Husbands discreet–not niggards, fools aghast, 2915
Afraid of every weapon that comes past,
Nor haughty boasters. By that God above,
How dare you say, for shame, to your true love
That anything can make you so afeard!
Have you no manly heart to match your beard? 2920
Alas! can you be so afraid of dreams?
Illusion’s all it is, not what it seems.
Such dreams from overeating come to pass,
Or else from humors (if not simply gas)
When they get too abundant as they might. 2925
For sure this dream that you have had tonight
Resulted from there being great excess
In your red bile–the very thing, God bless,
That makes folks when they’re dreaming have such dread
Of arrows or of fire that’s flaming red, 2930
Of red beasts that pursue to bite and maul,
Of strife and of fierce dogs both great and small;
Like melancholy’s humor comes about
To make so many sleeping men cry out
For fear of big black bears, and bulls to boot, 2935
Or else black devils that are in pursuit.
Of other humors I could tell also
That torture many a sleeping man with woe,
But I will pass as lightly as I can.
“Look at Cato, who was so wise a man: 2940
Did he not say to ‘pay no mind to dreams’?
Now, sire,” she said, “when we fly from the beams,
For love of God please take a laxative.
On peril of my soul, as I may live,
This counsel is the best, I will not lie: 2945
Of choler and of melancholy hie
To purge yourself. And there’s no need to tarry
Though in this town there’s no apothecary,
For I myself will teach you of the herbs
That aid your health when choler so disturbs; 2950
And in our yard these very herbs I’ll find,
And these will by their property and kind
Purge you beneath as well as purge above.
For this do not forget, for God’s own love:
You have a very choleric temperament. 2955
Beware unless the sun in its ascent
Should find you with hot humors so intense;
For if it does, then I would bet a fourpence
You’ll have a tertian fever or an ague,
And either one could be a bane to you. 2960
A day or two you’ll have some worm digestives,
Then after that you’ll take your laxatives–
Some laurel, fumitory, centaury,
Or hellebore, that grows here as you see;
Or else the caper and the dogwood berry, 2965
Or ivy growing in our yard so merry.
Go pick them where they grow and take them in.
Be merry, husband, by your father’s kin,
And do not dread a dream. I say no more.”
“Madam,” said he, “I thank you for your lore. 2970
But nonetheless, concerning Master Cato
(So much renowned for all his wisdom, though
He said that dreams are not a thing to dread),
By God, in many old books it is read
That many a man of more authority 2975
Than ever Cato was–or woe is me–
Says the exact reverse of Cato’s sentence,
And has discovered by experience
That dreams have often been significations
Of joy as well as tribulations 2980
That folks endure as this life may present.
Of this there is no need for argument,
Experience is proof enough indeed.
“One of the greatest authors men may read
Says once upon a time two fellows went 2985
Upon a pilgrimage with good intent,
And came upon a town wherein they found
Such people congregated all around
That there was lack of lodging. Up and down
They couldn’t find one cottage in the town 2990
In which they both might be accommodated.
And so it was, as circumstance dictated,
That for the night they parted company
And each of them sought his own hostelry
And took his lodging as it might befall. 2995
So one of them was lodged inside a stall
In a barnyard with oxen of the plow;
The other one lodged well enough somehow,
Whether it was by fate or by the fortune
That governs each of us in equal portion. 3000
“It so befell that long before the day,
This man dreamt in his bed there as he lay
That he could hear his friend begin to call,
Saying, ‘Alas! for in an ox’s stall
Tonight I will be murdered where I lie. 3005
Dear brother, come and help me or I die.
Come here,’ said he, ‘as quickly as you can!’
Out of his sleep with fright uprose the man;
But once awake, he was not overwrought
And lay back down without a further thought– 3010
He felt such dreams were only fantasy.
Twice in his sleep this vision came to be,
And then he thought his friend had come again
For yet a third time, saying, ‘I am slain!
Behold my bloody wounds so wide and deep! 3015
Rise early in the morning from your sleep
And at the west gate of the town,’ said he,
‘A cart that’s full of dung there you shall see,
In which my hidden body is contained.
Now boldly see that this cart be detained. 3020
They murdered me, in truth, to get my gold.’
Then each detail of how he died he told
With such a piteous face, so pale of hue.
And you can trust he found the dream was true;
For in the morning, at the break of day, 3025
To his friend’s lodging place he took his way;
And when he came upon the ox’s stall
For his companion he began to call.
“Here’s what at once he heard the hosteler
Reply: ‘Your friend is gone. The fellow, sir, 3030
Went out of town as soon as it was day.’
The man became suspicious right away,
Recalling what he dreamt. He didn’t wait
A minute more, but to the western gate
Out of the town he went, and saw at hand 3035
A dung cart headed out to dung some land
(At least it so appeared), and its array
Was just as you have heard the dead man say.
Then he began to cry out heartily
For justice to avenge this felony: 3040
‘My friend last night was murdered, here to lie
Flat on his back inside this cart! I cry
Out to you ministries, all you,’ said he,
‘Who in this town are in authority,
For help! Alas, my friend is lying slain!’ 3045
What more about the tale need I explain?
The people cast the cart then to the ground,
And in the midst of all the dung they found
The dead man who so lately had been slain.
“O blessed God, so just and true, again 3050
As always murder is revealed by thee!
Murder will out, as day by day we see;
It’s loathsome and abominable to God,
Who, just and reasonable, spares not the rod,
Will not allow that murder hidden be. 3055
Though it abide a year, or two or three,
Murder will out, that’s all I have to say.
The officials of the town without delay
Commanded that the carter then be racked;
The hosteler was tortured, too, in fact, 3060
And soon they both confessed to their misdeed,
And hanging by the neck was then decreed.
“Here men may see that dreams are things to dread.
And truthfully in that same book I read,
In the very next chapter after this 3065
(I speak the truth, or banish me from bliss),
Of two who would have sailed the ocean for
A certain cause upon some foreign shore,
Had not the wind developed so contrary
That in a city they were forced to tarry– 3070
A merry city on the harborside.
But then one day, when it was eventide,
The wind began to change to suit them best;
Jolly and glad the two went to their rest,
That early they might sail when day began. 3075
But then great marvel fell upon one man;
It happened as he slept, for as he lay
He dreamt a wondrous thing toward the day.
He thought a man was standing at his side,
One who commanded that he should abide. 3080
‘Tomorrow if you sail as you intend,
You shall be drowned. My tale is at an end.’
He woke and told his friend the dream and prayed
That he’d agree his voyage be delayed.
One day, at least, he begged him to abide. 3085
His friend, though, from his bed nearby his side
Began to laugh, and scorn upon him cast.
‘No dream,’ said he, ‘makes my heart so aghast
That I’ll delay to do as best it seems.
I do not give a straw for all your dreams. 3090
For dreams are just illusions, only japes.
Men always dream of owls or else of apes,
Of things amazing to absurd degree,
Things that have not, and will not, come to be.
But as I see that here you will abide, 3095
Thereby forsaking willfully the tide,
God knows I’m sorry and I say “Good day.”‘
And so he took his leave and went his way.
But half his course the fellow hadn’t sailed
When–I don’t know by what mischance it failed– 3100
Quite suddenly the vessel’s bottom rent
And ship and man beneath the waters went,
In sight of other ships that were beside,
That sailed with him upon that very tide.
And so, my dear and fairest Pertelote, 3105
Of old examples such as this take note.
No man should act so carelessly about
His dreams. I say to you without a doubt
That many a dream is one to sorely dread.
“Look, in the life of Saint Kenelm I’ve read 3110
(His father was Kenulphus, noble king
Of Mercia) how he dreamt a dreadful thing
A little before his death. Upon that day
He dreamt about his murder. Right away
His nurse explained it in detail, and she 3115
Then bade him guard himself from treachery.
But as he was but seven years of age,
He put too little stock in dreams to gauge
One of them right, so holy was his heart.
By God, I’d give my shirt if, for your part, 3120
You would have read this legend as have I!
“Dame Pertelote, I’m telling you no lie.
Macrobius says a dream came long ago
In Africa to worthy Scipio
That was affirmed, and says that dreams can mean 3125
A warning of things men have later seen.
And furthermore, I pray you take a look
In the Old Testament. Look in the Book
Of Daniel–were his dreams all vanity?
Or read of Joseph and there you will see 3130
That dreams are sometimes (I don’t say they’re all)
A warning of things that later befall.
Look at the king of Egypt, mighty Pharoah,
His baker and his butler–did they know
Nothing of dreams’ effects? Whoever traces 3135
Through history the events of sundry places
May read of visions many a wondrous thing.
Did Croesus, when he was the Lydian king,
Not dream that he was sitting on a tree,
Which signified that hanged he was to be? 3140
Look at Andromache, young Hector’s wife:
The day that Hector was to lose his life,
She had a dream that day before the dawn
Of how his life was to be lost if on
That morning he should go into the fray. 3145
She warned him but to no avail; that day
He still went forth to fight the foe again,
And promptly by Achilles he was slain.
But that’s a story much too long to tell;
It’s almost day, on such I cannot dwell. 3150
For my conclusion I will simply say
That from this vision I shall have someway
Adversity. And I say furthermore
That in these laxatives I put no store–
They’re venomous, I’m well aware of it. 3155
Fie on them, for I like them not a bit!
“Now let us speak of mirth, no more of this.
Dame Pertelote, if ever I have bliss,
One thing God’s given me with special grace;
For when I see the beauty of your face, 3160
The scarlet red you have about your eyes,
It makes my dread all wither and it dies,
As certainly as In principio,
Mulier est hominis confusio–
Madam, the meaning of this Latin is 3165
‘A woman is man’s joy and all his bliss.’
For when I feel at nighttime your soft side
(Although, alas, upon you I can’t ride,
Because our perch is built so narrowly),
Such joy and comfort swell inside of me 3170
That I defy nightmare as well as dream.”
And with that word he flew down from the beam,
For it was day. His hens flew to the ground,
And with a “chuck” he called them, for he found
That in the yard a bit of kernel lay. 3175
Royal he was, his fear had gone away.
Dame Pertelote was feathered by this cock
And trodden twenty times ere nine o’clock.
Then, with a grim look like a lion’s frown,
Upon his toes he wandered up and down, 3180
Not deigning to set foot upon the ground.
He chucked each time another corn he found,
And all his wives came running to his call.
Thus royal as a prince within his hall
I leave this Chanticleer there in his yard. 3185
To his adventure next I’ll give regard.
Now when the month in which the world began
(The month of March, when God created man)
Was over and indeed had been exceeded
(The days were thirty-two that were completed), 3190
It happened that this cock in all his pride,
His seven wives all walking by his side,
Cast eyes up to the brightly shining sun
That in the sign of Taurus then had run
Some twenty-one degrees and even more. 3195
He knew by nature and no other lore
That it was nine, and blissfully he crew.
“The sun,” he said, “has climbed the heavens through
More than forty and one degrees, no less.
Now Madam Pertelote, my happiness 3200
On earth, hear how these blissful birds all sing,
And see the newborn flowers, how they spring;
My heart is full of solace, revelry!”
But sad fate then befell him suddenly;
The latter end of joy is always woe. 3205
God knows how worldly joy will quickly go;
A rhetorician who can well indite
Might safely in his chronicle so write,
For it’s a royal notability.
Let every wise man listen now to me— 3210
This story is as true, I undertake,
As the book of Lancelot of the Lake
That women hold so much in great esteem.
And so I’ll turn again now to my theme.
A black-marked fox, iniquitous and sly, 3215
Who’d lived for three years in the grove nearby
(By heaven’s high design right from the first),
That very night had through the hedges burst
Into the yard where Chanticleer the Fair
And all his wives were accustomed to repair. 3220
There in a bed of cabbages he lay
Completely still till well into the day,
Waiting his time on Chanticleer to fall,
As gladly do homicides one and all
Who wait to ambush and to murder men. 3225
O false murderer, lurking in your den!
O new Iscariot, new Ganelon!
O false dissembler, like the Greek Sinon
Who brought the Trojans sorrow so severe!
A curse upon that day, O Chanticleer, 3230
When to that yard you flew down from the beams!
Full warning you were given by your dreams,
That very day would bring adversity.
But that which God foreknows is what must be,
Or so, at least, some learned men contest. 3235
As any worthy scholar will attest,
In schools there is a lot of altercation
About the matter, mighty disputation
(A hundred thousand men are in the rift).
In this the grain from chaff I cannot sift 3240
As can the holy doctor Augustine,
Boethius, or Bishop Bradwardine,
Whether God’s knowing what our futures bring
Constrains me so that I must do a thing
(By which I mean simple necessity), 3245
Or whether there’s free choice granted me
To do the thing or not (though there is naught
That God does not foreknow before it’s wrought),
Or if his knowing constrains not one degree
Beyond conditional necessity. 3250
But I will have no part of such debate;
My tale is of a cock, as I’ll relate,
Who took his wife’s advice, to his dismay,
And walked within the yard that very day
Despite what he had dreamt, as I have told. 3255
How often women’s counsels prove so cold;
A woman’s counsel brought us first to woe,
From Paradise poor Adam had to go,
From where he’d been so merry and at ease.
But as I don’t know whom it might displease 3260
If I should give to women’s counsel blame,
Please let it pass, I’m only making game.
Read authors where such stuff is their concern,
And what they say of women you may learn.
These words have been a cock’s, they are not mine; 3265
No harm in any woman I divine.
Sunbathing in the sand, fair Pertelote
Lay blithely by her sisters, while the throat
Of Chanticleer made song as merrily
As that of any mermaid in the sea. 3270
(The Physiologus, with truth to tell,
Says mermaids sing both merrily and well.)
It so befell that as he cast his eye
On the cabbage bed, to catch a butterfly,
He caught sight of the fox there lying low. 3275
He didn’t have the least desire to crow–
He cried at once “Cock, cock!” with quite a start,
As any man fear-stricken in his heart.
By instinct every beast desires to flee
When he has seen his natural enemy, 3280
Though never laying eyes on him before.
This Chanticleer would not have tarried more
Once he espied the fox, had not the latter
Said, “Gentle sir, alas! what is the matter?
I am your friend–are you afraid of me? 3285
I’d be worse than a fiend, most certainly,
To do you harm. And please don’t think that I
Come here upon your privacy to spy;
The reason that I’ve come is not a thing
Except that I might listen to you sing. 3290
For truly you’ve a voice as merry, sire,
As any angel’s up in heaven’s choir.
Because of this, in music you’ve more feeling
Than had Boethius, or all who sing.
My lord, your father (his soul blessed be) 3295
And mother (she of such gentility)
Have both been in my house, to my great pleasure.
To have you, sir, I’d love in equal measure.
For when men speak of singing, I must say–
As may my eyes see well the light of day– 3300
Till you, I never heard a mortal sing
As did your father when the day would spring.
And all he sang was surely from the heart;
That more strength to his voice he might impart,
He used to strain himself until his eyes 3305
He’d have to blink, so loud were all his cries;
And he would have to stand up straight on tiptoe
And stretch his neck as far as it would go.
And he was one of such discretion, sire,
No man was to be found in any shire 3310
Who could in song and wisdom him surpass.
I’ve read the story Sir Burnel the Ass,
Wherein it’s said that there was once a cock
Who from a priest’s son suffered quite a knock
Upon his leg (a foolish lad’s caprice), 3315
For which he made him lose his benefice.
But there is no comparing to be based
Upon your father’s wisdom, his good taste,
And a wounded cock’s avenging subtlety.
Now, sir, please sing, for holy charity; 3320
Let’s see how well your father you repeat.”
Then Chanticleer his wings began to beat,
As one who’d been betrayed but couldn’t see,
So ravished was he by such flattery.
Alas! my lords, there are within your courts 3325
False flatterers and other lying sorts
Who please you, by my faith, more than the man
Who speaks to you the truth as best he can.
In Ecclesiastes read of flattery;
Beware, my lords, of all their treachery. 3330
This Chanticleer stood high upon his toes;
Stretching his neck, he let his two eyes close
And loudly he began to crow. Apace
The fox Sir Russell sprang out from his place
And by the throat grabbed Chanticleer. He bore 3335
Him on his back toward the woodland, for
The fox as yet by no one was pursued.
O Destiny, you cannot be eschewed!
Alas, that Chanticleer flew from the beams!
Alas, his wife did not believe in dreams! 3340
And on a Friday fell all this distress.
O Venus, goddess of all pleasantness,
Since servant you have had in Chanticleer,
Who used his powers in your service here
More for delight than world to multiply, 3345
Why would you suffer him this day to die?
O Geoffrey, sovereign master, when was shot
And slain your worthy Richard, did you not
Complain so sorely of his death? O would
I had your gift and lore, so that I could 3350
Chide Friday as you did! (For it was on
A Friday Richard died, as is well known.)
Then I would show you how I could complain
For Chanticleer, for all his fear and pain.
Surely not such a cry or lamentation 3355
Did ladies make at Troy’s devastation–
When Pyrrhus seized King Priam by the beard
And with his straight, unsparing sword then speared
And slew him (so relates the Aeneid’s bard)–
As made all of the hens there in the yard 3360
When they had seen the plight of Chanticleer.
Shrieked Pertelote so loudly all could hear,
More loudly than did King Hasdrubal’s wife
When her husband at Carthage lost his life
And Romans made the town a conflagration. 3365
(So filled with torment and with indignation,
The queen jumped willfully into the fire
And burnt to death, as death was her desire.)
O woeful hens, your crying is the same
As when by Nero Rome was set aflame 3370
And tears were shed by senators’ wives
Because their husbands all then lost their lives.
(They had no guilt but Nero had them slain.)
Now to my tale I will return again.
This simple widow and her daughters heard 3375
The woeful crying of the hens. They stirred
Themselves at once, leapt up and ran outside;
The fox toward the grove they then espied,
Bearing away the cock upon his back.
They cried out “Help!” and “Mercy!” and “Alack! 3380
Hey, hey, the fox!” And after him they ran,
And joining in with staves came many a man,
And our dog Collie, Talbot too, and Garland,
And Malkin with a distaff in her hand.
Ran cow and calf and even all the hogs, 3385
So frightened by the barking of the dogs
And shouting of each woman, every man.
They thought their hearts would burst, so hard they ran.
They yelled like fiends in hell, such was the cry;
The ducks all quacked as if about to die; 3390
The geese in fear flew up above the trees;
Out of the hive there came a swarm of bees.
God knows, the noise was hideous and loud!
I’m certain that Jack Straw and all his crowd
Did not produce a shouting half as shrill 3395
(When they had found a Fleming they could kill)
As all the noise directed at the fox.
They brought out trumpets made of brass and box,
Of horns and bone, on which they blew and tooted;
They also shrieked, they whooped as well as hooted, 3400
Until it seemed that heaven itself would fall.
Good men, I pray, please listen one and all,
For see how Fortune upsets suddenly
The hope and pride now of her enemy!
This cock, who on the fox’s back still lay, 3405
Despite his fear said to the fox, “I say,
What I would do, my lord, if I were you,
So help me God, is tell those who pursue,
‘Turn back, you fools, you haughty churls all,
And may a pestilence upon you fall! 3410
For now that I have reached the woodland’s side,
In spite of you this cock shall here abide–
I’ll eat him up right now in front of you!'”
The fox replied, “In faith, that’s what I’ll do.”
But as he spoke those words, without a pause 3415
The cock broke nimbly from the fox’s jaws
And immediately flew high up in a tree.
And when the fox had seen his captive flee,
“Alas,” he said, “O Chanticleer, alas!
Against you I am guilty of trespass. 3420
I made you fear what it was all about,
To grab you in the yard and bring you out.
But, sir, I did it with no ill intent.
Come down, and I will tell you what I meant–
The truth, so help me God! You have my oath.” 3425
“Nay,” said the cock, “a curse upon us both.
And first I curse myself, by blood and bone,
If more than once I let you lead me on.
You shall no more, with words so flattering,
Inveigle me to close my eyes and sing. 3430
For him who wills to blink when he should see,
God never let there be prosperity!”
“No,” said the fox, “but God bring to defeat
One whose demeanor is so indiscreet
That when he ought to hold his peace he chatters.” 3435
Lo, such it is to trust in one who flatters,
Be negligent, and act so carelessly.
But you who judge this tale frivolity
(As it’s about a fox, or cock and hen),
Take seriously the moral, gentlemen. 3440
For all that has been written, says Saint Paul,
Is written so that we might learn it all.
So take the fruit and let the chaff be still.
Now, gracious God, if it should be thy will,
As says my lord, make all of us good men 3445
And bring us to high heaven’s bliss! Amen.
“Sir Nun’s Priest,” our Host said immediately,
“Your balls and your behind now blessed be!
Of Chanticleer that was a merry tale.
I swear, were you a layman, without fail 3450
A real hen-treader you’d have been, all right.
Had you the will as much as you’ve the might,
The hens that you’d need in your flock, I hold,
Would number seventeen some sevenfold.
What muscles by this gentle priest possessed, 3455
So thick a neck, and see how large a breast!
He’s like a sparrowhawk, so sharp his eye,
His color not in need of any dye
From Portugal or such to make it redder.
Good luck, sir, for your tale, among the better!” 3460
And after that, our Host with merry cheer
Spoke to another pilgrim as you’ll hear.