And thought he wolde amenden all the jape,
He shulde kisse his ers er that he scape:
And up the window did he hastily,
And out his ers he putteth prively
Over the buttok, to the hanche bon.

And therwith spake this clerk, this Absolon,'
"Speke swete bird, I n'ot not wher thou art."
This Nicholas anon let fleen a fart,
As gret as it had ben a thonder dint,
That with the stroke he was wel nie yblint:
And he was redy with his yren hote,
And Nicholas amid the ers he smote.

Off goth the skinne an hondbrede al aboute.
The hote culter brenned so his toute,
That for the smert he wened for to die;
As he were wood, for wo he gan to cric,

Help, water, water, help for Goddes herte."
The carpenter out of his slomber sterte,
And herd on crie water, as he were wood,
And thought, "Alas, now cometh Noes flood."
He set him up withouten wordes mo,
And with his axe he smote the cord atwo;
And doun goth all; he fond neyther to selle
Ne breed ne ale, til he came to the selle,
Upon the flore, and ther aswoune he lay.
Up sterten Alison and Nicholay,
And crieden, "Out and harow!" in the strete.
The neighboures bothe smale and grete
In rannen, for to gauren on this man,
That yet aswoune lay, bothe pale and wan:
For with the fall he brosten hath his arm.
But stonden he must unto his owen harm,
For whan he spake, he was anon bore doun
With hendy Nicholas and Alisoun.
They tolden every man that he was wood;
He was agaste so of Noes flood
Thurgh fantasie, that of his vanitee

He had ybought him kneding tubbes three,
And bad hem honged in the roof above;
And that he praied bem for Goddes love
To sitten in the roof par compagnie.

The folk gan laughen at his fantasie.
Into the roof they kyken, and they gape,
And turned all his harm into a jape.
For what so that this carpenter answerd,
It was for nought, no man his reson herd.
With othes gret he was so sworne adoun,
That he was holden wood in all the toun.
For everich clerk anon right held with other;
They said, the man was wood, my leve brother;
And every wight gan laughen at this strif.

Thus swived was the carpenteres wif,
For all his keping, and his jalousie;
And Absolon hath kist hire nether eye;
And Nicholas is scalded in the toute.
This tale is don, and God save all the route.

"

With blering of a proude milleres eye,

If that me list to speke of ribaudrie.
But ik am olde; me list not play for age;
Gras time is don, my foddre is now forage.
This white top writeth min olde yeres;
Min herte is also mouled as min heres;
But if I fare as doth an open-ers;
That ilke fruit is ever lenger the wers,
Til it be roten in mullok, or in stre.

"We olde men, I drede, so faren we,
Til we be roten, can we not be ripe;
We hoppe alway, while that the world wol pipe;
For in our wil ther stiketh ever a nayl,
To have a hore hed and a grene tayl,

As hath a leke; for though our might be gon,
Our will desireth folly ever in on:

For whan we may not don, than wol we speken,
Yet in our ashen cold is-fire yreken.

"Foure gledes han we, which I shal devise,
Avaunting, lying, anger, and covetise.
These foure sparkes longen unto elde.
Our olde limes mow wel ben unwelde.
But will ne shal not faillen, that is sothe.
And yet have I alway a coltes tothe,
As many a yere as it is passed henne,
Sin that my tappe of lif began to renne.
For sikerly, whan I was borne, anon
Deth drow the tappe of lif, and let it gon:
And ever sith hath so the tappe yronne,
Til that almost all empty is the tonne.
The streme of lif now droppeth on the chimbe
The sely tonge may wel ringe and chimbe
Of wretchednesse, that passed is ful yore:
With olde folk, save dotage, is no more."

Whan that our hoste had herd this sermoning,
He gan to speke as lordly as a king,
And sayde; "What amounteth all this wit?
What? shall we speke all day of holy writ?
The divel made a Reve for to preche,
Or of a souter a shipman, or a leche.

"Say forth thy tale, and tary not the time: Lo Depeford, and it is half way prime : Lo Grenewich, ther many a shrew is inne. It were al time thy tale to beginne."

"Now, sires," quod this Osewold the Reve, "I pray you alle, that ye not you greve, Though I answere, and somdel set his howve. For leful is with force force off to showve.

This dronken Miller hath ytold us here,
How that begiled was a carpentere,
Paraventure in scorne, for I am on:
And by your leve, I shal him quite anon.
Right in his cherles termes wol I speke.
I pray to God his necke mote to-breke.
He can wel in min eye seen a stalk,
But in his owen he cannot seen a balk."

THE REVES PROLOGUE.

WHAN folk han laughed at this nice cas
Of Absolon and hendy Nicholas,
Diverse folk diversely they saide,

But for the more part they lought and plaide;
Ne at this tale I saw no man him greve,
But it were only Osewold the Reve.
Because he was of carpenteres craft,

A litel ire is in his herte ylaft;

He gan to grutch and blamen it a lite.

THE REVES TALE.

A joly popper bare he in his pouche;
Ther n'as no man for peril dorst him touche.
A Shefeld thwitel bare he in his hose.
Round was his face, and camuse was his nose.
As pilled as an ape was his skull.
He was a market-beter at the full.
Ther dorste no wight hond upon him legge,
That he ne swore he shuld anon abegge.

A thefe he was forsoth, of corn and mele,
And that a slie, and usant for to stele.
His name was hoten deinous Simekin.
A wif he hadde, comen of noble kin:
The person of the toun hire father was.
With hire he yaf ful many a panne of bras,
For that Simkin shuld in his blood allie.
She was yfostered in a nonnerie:
For Simkin wolde no wif, as he sayde,
But she were wel ynourished, and a mayde,
To saven his estat of yemanrie:
And she was proud, and pert as is a pie.
A ful faire sight was it upon hem two.
On holy dayes beforne hire wold he go
With his tipet ybounde about his hed;
And she came after in a gite of red,
And Simkin hadde hosen of the same.
Ther dorste no wight clepen hire but dame:
Was non so hardy, that went by the way,
That with hire dorste rage or ones play,
But if he wold be slain of Simekin
With pavade, or with knif, or bodekin.
(For jalous folk ben perilous evermo:
Algate they wold hir wives wenden so.)
And eke for she was smodel smoterlich,
She was as digne as water in a dich,
And al so ful of hoker, and of bismare.
Hire thoughte that a ladie shuld hire spare,
What for hire kinrede, and hire nortelrie,
That she had lerned in the nonnerie.

A doughter hadden they betwixt hem two.
Of twenty yere, withouten any mo,
Saving a child that was of half yere age,
In cradle it lay, and was a propre page.
This wenche thicke and wel ygrowen was,
With camuse nose, and eyen grey as glas;
With buttokes brode, and brestes round and hie;
But right faire was hire here, I wol nat lie.
The person of the toun, for she was faire,
In purpos was to maken hire his haire
Both of his catel, and of his mesuage,
And strange he made it of hire mariage.
His purpos was for to bestowe hire hie
Into som worthy blood of ancestrie.
For holy chirches good mote ben despended
On holy chirches blood that is descended.
Therfore he wolde his holy-blood honoure,
Though that he holy chirche shuld devoure.

Gret soken hath this miller out of doute
With whete and malt, of all the land aboute;
And namely ther was a gret college
Men clepe the Soler hall at Cantebrege,
Ther was hir whete and eke hir malt yground.
And on a day it happed in a stound,
Sike lay the manciple on a maladie,
Men wenden wisly that he shulde die.

For which this miller stale both mele and corn
An hundred times more than beforn.
For therbeforn he stale but curteisly,
But now he was a thefe outrageously.
For which the wardein chidde and made fare,
But therof set the miller not a tare;

He craked bost, and swore it n'as not so.
Than were ther yonge poure scoleres two,
That dwelten in the halle of which I say;
Testif they were, and lusty for to play;
And only for hir mirth and revelrie
Upon the wardcin besily they crie,
To yeve hem leve but a litel stound,
To gon to mille, and seen hir corn yground:
And hardily they dorsten lay hir necke,
The miller shuld not stele hem half a pecke
Of corn by sleighte, ne by force hem reve.
And at the last the wardein yave hem leve:
John bighte that on, and Alein highte that other,
Of o toun were they born, that highte Strother,
Fer in the north, I can not tellen where.

This Alein maketh redy all his gere,
And on a hors the sak he cast anon:
Forth goth Alein the clerk, and also John,
With good swerd and with bokeler by hir side.
John knew the way, him neded not no guide,
And at the mille the sak adoun he laith.

Alein spake first; "All haile, Simond, in faith, How fares thy faire daughter, and thy wif?"

"Alein, welcome" (quod Simkin)" by my lif, And John also: how now, what do ye here?" "By God, Simond," (quod John) "nede has no pere. Him behoves serve himself that has na swain, Or elles he is a fool, as clerkes sain. Our manciple I hope he wol be ded, Swa werkes ay the wanges in his bed: And therfore is I come, and eke Alein, To grind our corn and cary it hame agein: I pray you spede us henen that we may."

"It shal be don" (quod Simkin) "by may fay. What wol ye don while that it is in hand?" "By God, right by the hopper wol I stand," (Quod John)" and seen how that the corn gas in. Yet saw I never by my fader kin,

How that the hopper wagges til and fra."

Alein answered; "John, and wolt thou swa? Than wol I be benethe by my croun,

And see how that the mele falles adoun

In til the trogh, that shal be my disport:

For, John, in faith I may ben of your sort;

I is as ill a miller as is ye."

This miller smiled at hir nicetee,

And thought, "All this n'is don but for a wile.
They wenen that no man may hem begile,
But by my thrift yet shal I blere hir cie,
For all the sleighte in hir philosophie.
The more queinte knakkes that they make,
The more wol I stele whan that I take.
In stede of flour yet wol I yeve hem bren.
The gretest clerkes ben not the wisest men,
As whilom to the wolf thus spake the mare:
Of all hir art ne count I not a tare."

Out at the dore he goth ful prively,
Whan that he saw his time, softely.
He loketh up and doun, til he hath found
The clerkes hors, ther as he stood ybound
Behind the mille, under a levesell:
And to the hors he goth him faire and well,
And stripeth of the bridel right anon.

And whan the hors was laus, he gan to gon
Toward the fen, ther wilde mares renne,
And forth, with wehee, thurgh thick and thinne.
This miller goth again, no word he said,
But doth his note, and with these clerkes plaid,
Till that hir corn was faire and wel yground.
And whan the mele is sacked and ybound,

This John goth out, and fint his hors away,
And gan to crie," Harow and wala wa!
Our hors is lost: Alein, for Godde's banes,
Step on thy feet; come of, man, al at anes:
Alas! our wardein has his palfrey lorn."

This Alein al forgat both mele and corn;
Al was out of his mind his husbandrie:
"What, whilke way is he gon?" he gan to crie.
The wif came leping inward at a renne,
She sayd; "Alas! youre hors goth to the fenne
With wilde mares, as fast as he may go.
Unthank come on his hond that bond him so,
And he that better shuld have knit the rein."
"Alas!" quod John, "Alein, for Christes pein
Lay doun thy swerd, and I shal min alswa.
I is ful wight, God wate, as is a ra.
By Goddes saule he shal not scape us bathe.
Why ne had thou put the capel in the lathe ?
Ill haile, Alein, by God thou is a fonne."

These sely clerkes han ful fast yronne
Toward the fen, bothe Alein and eke John:
And whan the miller saw that they were gon,
He half a bushel of hir flour hath take,
And bad his wif go knede it in a cake.
He sayd; "I trow, the clerkes were aferde.
Yet can a miller make a clerkes berde,
For all his art. Ye, let hem gon hir way.
Lo wher they gon. Ye, let the children play:
They get him not so lightly by my croun."

These sely clerkes rennen up and doun
With "Kepe, kepe; stand, stand; jossa, warderere.
Ga whistle thou, and I shal kepe him here."
But shortly, til that it was veray night
They coude not, though they did all hir might,
Hir capel catch, he ran alway so fast:
Til in a diche they caught him at the lust.

Wery and wet, as bestes in the rain,
Cometh sely John, and with him cometh Alein.
Alas," quod John, "the day that I was borne !
Now are we driven til hething and til scorne.
Our corn is stolne, men wol us fonnes calle,
Both the wardein, and eke our felawes alle,
And namely the miller, wala wa!"

Thus plaineth John, as he goth by the way
Toward the mille, and bayard in his hond.
The miller sitting by the fire he fond,
For it was night, and forther might they nought,
But for the love of God they him besought
Of herberwe and of ese, as for hir peny.

The miller saide agen, "If ther be any,
Swiche as it is, yet shull ye have your part.
Myn hous is streit, but ye have lerned art;
Ye can by arguments maken a place
A mile brode, of twenty foot of space.
Let see now if this place may suffice,
Or make it roume with speche, as is your gise."
"Now, Simond," said this John, "by Seint Cuthberd
Ay is thou mery, and that is faire answerd.
I have herd say, man sal take of twa thinges,
Slike as he findes, or slike as he bringes.
But specially I pray thee, hoste dere,

Gar us have mete and drinke, and make us chere,
And we sal paien trewely at the full:
With empty hand, men may na haukes tull.
Lo here our silver redy for to spend."

This miller to the toun his doughter send
For ale and bred, and rosted hem a goos,
And bond hir hors, he shuld no more go loos:
And in his owen chambre hem mad a hedde,
With shetes and with chalons faire yspredde,
VOL. I.

Nat from his owen bed ten foot or twelve:
His doughter had a bed all by hireselve,
Right in the same chambre by and by:
It mighte be no bet, and cause why,
Ther was no roumer herberwe in the place.
They soupen, and they speken of solace,
And drinken ever strong ale at the best.
Abouten midnight wente they to rest.

Wel hath this miller vernished his hed.
Ful pale he was, for-dronken, and nought red.
He yoxeth, and he speketh thurgh the nose,
As he were on the quakke, or on the pose.
To bed he goth, and with him goth his wif:
As any jay she light was and jolif,
So was hire joly whistle wel ywette.
The cradel at hire beddes feet was sette,
To rocken, and to yeve the child to souke,
And whan that dronken was all in the crouke
To bedde went the doughter right anon,
To bedde goth Alein, and also John.
Ther n'as no more; nedeth hem no dwale.
This miller hath so wisly bibbed ale,
That as an hors he snorteth in his slepe,
Ne of his tail behind he toke no kepe.
His wif bare him a burdon a ful strong;
Men might hir routing heren a furlong.
The wenche routeth eke par compagnie.

Alein the clerk that herd this melodie, He poketh John, and sayde: "Slepest thou? Herdest thou ever slike a song er now? Lo whilke a complin is ymell hem alle. A wilde fire upon hir bodies falle, Wha herkned ever slike a ferly thing? Ye, they shall have the flour of yvel ending. This lange night ther tides me no reste. But yet na force, all shal be for the beste. For, John," sayd he, "as ever mote I thrive, If that I may, yon wenche wol I swive. Some esement has lawe yshapen us. For, John, ther is a lawe that saieth thus, That if a man in o point be agreved, That in another he shal be releved. Our corn is stolne, sothly it is na nay, And we han had an yvel fit to-day. And sin I shal have nan amendement Again my losse, I wol have an esement: By Godde's saule, it shal nan other be."

This John answered; "Alein, avise thee:
The miller is a perilous man," he sayde.
"And if that he out of his slepe abraide,
He mighte don us bathe a vilanie."

Alein answered; "I count him nat a flie."
And up he rist, and by the wenche he crept.
This wenche lay upright, and faste slept,
Til he so nigh was, er she might espie,
That it bad ben to late for to crie:
And shortly for to say, they were at on.
Now play, Alein, for I wol speke of John.

This John lith still a furlong way or two,
And to himself he maketh routh and wo.
"Alas!" quod he, "this is a wicked jape;
Now may I say, that I is but an ape.
Yet has my felaw somwhat for his harme;
He has the miller's doughter in his arme:
He auntred him, and hath his nedes spedde,
And I lie as a draf-sak in my bedde;
And whan this jape is tald another day,
I shal be halden a daffe or a cokenay:
I wol arise, and auntre it by my fay:
Unhardy is unsely, thus men say."

D

Englische

Se

Univervint

*

And up he rose, and softely he went Unto the cradel, and in his hand it hent, And bare it soft unto his beddes fete. Sone after this the wif hire routing lete, And gan awake, and went hire out to pisse, And came again, and gan the cradel misse, And groped here and ther, but she fond non. "Alas!" quod she, "I had almost misgon. I had almost gon to the clerkes bedde. Ey benedicite, than had I foule yspedde.' And forth she goth, til she the cradel fond. She gropeth alway forther with hire hond, And fond the bed, and thoughte nat but good, Because that the cradel by it stood, And n'iste wher she was, for it was derk, But faire and wel she crept in by the clerk, And lith ful still, and wold han caught a slepe. Within a while this John the clerk up lepe, And on this goode wif he laieth on sore; So mery a fit ne had she nat ful yore. He priketh hard and depe, as he were mad. This joly lif han these two clerkes lad, Til that the thridde cok began to sing. Alein wex werie in the morwening,

For he had swonken all the longe night,

go farewele:

And sayd; "Farewel, Malkin, my swete wight.
The day is come, I may no longer bide,
But evermo, wher so I go or ride,
I is thin awen clerk, so have I hele."
"Now, dere lemman," quoth she, "
But or thou go, o thing I wol thee tell.
Whan that thou wendest homeward by the mell,
Right at the entree of the dore behind
Thou shalt a cake of half a bushel find,
That was ymaked of thin owen mele,
Which that I halpe my fader for to stele.
And goode lemman, God thee save and kepe."
And with that word she gan almost to wepe.
Alein uprist and thought, er that it daw
I wol go crepen in by my felaw:
And fond the cradel at his hand anon.

By God," thought he, "all wrang I have misgon:
My hed is tottie of my swink to night,
That maketh me that I go nat aright.
I wot wel by the cradel I have misgo;
Here lith the miller and his wif also.
And forth he goth a twenty divel way
Unto the bed, ther as the miller lay.
He wend have cropen by his felaw John,
And by the miller in he crept anon,

And caught him by the nekke, and gan him shake,
And sayd; "Thou John, thou swineshed, awake
For Cristes saule, and here a noble game:
For by that lord that called is Seint Jame,
As I have thries as in this short night
Swived the millers dougnter bolt-upright,
While thou hast as a coward ben agast."
"Ye, false harlot," quod the miller, "hast?
A false traitour, false clerk," quod he,
"Thou shalt be ded by Godde's dignitee,
Who dorste be so bold to disparage
My doughter, that is come of swiche linage.
And by the throte-bolle he caught Alein,
And he him hent despitously again,
And on the nose be smote him with his fist;
Doun ran the blody streme upon his brest:
And in the flore with nose and mouth to-brok
They walwe, as don two pigges in a poke.
And up they gon, and doun again anon,
Til that the miller sporned at a ston,

Awake, Simond, the fend is on me fall;

Myn herte is broken; helpe; I n'am but ded;
Ther lith on up my wombe, and up myn hed.
Helpe, Simkin, for the false clerkes fight."
This John stert up as fast as ever he might,
And graspeth by the walles to and fro
To find a staf, and she stert up also,
And knew the estres bet than did this John,
And by the wall she toke a staf anon:
And saw a litel shemering of a light,
For at an hole in shone the Mone bright,
And by that light she saw hem bothe two,
But sikerly she n'iste who was who,
But as she saw a white thing in hire eye.
And whan she gan this white thing espie,
She wend the clerk had wered a volupere;
And with the staf she drow ay nere and nere,
And wend han hit this Alein atte full,
And smote the miller on the pilled skull,
That doun he goth, and cried, "Harrow! I die."
Thise clerkes bete him wel, and let him lie,
And greithen hem, and take hir hors anon,
And eke hir mele, and on hir way they gon:
And at the mille dore eke they toke hir cake
Of half a bushel flour, ful wel ybake.

Thus is the proude miller wel ybete,
And hath ylost the grinding of the whete,
And paied for the souper every del
Of Alein and of John, that bete him wel;
His wif is swived, and his doughter als;
Lo, swiche it is a miller to be fals.
And therfore this proverbe is sayd ful soth,
Him thar not winnen wel that evil doth;
A gilour shal himself begiled be:
And God that siteth bie in magestee
Save all this compagnie, gret and smale.
Thus have I quit the miller in my tale.

THE COKE'S PROLOGUE.

THE Coke of London, while the Reve spake,
For joye (him thought) he clawed him on the bak:
"A ha," quod he, "for Cristes passion,
This miller had a sharpe conclusion,
Upon this argument of herbergage.
Wel sayde Salomon in his langage,
Ne bring not every man into thin hous,
For herberwing by night is perilous.
Wel ought a man avised for to be
Whom that he brought into his privetee.
I prayto God so yeve me sorwe and care,
If ever, sithen I highte Hodge of Ware,
Herd I a miller bet ysette a-werk;
He had a jape of malice in the derk.

"But God forbede that we stinten here,
And therfore if ye vouchen sauf to here
A tale of me that am a poure man,

I wol you tell as wel as ever I can

A litel jape that fell in our citee."

Our Hoste answerd and sayde; "I grant it thee:

Now tell on, Roger, and loke that it be good,
For many, a pastee hast thou letten blood,
And many a Jacke of Dover hast thou sold,
That hath been twies hot and twies cold.
Of many a pilgrim bast thou Cristes curse,
For of thy perselee yet fare they the werse,
That they han eten in thy stoble goos:
For in thy shop goth many a flie loos.
Now tell on, gentil Roger by thy name,
But yet I pray thee be not wroth for game;
A man may say ful soth in game and play."
"Thou sayst ful soth," quod Roger, "by my fay;
But soth play quade spel, as the Fleming saith:
And therfore, Herry Bailly, by thy faith,
Be thou not wroth, or we departen here,
Though that my tale be of an hostelere.
But natheles, I wol not telle it yet,
But er we part, ywis thou shalt be quit."
And therwithal he lough and made chere,
And sayd his tale, as ye shul after here.

It is wel lasse liarm to let him pace,
Than he shende all the servants in the place.
Therfore his maister yaf him a quitance,
And bad him go, with sorwe and with meschance.
And thus this joly prentis had his leve:
Now let him riot all the night or leve.

And for ther n'is no thefe without a louke,
That helpeth him to wasten and to souke
Of that he briben can, or borwe may,
Anon he sent his bed and his array
Unto a compere of his owen sort,
That loved dis, and riot, and disport;
And had a wif, that held for contenance
A shoppe, and swived for hire sustenance.

THE COKE'S TALE.

A PRENTIS whilom dwelt in our citee,
And of a craft of vitaillers was he:
Gaillard he was, as goldfinch in the shawe,
Broune as a bery, a propre short felawe:
With lokkes blake, kembed ful fetisly.
Dancen he coude so wel and jolily,
That he was cleped Perkin Revelour.
He was as ful of love and paramour,
As is the hive ful of hony swete;

Wel was the wenche with him mighte mete.
At every bridale would he sing and hoppe;
He loved bet the taverne than the shoppe.
For whan ther any riding was in Chepe,
Out of the shoppe thider wold he lepe,
And til that he had all the sight ysein,
And danced wel, he wold not come agein;
And gadred him a meinie of his sort,

To hoppe and sing, and maken swiche disport:
And ther they setten steven for to mete
To plaien at the dis in swiche a strete.
For in the toun ne was ther no prentis,
Thau fairer coude caste a pair of dis
Than Perkin coude, and therto he was fre
Of his dispence, in place of privetee.
That fond his maister wel in his chaffare,
For often time he fond his box ful bare.
For sothly, a prentis, a revelour,
That hanteth dis, riot and paramour,
His maister shal it in his shoppe abie,
Al have he no part of the minstralcie.
For theft and riot they ben convertible,
Al can they play on giterne or ribible.
Revel and trouth, as in a low degree,
They ben ful wroth all day, as men may see.
This joly prentis with his maister abode,
Til he was neigh out of his prentishode,
Al were he snibbed bothe erly and late,
And somtime lad with revel to Newgate.
But at the last his maister him bethought
Upon a day, whan he his paper sought,
Of a proverbe, that saith this same word;
Wel bet is roten appel out of hord,
Than that it rote alle the remenant:
So fareth it by a riotous servant;

THE

MAN OF LAWES PROLOGUE.

OUR Hoste saw wel, that the brighte Sonne
The ark of his artificial day had ronne
The fourthe part, and half an houre and more;
And though he were not depe expert in lore,
He wiste it was the eighte and twenty day
Of April, that is messager to May;
And saw wel that the shadow of every tree
Was as in lengthe of the same quantitee
That was the body erect, that caused it;
And therfore by the shadow he toke his wit,
That Phebus, which that shone so clere and bright,
Degrees was five and fourty clombe on hight;
And for that day, as in that latitude,

It was ten of the clok, he gan conclude;
And sodenly he plight his hors aboute.

"Lordings," quod he, " I warne you all this route,
The fourthe partie of this day is gon.
Now for the love of God and of Seint John
Leseth no time, as ferforth as ye may.
Lordings, the time it wasteth night and day,
And steleth from us, what prively sleping,
And what thurgh negligence in our waking,
As doth the streme, that turneth never again,
Descending fro the montagne into a plain.
Wel can Senek and many a philosophre
Bewailen time, more than gold in coffre.
'For losse of catel may recovered be,
But losse of time shendeth us,' quod he.
It wol not come again withouten drede,
No more than wol Malkins maidenhede,
Whan she hath lost it in hire wantonnesse.
Let us not moulen thus in idlenesse.

"Sire man of Lawe," quod he, "so have ye blis,
Tell us a tale anon, as forword is.
Ye ben submitted thurgh your free assent
To stonde in this cas at my jugement.
Acquiteth you now, and holdeth your behest;
Than have ye don your devoir at the lest."

"Hoste," quod he, " de par dieux jeo assente,
To breken forword is not min entente.
Behest is dette, and I wold hold it fayn
All my behest, I can no better sayn.

For swiche lawe as man yeveth another wight,
He shuld himselven usen it by right.
Thus wol our text: but natheles certain
I can right now no thrifty tale sain,

But Chaucer (though he can but lewedly
On metres and on riming craftily)