285

But casuelly2 the shippes botme rente,
And ship and man under the water wente
In sighte of othere shippes it byside,
That with hem seyled at the same tyde.
And therfor, faire Pertelote so dere,
By swiche ensamples olde maistow3 lere1
That no man sholde been to recchelees5
Of dremes, for I sey thee, doutelees,
That many a dreem ful sore is for to drede.

Lo, in the lyf of seint Kenelm, I rede, 290 That was Kenulphus sone, the noble king Of Mercenrike, how Kenelm mette a thing;

A lyte er he was mordred, on a day,
His mordre in his avisioun he say.8
His norice him expouned every del

295

His sweven, and bad him for to kepe him wel

For10 traisoun; but he nas but seven yeer old,

And therfore litel tale11 hath he told12

Of any dreem, so holy was his herte.
By god, I hadde lever13 than my sherte 300
That ye had rad his legende, as have I.
Dame Pertelote, I sey yow trewely,
Macrobeus, that writ the avisioun
In Affrike of the worthy Cipioun,
Affermeth dremes, and seith that they
been

305

325

Lo Cresus, which that was of Lyde1 king, Mette he nat that he sat upon a tree, Which signified he sholde anhanged be?320 Lo heer Andromacha, Ectores wyf, That day that Ector sholde lese18 his lyf, She dremed on the same night biforn, How that the lyf of Ector sholde be lorn,19 If thilke day he wente in-to bataille; She warned him, but it mighte nat availle; He wente for to fighte nathelees, But he was slayn anoon of Achilles. But thilke tale is al to long to telle, And eek it is ny20 day, I may nat dwelle. 330 Shortly I seye, as for conclusioun, That I shal han of this avisioun Adversitee; and I seye forther-more, That I ne telle of laxatyves no store, For they ben venimous, I woot it wel; 335 I hem defye, I love hem never a del.22 Now let us speke of mirthe, and stinte23 al this;

Madame Pertelote, so have I blis, 24

21

And knew by kynde,' and by noon other lore,2

That it was pryme,3 and crew with blisful stevene.1

"The sonne," he sayde, "is clomben up on hevene

Fourty degrees and oon, and more, y-wis.5 Madame Pertelote, my worldes blis, 380 Herkneth thise blisful briddes how they singe,

And see the fresshe floures how they springe;

385

Ful is myn hert of revel and solas."
But sodeinly him fil a sorweful cas;6
For ever the latter ende of Ioye is wo.
God woot that worldly Ioye is sone ago;7
And if a rethors coude faire endyte,
He in a chronique saufly mighte it write,
As for a sovereyn notabilitee.10

Now every wys man, lat him herkne me;
This storie is al-so trewe, I undertake, 391
As is the book of Launcelot de Lake,
That wommen holde in ful gret reverence.
Now wol I torne agayn to my sentence.
A col-fox,11 ful of sly iniquitee,
That in the grove hadde woned 12 yeres
three,

11

395

451

For Phisiologus seith sikerly,
How that they singen wel and merily.
And so bifel, that as he caste his yë,
Among the wortes,3 on a boterflye,
He was war of this fox that lay ful lowe.455
No-thing ne liste him thanne for to crowe,
But cryde anon, "cok, cok," and up he
sterte,

As man that was affrayed in his herte.
For naturelly a beest desyreth flee
Fro his contrarie, if he may it see,
Though he never erst1 had seyn it with his
yë.

460

This Chauntecleer, whan he gan him

espye,

He wolde han fled, but that the fox anon Seyde, "Gentil sire, allas! wher wol ye gon?

Be ye affrayed of me that am your freend?
Now certes, I were worse than a feend, 466
If I to yow wolde harm or vileinye.
I am nat come your counseil5 for tespye;6
But trewely, the cause of my cominge
Was only for to herkne how that ye singe.
For trewely ye have as mery a stevene,7 471
As eny aungel hath, that is in hevene;
Therwith ye han in musik more felinge
Than hadde Boece, or any that can singe.
My lord your fader (god his soule blesse!)
And eek your moder, of hir gentilesse, 476
Han in myn hous y-been, to my gret ese,8
And certes, sire, ful fayn wolde I yow plese.
But for men speke of singing, I wol saye,
So mote I brouke wel myn eyen10 tweye,480
Save yow, I herde never man so singe,
As dide your fader in the morweninge;
Certes, it was of herte, al that he song.
And for to make his voys the more strong,
He wolde so peyne him," that with both
his yën 10

10

485

490

And stonden on his tiptoon13 therwithal,
And strecche forth his nekke long and smal.
And eek he was of swich discrecioun,
That ther nas no man in no regioun
That him in song or wisdom mighte passe.
I have weel rad in daun Burnel the Asse,
Among his vers, how that ther was a cok,
For that a preestes sone yaf him a knok
Upon his leg, whyl he was yong and nyce,
He made him for to lese14 his benefyce. 496
But certeyn, ther nis no comparisoun
Bitwix the wisdom and discrecioun
Of youre fader, and of his subtiltee.
Now singeth, sire, for seinte15 charitee, 500
Let see, conne ye your fader countre-
fete?"16

This Chauntecleer his winges gan to bete,17
As man that coude his tresoun nat espye,
So was he ravisshed with his flaterye.

Allas! ye lordes, many a fals flatour18505 Is in your courtes, and many a losengeour, 19

That plesen yow wel more, by my feith, Than he that soothfastnesse20 unto yow seith.

Redeth Ecclesiaste of flaterye;

Beth21 war,22 ye lordes, of hir trecherye.510 This Chauntecleer stood hye up-on his toos,

Strecching his nekke, and heeld his eyen cloos,

And gan to crowe loude for the nones;
And daun Russel the fox sterte up at

ones,

23

And by the gargat24 hente25 Chauntecleer, And on his bak toward the wode him beer, 26

516

Allas, his wyf ne roghte29 nat of dremes! 520
And on a Friday fil al this meschaunce.
O Venus, that art goddesse of plesaunce,3
Sin that thy servant was this Chauntecleer,
And in thy service dide al his poweer,
More for delyt, than world to multiplye,
Why woldestow31 suffre him on thy day to
dye?

13 tip-toes. 18 flatterer. 22 wary. 26 bore. 29 cared.

14 lose. 19 deceiver. 23 at once. 27 followed. 30 delight.

526

Adam our fader, and his wyf also, Fro Paradys to labour and to wo Were driven for that vyce, it is no drede;29 For whyl that Adam fasted, as I rede, 180 He was in Paradys; and whan that he Eet of the fruyt defended30 on the tree, Anon he was out-cast to wo and peyne. O glotonye, on thee wel oghte us pleyne!31 O, wiste a man how many maladyes 185 Folwen of excesse and of glotonyes, He wolde been the more mesurable32 Of his diete, sittinge at his table. Allas! the shorte throte, the tendre mouth, Maketh that, Est and West, and North

4 prosper. 8 prattles.

11 for.
14 gambling.

17 tear in pieces.

24 Seneca.