(331)

He wente for to fighte nathelees,
But he was slayn anoon of Achilles.
But thilke tale is al to long to telle, 4339
And eek it is ny day, I may nat dwelle.
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; 4345
I hem defye, I love hem never a del.
Now let us speke of mirthe, and stinte
al this;

Madame Pertelote, so have I blis,
Of o thing god hath sent me large grace;
For whan I see the beautee of your face,
Ye ben so scarlet-reed about your yen,
It maketh al my drede for to dyen; (342)
For, also siker as In principio,
Mulier est hominis confusio;
Madame, the sentence of this Latin is-
Womman is mannes joye and al his blis.
For whan I fele a-night your softe syde,
Al-be-it that I may nat on you ryde,
For that our perche is maad so narwe,
alas!

4354

Royal he was, he was namore aferd; 4366 He fethered Pertelote twenty tyme, And trad as ofte, er that it was pryme. He loketh as it were a grim leoun; 4369 And on his toos he rometh up and doun, Him deyned not to sette his foot to grounde. (361) He chukketh, whan he hath a corn y-founde,

And to him rennen thanne his wyves alle.

Thus royal, as a prince is in his halle, Leve I this Chauntecleer in his pasture; And after wol I telle his aventure. 4376

Whan that the month in which the

That it was pryme, and crew with blisful stevene.

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

Fourty degrees and oon, and more, y-wis.
Madame Pertelote, my worldes blis, 4390
Herkneth thise blisful briddes how they
singe,
(381)
And see the fresshe floures how they
springe;

Ful is myn herte of revel and solas.'
But sodeinly him fil a sorweful cas;
For ever the latter ende of joye is wo. 4395
God woot that worldly joye is sone ago;
And if a rethor coude faire endyte,
He in a cronique saufly mighte it wryte,
As for a sovereyn notabilitee.
4399
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.

4405

A col-fox, ful of sly iniquitee, That in the grove hadde woned yeres three,

By heigh imaginacioun forn-cast,

The same night thurgh-out the hegges brast

Into the yerd, ther Chauntecleer the faire
Was wont, and eek his wyves, to repaire;
And in a bed of wortes stille he lay, (401)
Til it was passed undern of the day,
Wayting his tyme on Chauntecleer to
falle,

As gladly doon thise homicydes alle,
That in awayt liggen to mordre men. 4415
O false mordrer, lurking in thy den!
O newe Scariot, newe Genilon!
False dissimilour, O Greek Sinon,
That broghtest Troye al outrely to sorwe!
O Chauntecleer, acursed be that morwe,
That thou into that yerd flough fro the
bemes!
(411) 4421

Thou were ful wel y-warned by thy dremes,

That thilke day was perilous to thee.
But what that god forwoot mot nedes be,
After the opinioun of certeyn clerkis. 4425
Witnesse on him, that any perfit clerk is,
That in scole is gret altercacioun
In this matere, and greet disputisoun,
And hath ben of an hundred thousand
men.

But I ne can not bulte it to the bren, 4430
As can the holy doctour Augustyn, (421)
Or Boëce, or the bishop Bradwardyn,
Whether that goddes worthy forwiting
Streyneth me nedely for to doon a thing,
(Nedely clepe I simple necessitee);
Or elles, if free choys be graunted me
To do that same thing, or do it noght,
Though god forwoot it, er that it was
wroght;

4435

Or if his witing streyneth nevere a del
But by necessitee condicionel.

4440
I wol not han to do of swich matere; (431)
My tale is of a cok, as ye may here,
That took his counseil of his wyf, with

sorwe,

To walken in the yerd upon that morwe That he had met the dreem, that I yow tolde. 4445 Wommennes counseils been ful ofte colde;

Wommannes counseil broghte us first to

WO,

And made Adam fro paradys to go,

Ther-as he was ful mery, and welat ese.— But for I noot, to whom it mighte displese,

44.50 If I counseil of wommen wolde blame, (441) Passe over, for I seyde it in my game. Rede auctours, wher they trete of swich matere,

And what thay seyn of wommen ye may here.

Thise been the cokkes wordes, and nat myne; 4455

I can noon harm of no womman divyne.— Faire in the sond, to bathe hir merily, Lyth Pertelote, and alle hir sustres by, Agayn the sonne; and Chauntecleer so free

Song merier than the mermayde in the see;

For Phisiologus seith sikerly,

4460

(451)

4464

How that they singen wel and merily.
And so bifel that, as he caste his yë,
Among the wortes, on a boterflye,
He was war of this fox that lay ful lowe.
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, 4470
Though he never erst had seyn it with
his yě.
(461)

This Chauntecleer, whan he gan him

My lord your fader (god his soule blesse !) And eek your moder, of hir gentilesse, Han in myn hous y-been, to my gret ese; And certes, sire, ful fayn wolde I yow plese. 4488 But for men speke of singing, I wol saye, So mote I brouke wel myn eyen tweye, 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 bothe his yen 4495

He moste winke, so loude he wolde cryen, And stonden on his tiptoon ther-with-al, And strecche forth his nekke long and smal.

And eek he was of swich discrecioun, That ther nas no man in no regioun 4500 That him in song or wisdom mighte passe. (491)

I have wel 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,

4505

He made him for to lese his benefyce.
But certeyn, ther nis no comparisoun
Bitwix the wisdom and discrecioun
Of youre fader, and of his subtiltee. (499)
Now singeth, sire, for seinte Charitee, 4510
Let see, conne ye your fader countrefete?'
This Chauntecleer his winges gan to bete,
As man that coude his tresoun nat espye,
So was he ravisshed with his flaterye.

Allas! ye lordes, many a fals flatour
Is in your courtes, and many a losengeour,
That plesen yow wel more, by my feith,
Than he that soothfastnesse unto yow
seith.

Redeth Ecclesiaste of flaterye ;

Beth war, ye lordes, of hir trecherye. 4520 This Chauntecleer stood hye up-on his toos,

(511) eyen

Strecching his nekke, and heeld his cloos, And gan to crowe loude for the nones; And daun Russel the fox sterte up at ones, 4524

And by the gargat hente Chauntecleer, And on his bak toward the wode him beer,

Certes, swich cry ne lamentacioun 4545 Was never of ladies maad, whan Ilioun Was wonne, and Pirrus with his streite swerd,

Whan he hadde hent king Priam by the berd,

And slayn him (as saith us Eneydos), As maden alle the hennes in the clos, 4550 Whan they had seyn of Chauntecleer the sighte. (541)

But sovereynly dame Pertelote shrighte,
Ful louder than dide Hasdrubales wyf,
Whan that hir housbond hadde lost his lyf,
And that the Romayns hadde brend
Cartage;
4555

She was so ful of torment and of rage,
That wilfully into the fyr she sterte,
And brende hir-selven with a stedfast
herte.

O woful hennes, right so cryden ye,
As, whan that Nero brende the citee 4560
Of Rome, cryden senatoures wyves, (551)
For that hir housbondes losten alle hir

lyves;

4565

Withouten gilt this Nero hath hem slayn. Now wol I torne to my tale agayn:This sely widwe, and eek hir doghtres two, Herden thise hennes crye and maken wo, And out at dores sterten they anoon, And syen the fox toward the grove goon, And bar upon his bak the cok away; And cryden, Out! harrow! and weylaway! 4570 Ha, ha, the fox!' and after him they ran, (561)

And eek with staves many another man; Ran Colle our dogge, and Talbot, and Gerland,

And Malkin, with a distaf in hir hand; Ran cow and calf, and eek the verray hogges

4575 So were they fered for berking of the dogges

And shouting of the men and wimmen eke,

They ronne so, hem thoughte hir herte breke.

They yelleden as feendes doon in helle;
The dokes cryden as men wolde hem
quelle ;
(571) 4580
The gees for fere flowen over the trees;
Out of the hyve cam the swarm of bees;
So hidous was the noyse, a! benedicite!
Certes, he Jakke Straw, and his meynee,
Ne made never shoutes half so shrille, 4585
Whan that they wolden any Fleming

kille,

As thilke day was maad upon the fox.
Of bras thay broghten bemes, and of box,
Of horn, of boon, in whiche they blewe
and pouped,

And therwithal thay shryked and they houped;

4590 It semed as that heven sholde falle. (581) Now, gode men, I pray yow herkneth alle! Lo, how fortune turneth sodeinly The hope and pryde eek of hir enemy! This cok, that lay upon the foxes bak, 4595 In al his drede, un-to the fox he spak, And seyde, sire, if that I were as ye, Yet sholde I seyn (as wis god helpe me), Turneth agayn, yo proude cherles alle!

I wol him ete in feith, and that anon.'The fox answerde, 'in feith, it shal be don,'

And as he spak that word, al sodeinly 4605 This cok brak from his mouth deliverly, And heighe up-on a tree he fleigh anon. And whan the fox saugh that he was y-gon,

'Allas!' quod he, ' O Chauntecleer, allas! I have to yow,' quod he, 'y-doon trespas, In-as-muche as maked yow aferd, (601) Whan I yow hente, and broghte out of the yerd;

But, sire, I dide it in no wikke entente; Com doun, and I shal telle yow what I mente.

I shal seye sooth to yow, god help me so." 'Nay than,' quod he, 'I shrewe us bothe two,

4616

THER was, as telleth Titus Livius,
A knight that called was Virginius,
Fulfild of honour and of worthinesse,
And strong of freendes and of greet
richesse.
[T. 11938
This knight a doghter hadde by his wyf,
No children hadde he mo in al his lyf. 6
Fair was this mayde in excellent beautee
Aboven every wight that man may see;
For nature hath with sovereyn diligence
Y-formed hir in so greet excellence,
As though she wolde seyn, 'lo! I, Nature,
Thus can I forme and peynte a creature,
Whan that me list; who can me countre-
fete?

10

Pigmalion noght, though he ay forge and bete,