The Sompnour’s Tale
The Prologue
The Sompnour in his stirrups high he stood,
Upon this Friar his heartë was so wood,2252
That like an aspen leaf he quoke2253 for ire:
“Lordings,” quoth he, “but one thing I desire;
I you beseech, that of your courtesy,
Since ye have heard this falsë Friar lie,
As suffer me I may my talë tell.
This Friar boasteth that he knoweth hell,
And, God it wot, that is but little wonder,
Friars and fiends be but little asunder.
For, pardie, ye have often time heard tell,
How that a friar ravish’d was to hell
In spirit onës by a visioún,
And, as an angel led him up and down,
To shew him all the painës that there were,
In all the place saw he not a frere;
Of other folk he saw enough in woe.
Unto the angel spake the friar tho;2254
‘Now, Sir,’ quoth he, ‘have friars such a grace,
That none of them shall come into this place?’
‘Yes’ quoth the angel; ‘many a millioún:’
And unto Satanas he led him down.
‘And now hath Satanas,’ said he, ‘a tail
Broader than of a carrack2255 is the sail.
Hold up thy tail, thou Satanas,’ quoth he,
‘Shew forth thine erse, and let the friar see
Where is the nest of friars in this place.’
And less than half a furlong way of space,2256
Right so as bees swarmen out of a hive,
Out of the devil’s erse there gan to drive
A twenty thousand friars on a rout.2257
And throughout hell they swarmed all about,
And came again, as fast as they may gon,
And in his erse they creeped every one:
He clapt his tail again, and lay full still.
This friar, when he looked had his fill
Upon the torments of that sorry place,
His spirit God restored of his grace
Into his body again, and he awoke;
But natheless for fearë yet he quoke,
So was the devil’s erse aye in his mind;
That is his heritage, of very kind.2258
God save you allë, save this cursed Frere;
My prologue will I end in this mannére.
The Tale
Lordings, there is in Yorkshire, as I guess,
A marshy country callëd Holderness,
In which there went a limitour about
To preach, and eke to beg, it is no doubt.
And so befell that on a day this frere
Had preached at a church in his mannére,
And speciálly, above every thing,
Excited he the people in his preaching
To trentals,2259 and to give, for Goddë’s sake,
Wherewith men mightë holy houses make,
There as divinë service is honoúr’d,
Not there as it is wasted and devoúr’d,
Nor where it needeth not for to be given,
As to possessioners,2260 that may liven,
Thanked be God, in wealth and abundánce.
“Trentals,” said he, “deliver from penánce
Their friendës’ soulës, as well old as young,
Yea, when that they be hastily y-sung—
Not for to hold a priest jolly and gay,
He singeth not but one mass in a day.
Deliver out,” quoth he, “anon the souls.
Full hard it is, with flesh-hook or with owls
To be y-clawed, or to burn or bake:2261
Now speed you hastily, for Christë’s sake.”
And when this friar had said all his intent,
With qui cum patre2262 forth his way he went,
When folk in church had giv’n him what them lest;2263
He went his way, no longer would he rest,
With scrip and tipped staff, y-tucked high:2264
In every house he gan to pore2265 and pry,
And begged meal and cheese, or ellës corn.
His fellow had a staff tipped with horn,
A pair of tables2266 all of ivory,
And a pointel2267 y-polish’d fetisly,2268
And wrote alway the namës, as he stood,
Of all the folk that gave them any good,
Askauncë2269 that he wouldë for them pray.
“Give us a bushel wheat, or malt, or rey,2270
A Goddë’s kichel,2271 or a trip2272 of cheese,
Or ellës what you list, we may not chese;2273
A Goddë’s halfpenny, or a mass penny;
Or give us of your brawn, if ye have any;
A dagon2274 of your blanket, levë dame,
Our sister dear—lo, here I write your name—
Bacon or beef, or such thing as ye find.”
A sturdy harlot2275 went them aye behind,
That was their hostë’s man, and bare a sack,
And what men gave them, laid it on his back.
And when that he was out at door, anon
He planed away the namës every one,
That he before had written in his tables:
He served them with nifles2276 and with fables.—
“Nay, there thou liest, thou Sompnour,” quoth the Frere.
“Peace,” quoth our Host, “for Christë’s mother dear;
Tell forth thy tale, and spare it not at all.”
“So thrive I,” quoth this Sompnour, “so I shall.”—
So long he went from house to house, till he
Came to a house, where he was wont to be
Refreshed more than in a hundred places.
Sick lay the husband man, whose that the place is,
Bedrid upon a couchë low he lay:
“Deus hic,”2277 quoth he; “O Thomas friend, good day,”
Said this friár, all courteously and soft.
“Thomas,” quoth he, “God yield it you,2278 full oft
Have I upon this bench fared full well,
Here have I eaten many a merry meal.”
And from the bench he drove away the cat,
And laid adown his potent2279 and his hat,
And eke his scrip, and sat himself adown:
His fellow was y-walked into town
Forth with his knave,2280 into that hostelry
Where as he shopë2281 him that night to lie.
“O dearë master,” quoth this sickë man,
“How have ye fared since that March began?
I saw you not this fortënight and more.”
“God wot,” quoth he, “laboúr’d have I full sore;
And specially for thy salvatión
Have I said many a precious orison,
And for mine other friendës, God them bless.
I have this day been at your church at mess,2282
And said sermón after my simple wit,
Not all after the text of Holy Writ;
For it is hard to you, as I suppose,
And therefore will I teach you aye the glose.2283
Glosing is a full glorious thing certáin,
For letter slayeth, as we clerkës2284 sayn.
There have I taught them to be charitable,
And spend their good where it is reasonable.
And there I saw our damë; where is she?”
“Yonder I trow that in the yard she be,”
Saidë this man; “and she will come anon.”
“Hey master, welcome be ye by Saint John,”
Saidë this wife; “how fare ye heartily?”
This friar riseth up full courteously,
And her embraceth in his armës narrow,2285
And kiss’th her sweet, and chirketh as a sparrow
With his lippës: “Damë,” quoth he, “right well,
As he that is your servant every deal.2286
Thanked be God, that gave you soul and life,
Yet saw I not this day so fair a wife
In all the churchë, God so savë me,”
“Yea, God amend defaultës, Sir,” quoth she;
“Algatës2287 welcome be ye, by my fay.”
“Grand mercy, Dame; that have I found alway.
But of your greatë goodness, by your leave,
I wouldë pray you that ye not you grieve,
I will with Thomas speak a little throw:2288
These curates be so negligent and slow
To gropë tenderly a conscience.
In shrift2289 and preaching is my diligence
And study in Peter’s wordës and in Paul’s;
I walk and fishë Christian mennë’s souls,
To yield our Lord Jesus his proper rent;
To spread his word is allë mine intent.”
“Now by your faith, O dearë Sir,” quoth she,
“Chide him right well, for saintë charity.
He is aye angry as is a pismire,
Though that he have all that he can desire,
Though I him wrie2290 at night, and make him warm,
And ov’r him lay my leg and eke mine arm,
He groaneth as our boar that lies in sty:
Other disport of him right none have I,
I may not please him in no manner case.”2291
“O Thomas, je vous dis, Thomas, Thomas,
This maketh the fiend,2292 this must be amended.
Ire is a thing that high God hath defended,2293
And thereof will I speak a word or two.”
“Now, master,” quoth the wife, “ere that I go,
What will ye dine? I will go thereabout.”
“Now, Damë,” quoth he, “je vous dis sans doute,
Had I not of a capon but the liver,
And of your whitë bread not but a shiver,2294
And after that a roasted piggë’s head,
(But I would that for me no beast were dead,)
Then had I with you homely suffisánce.
I am a man of little sustenánce.
My spirit hath its fost’ring in the Bible.
My body is aye so ready and penible2295
To wakë,2296 that my stomach is destroy’d.
I pray you, Dame, that ye be not annoy’d,
Though I so friendly you my counsel shew;
By God, I would have told it but to few.”
“Now, Sir,” quoth she, “but one word ere I go;
My child is dead within these weekës two,
Soon after that ye went out of this town.”
“His death saw I by revelatioún,”
Said this friar, “at home in our dortour.2297
I dare well say, that less than half an hour
After his death, I saw him borne to bliss
In minë vision, so God me wiss.2298
So did our sexton, and our fermerere,2299
That have been truë friars fifty year—
They may now, God be thanked of his love,
Makë their jubilee, and walk above.2300
And up I rose, and all our convent eke,
With many a tearë trilling on my cheek,
Withoutë noise or clattering of bells,
“Te Deum” was our song, and nothing else,
Save that to Christ I bade an orison,
Thanking him of my revelatión.
For, Sir and Damë, trustë me right well,
Our orisons be more effectuel,
And more we see of Christë’s secret things,
Than borel folk,2301 although that they be kings.
We live in povert’, and in abstinence,
And borel folk in riches and dispence
Of meat and drink, and in their foul delight.
We have this worldë’s lust2302 all in despight2303
Lazar and Dives lived diversely,
And diverse guerdon haddë they thereby.
Whoso will pray, he must fast and be clean,
And fat his soul, and keep his body lean.
We fare as saith th’ apostle; cloth2304 and food
Suffice us, although they be not full good.
The cleanness and the fasting of us freres
Maketh that Christ accepteth our prayéres.
Lo, Moses forty days and forty night
Fasted, ere that the high God full of might
Spake with him in the mountain of Sinái:
With empty womb of fasting many a day
Received he the lawë, that was writ
With Goddë’s finger; and Eli,2305 well ye wit,2306
In Mount Horeb, ere he had any speech
With highë God, that is our livës’ leech,2307
He fasted long, and was in contemplánce.
Aaron, that had the temple in governánce,
And eke the other priestës every one,
Into the temple when they shouldë gon
To prayë for the people, and do service,
They wouldë drinken in no manner wise
No drinkë, which that might them drunken make,
But there in abstinencë pray and wake,2308
Lest that they diëd: take heed what I say—
But2309 they be sober that for the people pray—
Ware that, I say—no more: for it sufficeth.
Our Lord Jesus, as Holy Writ deviseth,2310
Gave us example of fasting and prayéres:
Therefore we mendicants, we sely2311 freres,
Be wedded to povert’ and continence,
To charity, humbless, and abstinence,
To persecutión for righteousness,
To weeping, misericorde,2312 and to cleannéss.
And therefore may ye see that our prayéres
(I speak of us, we mendicants, we freres),
Be to the highë God more acceptable
Than yourës, with your feastës at your table.
From Paradise first, if I shall not lie,
Was man out chased for his gluttony,
And chaste was man in Paradise certáin.
But hark now, Thomas, what I shall thee sayn;
I have no text of it, as I suppose,
But I shall find it in a manner glose;2313
That speciálly our sweet Lord Jesus
Spake this of friars, when he saidë thus,
‘Blessed be they that poor in spirit be.’
And so forth all the gospel may ye see,
Whether it be liker our professión,
Or theirs that swimmen in possessión;
Fy on their pomp, and on their gluttony,
And on their lewëdness! I them defy.
Me thinketh they be like Jovinian,2314
Fat as a whale, and walking as a swan;
All vinolent as bottle in the spence;2315
Their prayer is of full great reverence;
When they for soulës say the Psalm of David,
Lo, ‘Buf’ they say, Cor meum eructavit.2316
Who follow Christë’s gospel and his lore2317
But we, that humble be, and chaste, and pore,2318
Workers of Goddë’s word, not auditoúrs?2319
Therefore right as a hawk upon a sours2320
Up springs into the air, right so prayéres
Of charitable and chaste busy freres
Makë their sours to Goddë’s earës two.
Thomas, Thomas, so may I ride or go,
And by that lord that callëd is Saint Ive,
N’ere thou our brother, shouldest thou not thrive;2321
In our chapíter pray we day and night
To Christ, that he thee sendë health and might,
Thy body for to wieldë hastily.”2322
“God wot,” quoth he, “nothing thereof feel I;
So help me Christ, as I in fewë years
Have spended upon divers manner freres2323
Full many a pound, yet fare I ne’er the bet;2324
Certain my good have I almost beset:2325
Farewell my gold, for it is all ago.”2326
The friar answér’d, “O Thomas, dost thou so?
What needest thou diversë friars to seech?2327
What needeth him that hath a perfect leech,
To seeken other leeches in the town?
Your inconstánce is your confusioún.
Hold ye then me, or ellës our convént,
To prayë for you insufficiént?
Thomas, that jape2328 it is not worth a mite;
Your malady is for we have too lite.2329
Ah, give that convent half a quarter oats;
And give that convent four and twenty groats;
And give that friar a penny, and let him go!
Nay, nay, Thomas, it may no thing be so.
What is a farthing worth parted on twelve?
Lo, each thing that is oned2330 in himselve
Is morë strong than when it is y-scatter’d.
Thomas, of me thou shalt not be y-flatter’d,
Thou wouldest have our labour all for nought.
The highë God, that all this world hath wrought,
Saith, that the workman worthy is his hire.
Thomas, nought of your treasure I desire
As for myself, but that all our convént
To pray for you is aye so diligent:
And for to buildë Christë’s owen church.
Thomas, if ye will learnë for to wirch,2331
Of building up of churches may ye find
If it be good, in Thomas’ life of Ind.
Ye lie here full of anger and of ire,
With which the devil sets your heart on fire,
And chidë here this holy innocent
Your wife, that is so meek and patiént.
And therefore trow2332 me, Thomas, if thee lest,2333
Ne strive not with thy wife, as for the best.
And bear this word away now, by thy faith,
Touching such thing, lo, what the wise man saith:
‘Within thy housë be thou no lión;
To thy subjécts do none oppressión;
Nor make thou thine acquaintance for to flee.’
And yet, Thomas, eftsoonës2334 charge I thee,
Beware from ire that in thy bosom sleeps,
Ware from the serpent, that so slily creeps
Under the grass, and stingeth subtilly.
Beware, my son, and hearken patiently,
That twenty thousand men have lost their lives
For striving with their lemans2335 and their wives.
Now since ye have so holy and meek a wife,
What needeth you, Thomas, to makë strife?
There is, y-wis,2336 no serpent so cruél,
When men tread on his tail nor half so fell,2337
As woman is, when she hath caught an ire;
Very2338 vengeánce is then all her desire.
Ire is a sin, one of the greatë seven,2339
Abominable to the God of heaven,
And to himself it is destructión.
This every lewëd2340 vicar and parsón
Can say, how ire engenders homicide;
Ire is in sooth th’ executor2341 of pride.
I could of ire you say so muchë sorrow,
My tale shouldë last until to-morrow.
And therefore pray I God both day and night,
An irous2342 man God send him little might.
It is great harm, and certes great pitý
To set an irous man in high degree.
“Whilom2343 there was an irous potestatë,2344
As saith Senec, that during his estate2345
Upon a day out rodë knightës two;
And, as fortunë would that it were so,
The one of them came home, the other not.
Anon the knight before the judge is brought,
That saidë thus; ‘Thou hast thy fellow slain,
For which I doom thee to the death certáin.’
And to another knight commanded he;
‘Go, lead him to the death, I chargë thee.’
And happened, as they went by the way
Toward the placë where as he should dey,2346
The knight came, which men weened2347 had been dead.
Then thoughtë they it was the bestë rede2348
To lead them both unto the judge again.
They saidë, ‘Lord, the knight hath not y-slain
His fellow; here he standeth whole alive.’
‘Ye shall be dead,’ quoth he, ‘so may I thrive,
That is to say, both one, and two, and three.’
And to the firstë knight right thus spake he:
‘I damned thee, thou must algate2349 be dead:
And thou also must needës lose thine head,
For thou the cause art why thy fellow dieth.’
And to the thirdë knight right thus he sayeth,
‘Thou hast not done that I commanded thee.’
And thus he did do slay them2350 allë three.
Irous Cambyses was eke dronkelew,2351
And aye delighted him to be a shrew.2352
And so befell, a lord of his meinie,2353
That loved virtuous moralitý,
Said on a day betwixt them two right thus:
‘A lord is lost, if he be vicious.
[An irous man is like a frantic beast,
In which there is of wisdom none arrest;]2354
And drunkenness is eke a foul record
Of any man, and namely2355 of a lord.
There is full many an eye and many an ear
Awaiting on2356 a lord, he knows not where.
For Goddë’s love, drink more attemperly:2357
Wine maketh man to losë wretchedly
His mind, and eke his limbës every one.’
‘The réverse shalt thou see,’ quoth he, ‘anon,
And prove it by thine own experience,
That winë doth to folk no such offence.
There is no wine bereaveth me my might
Of hand, nor foot, nor of mine eyen sight.’
And for despite he drankë muchë more
A hundred part2358 than he had done before,
And right anon this cursed irous wretch
This knightë’s sonë let2359 before him fetch,
Commanding him he should before him stand:
And suddenly he took his bow in hand,
And up the string he pulled to his ear,
And with an arrow slew the child right there.
‘Now whether have I a sicker2360 hand or non?’2361
Quoth he; ‘Is all my might and mind agone?
Hath wine bereaved me mine eyen sight?’
Why should I tell the answer of the knight?
His son was slain, there is no more to say.
Beware therefore with lordës how ye play,2362
Sing Placebo;2363 and I shall if I can,
But if2364 it be unto a poorë man:
To a poor man men should his vices tell,
But not t’ a lord, though he should go to hell.
Lo, irous Cyrus, thilkë2365 Persian,
How he destroy’d the river of Gisen,2366
For that a horse of his was drowned therein,
When that he wentë Babylon to win:
He madë that the river was so small,
That women mightë wade it over all.2367
Lo, what said he, that so well teachë can,
‘Be thou no fellow to an irous man,
Nor with no wood2368 man walkë by the way,
Lest thee repent;’ I will no farther say.
“Now, Thomas, levë2369 brother, leave thine ire,
Thou shalt me find as just as is as squire;
Hold not the devil’s knife aye at thine heart;
Thine anger doth thee all too sorë smart;2370
But shew to me all thy confessión.”
“Nay,” quoth the sickë man, “by Saint Simón
I have been shriven2371 this day of my curáte;
I have him told all wholly mine estate.
Needeth no more to speak of it, saith he,
But if me list of mine humility.”
“Give me then of thy good to make our cloister,”
Quoth he, “for many a mussel and many an oyster,
When other men have been full well at ease,
Hath been our food, our cloister for to rese:2372
And yet, God wot, unneth2373 the foundement2374
Performed is, nor of our pavëment
Is not a tilë yet within our wones:2375
By God, we owë forty pound for stones.
Now help, Thomas, for him that harrow’d hell,2376
For ellës must we ourë bookës sell,
And if ye lack our predicatión,
Then goes this world all to destructión.
For whoso from this world would us bereave,
So God me save, Thomas, by your leave,
He would bereave out of this world the sun.
For who can teach and worken as we conne?2377
And that is not of little time (quoth he),
But since Elijah was, and Elisée,2378
Have friars been, that find I of record,
In charity, y-thanked be our Lord.
Now, Thomas, help for saintë charity.”
And down anon he set him on his knee.
The sick man waxed well nigh wood2379 for ire,
He wouldë that the friar had been afire
With his falsë dissimulatión.
“Such thing as is in my possessión,”
Quoth he, “that may I give you and none other:
Ye say me thus, how that I am your brother.”
“Yea, certes,” quoth this friar, “yea, trustë well;
I took our Dame the letter of our seal”2380
“Now well,” quoth he, “and somewhat shall I give
Unto your holy convent while I live;
And in thine hand thou shalt it have anon,
On this conditión, and other none,
That thou depart2381 it so, my dearë brother,
That every friar have as much as other:
This shalt thou swear on thy professión,
Withoutë fraud or cavillatión.”2382
“I swear it,” quoth the friar, “upon my faith.”
And therewithal his hand in his he lay’th;
“Lo here my faith, in me shall be no lack.”
“Then put thine hand adown right by my back,”
Saidë this man, “and gropë well behind,
Beneath my buttock, therë thou shalt find
A thing, that I have hid in privity.”
“Ah,” thought this friar, “that shall go with me.”
And down his hand he launched to the clift,
In hopë for to findë there a gift.
And when this sickë man feltë this frere
About his tailë groping there and here,
Amid his hand he let the friar a fart;
There is no capel2383 drawing in a cart,
That might have let a fart of such a soun’.
The friar up start, as doth a wood2384 lioún:
“Ah, falsë churl,” quoth he, “for Goddë’s bones,
This hast thou in despite done for the nones:2385
Thou shalt abie2386 this fart, if that I may.”
His meinie,2387 which that heard of this affray,
Came leaping in, and chased out the frere,
And forth he went with a full angry cheer2388
And fetch’d his fellow, there as lay his store:
He looked as it were a wildë boar,
And groundë with his teeth, so was he wroth.
A sturdy pace down to the court he go’th,
Where as there wonn’d2389 a man of great honoúr,
To whom that he was always confessoúr:
This worthy man was lord of that villáge.
This friar came, as he were in a rage,
Where as this lord sat eating at his board:
Unnethës2390 might the friar speak one word,
Till at the last he saidë, “God you see.”2391
This lord gan look, and said, “Ben’dicite!
What? Friar John, what manner world is this?
I see well that there something is amiss;
Ye look as though the wood were full of thievës.
Sit down anon, and tell me what your grieve2392 is,
And it shall be amended, if I may.”
“I have,” quoth he, “had a despite to-day,
God yieldë you,2393 adown in your villáge,
That in this world is none so poor a page,
That would not have abominatioún
Of that I have received in your town:
And yet ne grieveth me nothing so sore,
As that the oldë churl, with lookës hoar,
Blasphemed hath our holy convent eke.”
“Now, master,” quoth this lord, “I you beseek”—
“No master, Sir,” quoth he, “but servitoúr,
Though I have had in schoolë that honoúr.
God liketh not, that men us Rabbi call,
Neither in market, nor in your large hall.”
“No force,”2394 quoth he; “but tell me all your grief.”
“Sir,” quoth this friar, “an odious mischíef
This day betid2395 is to mine order and me,
And so par consequence to each degree
Of holy churchë, God amend it soon.”
“Sir,” quoth the lord, “ye know what is to doon:2396
Distemp’r you not,2397 ye be my confessoúr.
Ye be the salt of th’ earth, and the savoúr;
For Goddë’s love your patiénce now hold;
Tell me your grief.” And he anon him told
As ye have heard before, ye know well what.
The lady of the house aye stillë sat,
Till she had heardë what the friar said.
“Hey, Goddë’s mother;” quoth she, “blissful maid,
Is there ought ellës? tell me faithfully.”
“Madame,” quoth he, “how thinketh you thereby?”
“How thinketh me?” quoth she; “so God me speed,
I say, a churl hath done a churlish deed,
What should I say? God let him never thé;2398
His sickë head is full of vanity;
I hold him in a manner phrenesy.”2399
“Madame,” quoth he, “by God, I shall not lie,
But I in other wise may be awreke,2400
I shall defame him ov’r all there2401 I speak;
This falsë blasphemoúr, that charged me
To partë that will not departed be,
To every man alikë, with mischance.”
The lord sat still, as he were in a trance,
And in his heart he rolled up and down,
“How had this churl imaginatioún
To shewë such a problem to the frere.
Never ere now heard I of such mattére;
I trow2402 the Devil put it in his mind.
In all arsmetrik2403 shall there no man find,
Before this day, of such a questión.
Who shouldë make a demonstratión,
That every man should have alike his part
As of the sound and savour of a fart?
O nice2404 proudë churl, I shrew2405 his face.
Lo, Sirës,” quoth the lord, “with hardë grace,2406
Who ever heard of such a thing ere now?
To every man alikë? tell me how.
It is impossible, it may not be.
Hey nicë2407 churl, God let him never thé.2408
The rumbling of a fart, and every soun’,
Is but of air reverberatioún,
And ever wasteth lite and lite2409 away;
There is no man can deemen,2410 by my fay,
If that it were departed2411 equally.
What? lo, my churl, lo yet how shrewedly2412
Unto my confessoúr to-day he spake;
I hold him certain a demoniac.
Now eat your meat, and let the churl go play,
Let him go hang himself a devil way!”
Now stood the lordë’s squiër at the board,
That carv’d his meat, and heardë word by word
Of all this thing, which that I have you said.
“My lord,” quoth he, “be ye not evil paid,2413
I couldë tellë, for a gownë-cloth,2414
To you, Sir Friar, so that ye be not wroth,
How that this fart should even2415 dealed be
Among your convent, if it liked thee.”
“Tell,” quoth the lord, “and thou shalt have anon
A gownë-cloth, by God and by Saint John.”
“My lord,” quoth he, “when that the weather is fair,
Withoutë wind, or perturbíng of air,
Let2416 bring a cart-wheel here into this hall,
But lookë that it have its spokës all;
Twelve spokës hath a cart-wheel commonly;
And bring me then twelve friars, know ye why?
For thirteen is a convent as I guess;2417
Your confessór here, for his worthiness,
Shall perform up2418 the number of his convént.
Then shall they kneel adown by one assent,
And to each spokë’s end, in this mannére,
Full sadly2419 lay his nosë shall a frere;
Your noble confessór there, God him save,
Shall hold his nose upright under the nave.
Then shall this churl, with belly stiff and tought2420
As any tabour,2421 hither be y-brought;
And set him on the wheel right of this cart
Upon the nave, and make him let a fart,
And ye shall see, on peril of my life,
By very proof that is demonstrative,
That equally the sound of it will wend,2422
And eke the stink, unto the spokës’ end,
Save that this worthy man, your confessoúr
(Because he is a man of great honoúr),
Shall have the firstë fruit, as reason is;
The noble uságe of friars yet it is,
The worthy men of them shall first be served,
And certainly he hath it well deserved;
He hath to-day taught us so muchë good
With preaching in the pulpit where he stood,
That I may vouchësafe, I say for me,
He had the firstë smell of fartës three;
And so would all his brethren hardily;
He beareth him so fair and holily.”
The lord, the lady, and each man, save the frere,
Saidë, that Jankin spake in this mattére
As well as Euclid, or as Ptolemy.
Touching the churl, they said that subtilty
And high wit made him speaken as he spake;
He is no fool, nor no demoniac.
And Jankin hath y-won a newë gown;
My tale is done, we are almost at town.