And sette him on the whele of this cart
Upon the nave, and make him lete a fart,
And ye schul seen, up peril of my lif,
By verray proef that is demonstratif,
That equally the soun of it wol wende,
And eek the stynk, unto the spokes ende;
Save that this worthy man, your confessour,
(Bycause he is a man of gret honour)
Schal have the firste fruyt, as resoun is.
The noble usage of freres is this,

The worthy men of hem first schal be served.
And certeynly he hath it wel deserved;
He hath to day taught us so mochil good,
With preching in the pulpit ther he stood,
That I may vouchesauf, I say for me,
He hadde the firste smel of fartes thre;
And so wold al his covent hardily,

He berith him so fair and holily.'

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The lord, the lady, and ech man, sauf the frere,
Sayde that Jankyn spak in this matiere
As wel as Euclide, or elles Phtolomé.
Touchand the cherl, thay sayde that subtilté
And high wyt made him speken as he spak;
He nas no fool, ne no demoniak.

And Jankyn hath i-wonne a newe goune;
My tale is don, we ben almost at toune.

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THE CLERK OF OXENFORDES PROLOGE.

IR Clerk of Oxenford,' our hoste sayde, 'Ye ryde as stille and coy as doth a

mayde,

Were newe spoused, sittyng at the bord;
This day ne herd I of your mouth a word.
I trowe ye study aboute som sophime;
But Salomon saith, every thing hath tyme.
For Goddis sake! as beth of better cheere,
It is no tyme for to stodye hiere.

Tel us som mery tale, by your fay;
For what man is entred unto play,
He moot nedes unto that play assente.
But prechith not, as freres don in Lente,
To make us for our olde synnes wepe,
Ne that thy tale make us for to slepe.
Tel us som mery thing of adventures.
Youre termes, your colours, and your figures,
Keep hem in stoor, til so be that ye endite
High style, as whan that men to kynges write.
Spekith so playn at this tyme, we yow praye,
That we may understonde that ye saye.'

This worthy Clerk benignely answerde;
Sir host,' quod he, I am under your yerde,
Ye have of us as now the governaunce,
And therfor wol I do yow obeissaunce,
As fer as resoun askith hardily.
I wil yow telle a tale, which that I
Lerned at Padowe of a worthy clerk,

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As provyd by his wordes and his werk.
He is now deed, and nayled in his chest,
Now God yive his soule wel good rest!
Fraunces Petrark, the laureat poete,
Highte this clerk, whos rethorique swete
Enlumynd al Ytail of poetrie,

As Linian did of philosophie,

Or lawue, or other art particulere ;

But deth, that wol not suffre us duellen heere,
But as it were a twyncling of an ye,
Hem bothe hath slayn, and alle schul we dye.
But forth to telle of this worthy man,

That taughte me this tale, as I first bigan,

I

say that he first with heigh stile enditith

(Er he the body of his tale writith)

A proheme, in the which descrivith he
Piemounde, and of Saluces the contre,
And spekith of Appenyne the hulles hye,
That ben the boundes of al west Lombardye;
And of mount Vesulus in special,
Wher as the Poo out of a welle smal
Takith his firste springyng and his sours,.
That est-ward ay encresceth in his cours
To Emyl-ward, to Ferare, and to Venise,
The which a long thing were to devyse.
And trewely, as to my juggement,
Me thinketh it a thing impertinent,
Save that he wolde conveyen his matiere;

But this is the tale which that ye schuln heere.'

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THE CLERKES TALE.

HER is at the west ende of Ytaile,
Doun at the root of Vesulus the colde,
A lusty playn, abundaunt of vitaile,
Wher many a tour and toun thou maist
byholde,

That foundid were in tyme of fadres olde,
And many anothir delitable sight,
And Saluces this noble contray hight.
A marquys whilom duellid in that lond,
As were his worthy eldris him bifore,
And obeisaunt ay redy to his hond,
Were alle his liegis, bothe lesse and more.
Thus in delyt he lyveth and hath don yore,
Biloved and drad, thurgh favour of fortune,
Bothe of his lordes and of his comune.

age,

Therwith he was, as to speke of lynage,
The gentileste born of Lumbardye,
A fair persone, and strong, and yong of
And ful of honour and of curtesie;
Discret y-nough his contré for to gye,
Savynge in som thing he was to blame;
And Wautier was this yonge lordes name.

I blame him thus, that he considerede nought

In tyme comyng what mighte bityde,
But on his lust present was al his thought,
As for to hauke and hunte on every syde;
Wel neigh al othir cures let he slyde,
And eek he nolde (that was the worst of alle)

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Wedde no wyf for no thing that mighte bifalle.
Only that poynt his poeple bar so sore,
That flokmel on a day to him thay wente,
And oon of hem, that wisest was of lore,
(Or elles that the lord wolde best assente
That he schuld telle him what his poeple mente,
Or ellis couthe he schewe wel such matiere)
He to the marquys sayd as ye schuln hiere.
"O noble marquys, youre humanité.
Assureth us and yiveth us hardynesse,
As ofte as tyme is of necessité,

That we to yow may telle oure hevynesse;
Acceptith, lord, now of your gentilesse,
That we with pitous hert unto yow playne,
And let your eeris not my vois disdeyne.

'And have I nought to doon in this matere
More than another man hath in this place,
Yit for as moche as ye, my lord so deere,
Han alway schewed me favour and grace,
I dar the better ask of yow a space
Of audience, to schewen oure request,

And ye, my lord, to doon right as yow lest.

For certes, lord, so wel us likith yow

And al your werk, and ever han doon, that we
Ne couthen not ourselve devysen how

We mighte lyve more in felicité;

Save oon thing, lord, if that your wille be,
That for to be weddid man yow list

Than were your pepel in sovereign hertes rest. 'Bowith your neck undir that blisful yok

Of sovereigneté, nought of servise,

Which that men clepe spousail or wedlok;

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And thenkith, lord, among your thoughtes wise, 60