The Cook's Tale, ll. 41-98, (The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer)

From The Canterbury Tales:
The Cook's Tale

Heere bigynneth the Cookes Tale

	A prentys whilom dwelled in oure citee,
	And of a craft of vitailliers was hee.
	Gaillard he was as goldfynch in the shawe,
	Broun as a berye, a propre short felawe,
45	With lokkes blake, ykembd ful fetisly.
	Dauncen he koude so wel and jolily
	That he was cleped Perkyn Revelour.
	He was as ful of love and paramour
	As is the hyve ful of hony sweete:
50	Wel was the wenche with hym myghte meete.
	At every bridale wolde he synge and hoppe;
	He loved bet the taverne than the shoppe.
	For whan ther any ridyng was in Chepe,
	Out of the shoppe thider wolde he lepe -
55	Til that he hadde al the sighte yseyn,
	And daunced wel, he wolde nat come ayeyn -
	And gadered hym a meynee of his sort
	To hoppe and synge and maken swich disport;
	And ther they setten stevene for to meete
60	To pleyen at the dys in swich a streete.
	For in the toune nas ther no prentys
	That fairer koude caste a paire of dys
	Than Perkyn koude, and therto he was free
	Of his dispense, in place of pryvetee.
65	That fond his maister wel in his chaffare;
	For often tyme he foond his box ful bare.
	For sikerly a prentys revelour
	That haunteth dys, riot, or paramour,
	His maister shal it in his shoppe abye,
70	Al have he no part of the mynstralcye.
	For thefte and riot, they been convertible
	Al konne he pleye on gyterne or ribible.
	Revel and trouthe, as in a lowe degree,
	They been ful wrothe al day, as men may see.
75	This joly prentys with his maister bood,
	Til he were ny out of his prentishood,
	Al were he snybbed bothe erly and late,
	And somtyme lad with revel to Newegate.
	But atte laste his maister hym bithoghte,
80	Upon a day, whan he his papir soughte,
	Of a proverbe that seith this same word,
	'Wel bet is roten appul out of hoord
	Than that it rotie al the remenaunt.'
	So fareth it by a riotous servaunt;
85	It is ful lasse harm to lete hym pace,
	Than he shende alle the servantz in the place
	Therfore his maister yaf hym acquitance,
	And bad hym go, with sorwe and with meschance!
	And thus this joly prentys hadde his leve.
90	Now lat hym riote al the nyghte or leve.
	And for ther is no theef withoute a lowke,
	That helpeth hym to wasten and to sowke
	Of that he brybe kan or borwe may,
	Anon he sente his bed and his array
95	Unto a compeer of his owene sort,
	That lovede dys, and revel, and disport,
	And hadde a wyf that heeld for contenance
	A shoppe, and swyved for hir sustenance.