|
"Sire Clerk of Oxenford," oure Hooste sayde, |
| "Ye ryde as coy and stille as dooth a mayde, |
| Were newe spoused, sittynge at the bord. |
| This day ne herde I of youre tonge a word. |
| 5 | I trowe ye studie about som sophyme; |
| But Salomon seith, `every thyng hath tyme.' |
| For Goddes sake, as beth of bettre cheere; |
| It is no tyme for to studien heere, |
| Telle us som myrie tale, by youre fey! |
| 10 | For what man that is entred in a pley, |
| He nedes moot unto the pley assente; |
| But precheth nat as freres doon in Lente, |
| To make us for oure olde synnes wepe, |
| Ne that thy tale make us nat to slepe. |
|
|
Sir clerk of Oxford," our good host then said, |
| "You ride as quiet and still as is a maid |
| But newly wedded, sitting at the board; |
| This day I've heard not from your tongue a word. |
| 5 | Perhaps you mull a sophism that's prime, |
| But Solomon says, 'each thing to its own time.' |
| For God's sake, smile and be of better cheer, |
| It is no time to think and study here. |
| Tell us some merry story, if you may; |
| 10 | For whatsoever man will join in play, |
| He needs must to the play give his consent. |
| But do not preach, as friars do in Lent, |
| To make us, for our old sins, wail and weep, |
| And see your tale shall put us not to sleep. |
|
