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Woot ye nat where ther stant a litel toun, |
| Which that ycleped is Bobbe-up-and-doun |
| Under the Blee, in Caunterbury weye? |
| Ther gan oure Hooste for to jape and pleye, |
| 5 | And seyde, "Sires, what, Dun is in the myre! |
| Is ther no man for preyere ne for hyre, |
| That wole awake oure felawe al bihynde? |
| A theef myghte hym ful lightly robbe and bynde. |
| See how he nappeth, see how for cokkes bones, |
| 10 | That he wol falle fro his hors atones. |
| Is that a Cook of London, with meschaunce? |
| Do hym com forth, he knoweth his penaunce, |
| For he shal telle a tale, by my fey, |
| Although it be nat worth a botel hey. |
| 15 | Awake, thou Cook," quod he, "God yeve thee sorwe, |
| What eyleth thee, to slepe by the morwe? |
| Hastow had fleen al nyght, or artow dronke? |
| Or hastow with som quene al nyght yswonke |
| So that thow mayst nat holden up thyn heed?" |
|
|
Do you not know where stands a little town |
| That's called by all about Bob-up-and-down, |
| Under the Blean, down Canterbury way? |
| There did our host begin to jape and play, |
| 5 | And he said: "Sirs, what! Dun is in the mire! |
| Is there no man, then, who, for prayer or hire, |
| Will wake our comrade who's so far behind? |
| A thief might easily rob him and bind. |
| See how he's nodding, see, now by cock's bones, |
| 10 | As if he'd fall down from his horse at once. |
| Is that a cook of London, with mischance? |
| Make him come forward, he knows his penance, |
| For he shall tell a tale here, by my fay, |
| Although it be not worth a bunch of hay. |
| 15 | Awake, you cook," cried he, "God give you sorrow! |
| What ails you that you sleep thus? It's good morrow! |
| Have you had fleas all night, or are you drunk? |
| Or did you toil all night in some quean's bunk? |
| So that you cannot now hold up your head?" |
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