|
"My lord the Monk," quod he, "be myrie of cheere, |
| For ye shul telle a tale, trewely. |
| Loo, Rouchestre stant heer faste by. |
| Ryde forth, myn owene lord, brek nat oure game. |
| 40 | But, by my trouthe, I knowe nat youre name; |
| Wher shal I calle yow my lord daun John, |
| Or daun Thomas, or elles daun Albon? |
| Of what hous be ye, by youre fader kyn? |
| I vowe to God, thou hast a ful fair skyn, |
| 45 | It is a gentil pasture ther thow goost. |
| Thou art nat lyk a penant or a goost. |
| Upon my feith, thou art som officer, |
| Som worthy sexteyn, or som celerer, |
| For by my fader soule, as to my doom, |
| 50 | Thou art a maister whan thou art at hoom, |
| No povre cloysterer, ne no novys, |
| But a governour, wily and wys; |
| And therwithal of brawnes and of bones |
| A wel-farynge persone, for the nones. |
| 55 | I pray to God, yeve hym confusioun |
| That first thee broghte unto religioun. |
| Thou woldest han been a tredefowel aright; |
| Haddestow as greet a leeve as thou hast myght |
| To parfourne al thy lust in engendrure, |
| 60 | Thou haddest bigeten ful many a creature. |
| Allas, why werestow so wyd a cope? |
| God yeve me sorwe, but, and I were a pope, |
| Nat oonly thou but every myghty man |
| Though he were shorn ful hye upon his pan, |
| 65 | Sholde have a wyf, for al the world is lorn. |
| Religioun hath take up al the corn |
| Of tredyng, and we borel men been shrympes. |
| Of fieble trees ther comen wrecched ympes. |
| This maketh that our heyres ben so sclendre |
| 70 | And feble, that they may nat wel engendre; |
| This maketh that oure wyves wole assaye |
| Religious folk, for ye mowe bettre paye |
| Of Venus paiementz than mowe we; |
| God woot no lussheburghes payen ye. |
| 75 | But be nat wrooth, my lord, for that I pleye, |
| Ful ofte in game a sooth I have herd seye." |
|
|
"My lord the monk," said he, "be of good cheer |
| For you shall tell a tale, and verily. |
| Lo, Rochester is standing there hard by! |
| Ride up, my own liege lord, break not our game, |
| 40 | But, by my truth, I do not know your name, |
| Whether I ought to call you lord Don John, |
| Or Don Thomas, or else Don Albion? |
| Of what house are you, by your father's kin? |
| I vow to God you have a right fair skin; |
| 45 | It is a noble pasture where you're most; |
| You are not like a penitent or ghost. |
| Upon my faith, you are some officer, |
| Some worthy sexton, or a cellarer, |
| For by my father's soul, I guess, in sum, |
| 50 | You are a master when you are at home. |
| No cloisterer or novice can you be: |
| A wily governor you seem to me, |
| And therewithal a man of brawn and bone. |
| A person of some consequence you've grown. |
| 55 | I pray that God confound the silly fool |
| That put you first in a religious school; |
| You would have been a hen-hopper, all right! |
| Had you as good a chance as you have might |
| To work your lust in good engendering; |
| 60 | Why, you'd beget full many a mighty thing. |
| Alas! Why do you wear so wide a cope? |
| God give me sorrow but, if I were pope, |
| Not only you, but every mighty man, |
| Though he were shorn full high upon the pan, |
| 65 | Should have a wife. For all the world's forlorn! |
| Religion, why it's gathered all the corn |
| Of treading, and we laymen are but shrimps! |
| From feeble trees there come but wretched imps. |
| That's why our heirs are all so very slender |
| 70 | And feeble that they may not well engender. |
| That's why out goodwives always will essay |
| Religious folk, for you may better pay |
| With Venus' payments than we others do; |
| God knows, in no light weight of coin pay you! |
| 75 | But be not wroth, my lord, because I play; |
| Full oft in jest have I heard truth, I say." |
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