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Now let us speke of myrthe, and stynte al this; |
| Madame Pertelote, so have I blis, |
| Of o thyng God hath sent me large grace, |
| For whan I se the beautee of youre face, |
| 395 | Ye been so scarlet reed aboute youre eyen, |
| It maketh al my drede for to dyen. |
| For, al so siker as In principio |
| Mulier est hominis confusio,- |
| Madame, the sentence of this Latyn is, |
| 400 | `Womman is mannes joye and al his blis.' |
| For whan I felle a-nyght your softe syde, |
| Al be it that I may nat on yow ryde, |
| For that oure perche is maad so narwe, allas! |
| I am so ful of joye and of solas, |
| 405 | That I diffye bothe swevene and dreem." |
| And with that word he fly doun fro the beem, |
| For it was day, and eke hise hennes alle; |
| And with a chuk he gan hem for to calle, |
| For he hadde founde a corn lay in the yerd. |
| 410 | Real he was, he was namoore aferd; |
| He fethered Pertelote twenty tyme, |
| And trad as ofte, er that it was pryme. |
| He looketh as it were a grym leoun, |
| And on his toos he rometh up and doun, |
| 415 | Hym deigned nat to sette his foot to grounde. |
| He chukketh whan he hath a corn yfounde, |
| And to hym rennen thanne hise wyves alle. |
| Thus roial as a prince is in an halle, |
| Leve I this Chauntecleer in his pasture, |
| 420 | And after wol I telle his aventure. |
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But let us speak of mirth and stop all this; |
| My lady Pertelote, on hope of bliss, |
| In one respect God's given me much grace; |
| For when I see the beauty of your face, |
| 395 | You are so rosy-red beneath each eye, |
| It makes my dreadful terror wholly die. |
| For there is truth in In principio |
| Mulier est hominis confusio |
| Madam, the meaning of this latin is, |
| 400 | Woman is man's delight and all his bliss |
| For when I feel at night your tender side, |
| Although I cannot then upon you ride, |
| Because our perch so narrow is, alas! |
| I am so full of joy and all solace |
| 405 | That I defy, then, vision, aye and dream." |
| And with that word he flew down from the beam, |
| For it was day, and down went his hens all; |
| And with a cluck he them began to call, |
| For he had found some corn within the yard. |
| 410 | Royal he was, and fears he did discard. |
| He feathered Pertelote very many a time |
| And twenty times he trod her before 'twas prime. |
| He looked as if he were a grim lion |
| As on his toes he strutted up and down; |
| 415 | He deigned not set his foot upon the ground. |
| He clucked when any grain of corn he found, |
| And all his wives came running at his call. |
| Thus royal, as a prince is in his hall, |
| I'll now leave busy Chauntecleer to feed, |
| 420 | And with events that followed I'll proceed. |
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