|
"Sire Nonnes Preest," oure Hooste seide anoon, |
| "I-blessed be thy breche, and every stoon! |
| This was a murie tale of Chauntecleer. |
| But by my trouthe, if thou were seculer, |
| 685 | Thou woldest ben a trede-foul aright. |
| For if thou have corage as thou hast myght, |
| Thee were nede of hennes, as I wene, |
| Ya, moo than seven tymes seventene. |
| See, whiche braunes hath this gentil preest, |
| 690 | So gret a nekke, and swich a large breest! |
| He loketh as a sperhauk with his yen; |
| Him nedeth nat his colour for to dyen |
| With brasile, ne with greyn of Portyngale. |
| Now, sire, faire falle yow for youre tale!" |
| 695 | And after that he, with ful merie chere, |
| Seide unto another, as ye shuln heere. |
|
| "Sir Nun's Priest," said our host, and that anon, |
| "Now blessed be your breech and every stone! |
| This was a merry tale of Chanticleer. |
| But, truth, if you were secular, I swear |
| 685 | You would have been a hen-hopper, all right! |
| For if you had the heart, as you have might, |
| You'd need some hens, I think it will be seen, |
| And many more than seven times seventeen. |
| For see what muscles has this noble priest, |
| 690 | So great a neck and such a splendid chest! |
| He's got a hawk's fierce fire within his eye; |
| And certainly he has no need to dye |
| His cheeks with any stain from Portugal. |
| Sir, for your tale, may blessings on you fall!" |
| 695 | And after that he, with right merry cheer, |
| Spoke to another one, as you shall hear. |
|
