|
'Now, sire,' quod he, 'han freres swich a grace |
| 20 | That noon of hem shal come to this place?' |
| 'Yis,' quod this angel, 'many a millioun!' |
| And unto Sathanas he ladde hym doun. |
| 'And now hath Sathanas,' seith he, 'a tayl |
| Brodder than of a carryk is the sayl. |
| 25 | Hold up thy tayl, thou Sathanas!' quod he; |
| 'Shewe forth thyn ers, and lat the frere se |
| Where is the nest of freres in this place!' |
| And er that half a furlong wey of space, |
| Right so as bees out swarmen from an hyve, |
| 30 | Out of the develes ers ther gonne dryve |
| Twenty thousand freres on a route, |
| And thurghout helle swarmed al aboute, |
| And comen agayn as faste as they may gon, |
| And in his ers they crepten everychon. |
| 35 | He clapte his tayl agayn and lay ful stille. |
| This frere, whan he looked hadde his fille |
| Upon the tormentz of this sory place, |
| His spirit God restored, of his grace, |
| Unto his body agayn, and he awook. |
| 40 | But natheles, for fere yet he quook, |
| So was the develes ers ay in his mynde, |
| That is his heritage of verray kynde. |
| God save yow alle, save this cursed frere! |
| My prologe wol I ende in this manere." |
|
|
'Now, sir,' said he, 'have friars such a grace |
| 20 | That none of them shall come into this place?' |
| 'Nay,' said the angel, 'millions here are thrown!' |
| And unto Sathanas he led him down. |
| 'And now has Sathanas,' said he, 'a tail |
| Broader than of a galleon is the sail. |
| 25 | Hold up thy tail, thou Sathanas!' said he, |
| 'Show forth thine arse and let the friar see |
| Where is the nest of friars in this place!' |
| And before one might go half a furlong's space, |
| Just as the bees come swarming from a hive, |
| 30 | Out of the Devil's arse-hole there did drive |
| Full twenty thousand friars in a rout, |
| And through all Hell they swarmed and ran about. |
| And came again, as fast as they could run, |
| And in his arse they crept back, every one. |
| 35 | He clapped his tail to and then lay right still. |
| This friar, when he'd looked at length his fill |
| Upon the torments of that sorry place, |
| His spirit God restored, of His high grace, |
| Into his body, and he did awake; |
| 40 | Nevertheless for terror did he quake |
| So was the Devil's arse-hole in his mind, |
| Which is his future home, and like in kind. |
| God save all but this cursed friar here; |
| My prologue ends thus; to my tale give ear." |
|
