|
| | 480 | "A!" thoghte this frere, "That shal go with me!" |
| And doun his hand he launcheth to the clifte, |
| In hope for to fynde there a yifte. |
| And whan this sike man felte this frere |
| Aboute his tuwel grope there and heere, |
| 485 | Amydde his hand he leet the frere a fart, |
| Ther nys no capul, drawynge in a cart, |
| That myghte have lete a fart of swich a soun. |
| The frere up stirte as dooth a wood leoun, - |
| "A! false cherl," quod he, "for Goddes bones! |
| 490 | This hastow for despit doon for the nones. |
| Thou shalt abye this fart, if that I may!" |
|
| 480 | "Ah," thought the friar, "this shall go with me!" |
| And down he thrust his hand right to the cleft, |
| In hope that he should find there some good gift. |
| And when the sick man felt the friar here |
| Groping about his hole and all his rear, |
| 485 | Into his hand he let the friar a fart. |
| There is no stallion drawing loaded cart |
| That might have let a fart of such a sound. |
| The friar leaped up as with wild lion's bound: |
| "Ah, treacherous churl," he cried, "by God's own bones, |
| 490 | I'll see that he who scorns me thus atones; |
| You'll suffer for this fart- I'll find a way!" |
|
