|
"In feith," quod he, "namoore I do but lyte." |
| And whan this chanon saugh it wolde nat bee, |
| But his yeman wolde telle his pryvetee, |
| He fledde awey for verray sorwe and shame. |
| 150 | "A!" quod the yeman, "heere shal arise game; |
| Al that I kan anon now wol I telle. |
| Syn he is goon, the foule feend hym quelle! |
| For nevere heerafter wol I with hym meete |
| For peny ne for pound, I yow biheete. |
| 155 | He that me broghte first unto that game, |
| Er that he dye, sorwe have he and shame! |
| For it is ernest to me, by me feith; |
| That feele I wel, what so any man seith. |
| And yet, for al my smert and al my grief, |
| 160 | For al my sorwe, labour, and meschief, |
| I koude nevere leve it in no wise. |
| Now wolde God my wit myghte suffise |
| To tellen al that longeth to that art! |
| But nathelees yow wol I tellen part. |
| 165 | Syn that my lord is goon, I wol nat spare; |
| Swich thyng as that I knowe, I wol declare. |
|
| "In faith," said he, "my caring is but slight." |
| And when this canon saw how it would be, |
| That his yeoman would tell his privity, |
| He fled away for very grief and shame. |
| 150 | "Ah," said the yeoman, "hence shall come a game. |
| All that I know anon now will I tell. |
| Since he is gone, the devil take him to Hell! |
| With him hereafter I'll have naught to do |
| For penny or for pound, I promise you! |
| 155 | He that first brought me into that ill game, |
| Before he die, sorrow have he and shame! |
| For it's no game to me, sirs, by my fay; |
| That I feel well, whatever men may say. |
| And yet, for all my smart and all my grief, |
| 160 | For all the sorrow, labour, and mischief, |
| I never could leave off, in any wise. |
| Now would to God that my wit might suffice |
| To tell of all pertaining to that art! |
| Nevertheless, I will relate a part; |
| 165 | Since now my lord is gone, I will not spare; |
| The things I know about I will declare." |
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