815 |
"Sire preest," he seyde, "I kepe han no loos |
| Of my craft, for I wolde it kept were cloos; |
| And, as ye love me, kepeth it secree. |
| For, and men knewen al my soutiltee, |
| By God, they wolden han so greet envye |
820 | To me, by cause of my philosophye, |
| I sholde be deed; ther were noon oother weye." |
| "God it forbeede," quod the preest, "what sey ye? |
| Yet hadde I levere spenden al the good |
| Which that I have, and elles wexe I wood, |
825 | Than that ye sholden falle in swich mescheef." |
|
815 |
"Sir priest," he said, "I do not care to lose |
| My secret craft, and I would 'twere kept close; |
| So, as you love me, keep it privily; |
| For if men knew all of my subtlety, |
| By God above, they'd have so great envy |
820 | Of me, because of my philosophy, |
| I should be slain, there'd be no other way." |
| "Nay, God forbid!" replied the priest. "What say? |
| Far rather would I spend all coin, by gad, |
| That I possess, and else may I grow mad, |
825 | Than that you fall in any such distress." |
|