| "Sire Clerk of Oxenford," oure Hooste sayde, |
| "Ye ryde as coy and stille as dooth a mayde |
| Were newe spoused, sittynge at the bord; |
| This day ne herde I of youre tonge a word. |
| 5 | I trowe ye studie aboute som sophyme; |
| But Salomon seith `every thyng hath tyme.' |
| "For Goddes sake, as beth of bettre cheere! |
| It is no tyme for to studien heere. |
| Telle us som myrie tale, by youre fey! |
| 10 | For what man that is entred in a pley, |
| He nedes moot unto the pley assente. |
| But precheth nat, as freres doon in Lente, |
| To make us for oure olde synnes wepe, |
| Ne that thy tale make us nat to slepe. |
| 15 | "Telle us som murie thyng of aventures. |
| Youre termes, youre colours, and youre figures, |
| Keepe hem in stoor til so be ye endite |
| Heigh style, as whan that men to kynges write. |
| Speketh so pleyn at this tyme, we yow preye, |
| 20 | That we may understonde what ye seye." |
| This worthy clerk benignely answerde: |
| "Hooste," quod he, "I am under youre yerde; |
| Ye han of us as now the governance, |
| And therfore wol I do yow obeisance, |
| 25 | As fer as resoun axeth, hardily. |
| I wol yow telle a tale which that I |
| Lerned at Padowe of a worthy clerk, |
| As preved by his wordes and his werk. |
| He is now deed and nayled in his cheste; |
| 30 | I prey to God so yeve his soule reste! |
| "Fraunceys Petrak, the lauriat poete, |
| Highte this clerk, whos rethorike sweete |
| Enlumyned al Ytaille of poetrie, |
| As Lynyan dide of philosophie, |
| 35 | Or lawe, or oother art particuler; |
| But Deeth, that wol nat suffre us dwellen heer, |
| But as it were a twynklyng of an ye, |
| Hem bothe hath slayn, and alle shul we dye. |
| "But forth to tellen of this worthy man |
| 40 | That taughte me this tale, as I bigan, |
| I seye that first with heigh stile he enditeth, |
| Er he the body of his tale writeth, |
| A prohemye, in the which discryveth he |
| Pemond and of Saluces the contree, |
| 45 | And speketh of Apennyn, the hilles hye, |
| That been the boundes of West Lumbardye, |
| And of Mount Vesulus in special, |
| Where as the Poo out of a welle smal |
| Taketh his firste spryngyng and his sours, |
| 50 | That estward ay encresseth in his cours |
| To Emele-ward, to Ferrare, and Venyse, |
| The which a long thyng were to devyse. |
| And trewely, as to my juggement, |
| Me thynketh it a thyng impertinent, |
| 55 | Save that he wole conveyen his mateere; |
| But this his tale, which that ye may heere." |