| Woot ye nat where ther stant a litel toun |
| Which that ycleped is Bobbe-up-and-doun, |
| Under the Blee, in Caunterbury Weye? |
| Ther gan oure Hooste for to jape and pleye, |
| 5 | And seyde, "Sires, what! Dun is in the myre! |
| Is ther no man, for preyere ne for hyre, |
| That wole awake oure felawe al bihynde? |
| A theef myghte hym ful lightly robbe and bynde. |
| See how he nappeth! See how, for cokkes bones, |
| 10 | That he wol falle fro his hors atones! |
| Is that a cook of Londoun, with meschaunce? |
| Do hym come forth, he knoweth his penaunce; |
| For he shal telle a tale, by my fey, |
| Although it be nat worth a botel hey. |
| 15 | Awake, thou Cook," quod he, "God yeve thee sorwe! |
| What eyleth thee to slepe by the morwe? |
| Hastow had fleen al nyght, or artow dronke? |
| Or hastow with som quene al nyght yswonke, |
| So that thow mayst nat holden up thyn heed?" |
| 20 | This Cook, that was ful pale and no thyng reed, |
| Seyde to oure Hoost, "So God my soule blesse, |
| As ther is falle on me swich hevynesse, |
| Noot I nat why, that me were levere slepe |
| Than the beste galon wyn in Chepe." |
| 25 | "Wel," quod the Maunciple, "if it may doon ese |
| To thee, sire Cook, and to no wight displese, |
| Which that heere rideth in this compaignye, |
| And that oure Hoost wole, of his curteisye, |
| I wol as now excuse thee of thy tale. |
| 30 | For, in good feith, thy visage is ful pale, |
| Thyne eyen daswen eek, as that me thynketh, |
| And, wel I woot, thy breeth ful soure stynketh: |
| That sheweth wel thou art nat wel disposed. |
| Of me, certeyn, thou shalt nat been yglosed. |
| 35 | See how he ganeth, lo, this dronken wight, |
| As though he wolde swolwe us anonright. |
| Hoold cloos thy mouth, man, by thy fader kyn! |
| The devel of helle sette his foot therin! |
| Thy cursed breeth infecte wole us alle. |
| 40 | Fy, stynkyng swyn! Fy, foule moote thee falle! |
| A, taketh heede, sires, of this lusty man. |
| Now, sweete sire, wol ye justen atte fan? |
| Therto me thynketh ye been wel yshape! |
| I trowe that ye dronken han wyn ape, |
| 45 | And that is whan men pleyen with a straw." |
| And with this speche the Cook wax wrooth and wraw, |
| And on the Manciple he gan nodde faste |
| For lakke of speche, and doun the hors hym caste, |
| Where as he lay, til that men hym up took. |
| 50 | This was a fair chyvachee of a cook! |
| Allas, he nadde holde hym by his ladel! |
| And er that he agayn were in his sadel, |
| Ther was greet showvyng bothe to and fro |
| To lifte hym up, and muchel care and wo, |
| 55 | So unweeldy was this sory palled goost. |
| And to the Manciple thanne spak oure Hoost: |
| "By cause drynke hath dominacioun |
| Upon this man, by my savacioun, |
| I trowe he lewedly wolde telle his tale. |
| 60 | For, were it wyn or oold or moysty ale |
| That he hath dronke, he speketh in his nose, |
| And fneseth faste, and eek he hath the pose. |
| "He hath also to do moore than ynough |
| To kepen hym and his capul out of the slough; |
| 65 | And if he falle from his capul eftsoone, |
| Thanne shal we alle have ynogh to doone |
| In liftyng up his hevy dronken cors. |
| Telle on thy tale; of hym make I no fors. |
| "But yet, Manciple, in feith thou art to nyce, |
| 70 | Thus openly repreve hym of his vice. |
| Another day he wole, peraventure, |
| Reclayme thee and brynge thee to lure; |
| I meene, he speke wole of smale thynges, |
| As for to pynchen at thy rekenynges, |
| 75 | That were nat honest, if it cam to preef." |
| "No," quod the Manciple, "that were a greet mescheef! |
| So myghte he lightly brynge me in the snare. |
| Yet hadde I levere payen for the mare |
| Which he rit on, than he sholde with me stryve. |
| 80 | I wol nat wratthen hym, also moot I thryve! |
| That that I spak, I seyde it in my bourde. |
| And wite ye what? I have heer in a gourde |
| A draghte of wyn, ye, of a ripe grape, |
| And right anon ye shul seen a good jape. |
| 85 | This Cook shal drynke therof, if I may. |
| Up peyne of deeth, he wol nat seye me nay." |
| And certeynly, to tellen as it was, |
| Of this vessel the Cook drank faste, allas! |
| What neded hym? He drank ynough biforn. |
| 90 | And whan he hadde pouped in this horn, |
| To the Manciple he took the gourde agayn; |
| And of that drynke the Cook was wonder fayn, |
| And thanked hym in swich wise as he koude. |
| Thanne gan oure Hoost to laughen wonder loude, |
| 95 | And seyde, "I se wel it is necessarie, |
| Where that we goon, good drynke with us carie; |
| For that wol turne rancour and disese |
| T' acord and love, and many a wrong apese. |
| "O Bacus, yblessed be thy name, |
| 100 | That so kanst turnen ernest into game! |
| Worshipe and thank be to thy deitee! |
| Of that mateere ye gete namoore of me. |
| Telle on thy tale, Manciple, I thee preye." |
| "Wel, sire," quod he, "now herkneth what I seye. |