Tales.
101
And yeve honour parochiall
In pew, and eke at festivall.
Worschip and wealth her husbond hath;
Ne poor in aught, save werks and faith:
Kepes bull, bore, stallion, to dispence
Large pennorths of benevolence.
His berne ycrammed was, and store
Of poultrie cackled at the dore;
His wyf grete joie to fede hem toke,
And was astonied at the cocke,
That, in his postaunce debonair,
On everich henn bestow'd a share
Of plesaunce, yet no genitours.
She saw, to thrill his paramours:
Oftsithes she mokel mus'd theron,
Yet nist she howgates it was don.
One night, ere they to sleepen went,
Her Isaac in her arms she hent,
As was her usage; and did saie,
Of charite I mote thee praie,
To techen myne unconnyng wit
One thing it comprehendeth niet;
And maie the foul fiend harrow thee,
If in myne quest thou falsen me.
Our chaunticlere loves everich hen;
Ne fewer kepes our yerd than ten,
Yet romps he ore beth grete and small,
Ne ken I what he swinks wythall:
In pew, and eke at festivall.
Worschip and wealth her husbond hath;
Ne poor in aught, save werks and faith:
Kepes bull, bore, stallion, to dispence
Large pennorths of benevolence.
His berne ycrammed was, and store
Of poultrie cackled at the dore;
His wyf grete joie to fede hem toke,
And was astonied at the cocke,
That, in his postaunce debonair,
On everich henn bestow'd a share
Of plesaunce, yet no genitours.
She saw, to thrill his paramours:
Oftsithes she mokel mus'd theron,
Yet nist she howgates it was don.
One night, ere they to sleepen went,
Her Isaac in her arms she hent,
As was her usage; and did saie,
Of charite I mote thee praie,
To techen myne unconnyng wit
One thing it comprehendeth niet;
And maie the foul fiend harrow thee,
If in myne quest thou falsen me.
Our chaunticlere loves everich hen;
Ne fewer kepes our yerd than ten,
Yet romps he ore beth grete and small,
Ne ken I what he swinks wythall:
