The Poetical Works of Elijah Fenton/A Tale, devised in the pleasaunt manere of gentil Maister Jeoffrey Chaucer
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A TALE,
DEVISED IN THE PLEASAUNT MANERE OF
GENTIL MAISTER JEOFFREY CHAUCER.
Whylom in Kent there dwelt a clerke
Who wyth grete cheer and litil werke
Upswalen was with venere:
For meagre Lent ne recked he,
Ne saincts daies had in remembraunce, 5
Mo will had he to dalliaunce.
To serchen out a bellamie
He had a sharp and licorous eie;
But it wold bett abide a leke
Or onion than the sight of Greke; 10
Wherefore God yeve him shame; Boccace
Serv'd him for Basil and Ignace.
His vermeil cheke, that shon wyth mirth,
Spake him the blithest priest on yearth:
At chyrch, to shew his lillied hond, 15
Full fetously he prank'd his bond;
Sleke weren his flaxen locks ykempt,
And Isaac Wever was he nempt.
Thilke clerke, echaufed in the groyne,
For a yonge damosell did pyne, 20
Born in East-Cheape, who, by my say,
Ypert was as a popinjay:
Ne wit ne wordes did she waunt,
Wele cond she many a romaunt;
Ore muscadine or spiced ale
She carrold soote as nightingale;
And for the nonce couth rowle her eyne
Withouten speche; a special signe
She lack'd somedele of what ech dame
Holds dere as life, yet dredes to name: 30
So was eftsoons by Isaac won
To blissful consummation.
Here mought I now tellen the festes,
Who yave the bryde, how bibb'd the ghestes;
But withouten such gawdes I trow 35
Myne legend is prolix ynow.
Ryghte wele areeds Dan Prior's song,
A tale shold never be too long;
And sikerly in-fayre Englond
None bett doeth taling understond. 40
She now, algates full sad to chaunge
The citee for her husbond's graunge,
To Kent mote; for she wele did knowe
'Twas vaine ayenst the streme to rowe.
So wend they on one steed yfere, 45
Ech cleping toder life and dere;
Heven shilde hem fro myne Bromley host,
Or many a groat theyr meel woll cost.
Deem next ye. Maistress Wover sene
Yclad in sable bombasine; 50
The Frankeleins wyves accost her blythe,
Curteis to guilen hem of tythe;
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:
But on ech leg a wepon is,
Ypersent and full starke I wys;
Doth he with hem at pertelote play?
In sooth theres werk inough for tway.
Qd. Isaac, Certes by Sainct Poule,
Myne lief thou art a simple soule;
Foules fro the egle to the wren
Bin harness'd othergise than men:
For the males engins of delite
Ferre in theyr entrails are empight;
Els, par mischaunce, theyr merriment
Emong the breers mought sore be shent.
Thus woxen hote, they much avaunce
Love of venereal jouisaunce;
And in one month, the trouth to sayne,
Swink mo than manhode in yeres twayne.
O Benedicite! qd. she,
If kepyng hote so kindlych be,
Hic in thyne boweles truss thyne gere,
And eke the skrippe that daungleth here.
Ne dame, he answerd, mote that bene;
For as I hope to be a dene,
Thilke Falstaffe-bellie rownd and big,
Was built for corny ale and pig;
Ne in it is a chink for these,
Ne for a wheat-straw and tway pease.
Pardie, qd. She, syth theres nat room,
Swete Nykin! chase hem in myne woom.
Who wyth grete cheer and litil werke
Upswalen was with venere:
For meagre Lent ne recked he,
Ne saincts daies had in remembraunce, 5
Mo will had he to dalliaunce.
To serchen out a bellamie
He had a sharp and licorous eie;
But it wold bett abide a leke
Or onion than the sight of Greke; 10
Wherefore God yeve him shame; Boccace
Serv'd him for Basil and Ignace.
His vermeil cheke, that shon wyth mirth,
Spake him the blithest priest on yearth:
At chyrch, to shew his lillied hond, 15
Full fetously he prank'd his bond;
Sleke weren his flaxen locks ykempt,
And Isaac Wever was he nempt.
Thilke clerke, echaufed in the groyne,
For a yonge damosell did pyne, 20
Born in East-Cheape, who, by my say,
Ypert was as a popinjay:
Ne wit ne wordes did she waunt,
Wele cond she many a romaunt;
Ore muscadine or spiced ale
She carrold soote as nightingale;
And for the nonce couth rowle her eyne
Withouten speche; a special signe
She lack'd somedele of what ech dame
Holds dere as life, yet dredes to name: 30
So was eftsoons by Isaac won
To blissful consummation.
Here mought I now tellen the festes,
Who yave the bryde, how bibb'd the ghestes;
But withouten such gawdes I trow 35
Myne legend is prolix ynow.
Ryghte wele areeds Dan Prior's song,
A tale shold never be too long;
And sikerly in-fayre Englond
None bett doeth taling understond. 40
She now, algates full sad to chaunge
The citee for her husbond's graunge,
To Kent mote; for she wele did knowe
'Twas vaine ayenst the streme to rowe.
So wend they on one steed yfere, 45
Ech cleping toder life and dere;
Heven shilde hem fro myne Bromley host,
Or many a groat theyr meel woll cost.
Deem next ye. Maistress Wover sene
Yclad in sable bombasine; 50
The Frankeleins wyves accost her blythe,
Curteis to guilen hem of tythe;
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:
But on ech leg a wepon is,
Ypersent and full starke I wys;
Doth he with hem at pertelote play?
In sooth theres werk inough for tway.
Qd. Isaac, Certes by Sainct Poule,
Myne lief thou art a simple soule;
Foules fro the egle to the wren
Bin harness'd othergise than men:
For the males engins of delite
Ferre in theyr entrails are empight;
Els, par mischaunce, theyr merriment
Emong the breers mought sore be shent.
Thus woxen hote, they much avaunce
Love of venereal jouisaunce;
And in one month, the trouth to sayne,
Swink mo than manhode in yeres twayne.
O Benedicite! qd. she,
If kepyng hote so kindlych be,
Hic in thyne boweles truss thyne gere,
And eke the skrippe that daungleth here.
Ne dame, he answerd, mote that bene;
For as I hope to be a dene,
Thilke Falstaffe-bellie rownd and big,
Was built for corny ale and pig;
Ne in it is a chink for these,
Ne for a wheat-straw and tway pease.
Pardie, qd. She, syth theres nat room,
Swete Nykin! chase hem in myne woom.