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- 1380
- CANTERBURY TALES
- THE COOK'S PROLOGUE
- by Geoffrey Chaucer
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- The cook from London, while the reeve yet spoke,
- Patted his back with pleasure at the joke.
- "Ha, ha!" laughed he, "by Christ's great suffering,
- This miller had a mighty sharp ending
- Upon his argument of harbourage!
- For well says Solomon, in his language,
- 'Bring thou not every man into thine house;'
- For harbouring by night is dangerous.
- Well ought a man to know the man that he
- Has brought into his own security.
- I pray God give me sorrow and much care
- If ever, since I have been Hodge of Ware,
- Heard I of miller better brought to mark.
- A wicked jest was played him in the dark.
- But God forbid that we should leave off here;
- And therefore, if you'll lend me now an ear,
- From what I know, who am but a poor man,
- I will relate, as well as ever I can,
- A little trick was played in our city."
- Our host replied: "I grant it readily.
- Now tell on, Roger; see that it be good;
- For many a pasty have you robbed of blood,
- And many a Jack of Dover have you sold
- That has been heated twice and twice grown cold.
- From many a pilgrim have you had Christ's curse,
- For of your parsley they yet fare the worse,
- Which they have eaten with your stubble goose;
- For in your shop full many a fly is loose.
- Now tell on, gentle Roger, by your name.
- But yet, I pray, don't mind if I make game,
- A man may tell the truth when it's in play."
- "You say the truth," quoth Roger, "by my fay!
- But 'true jest, bad jest' as the Fleming saith.
- And therefore, Harry Bailey, on your faith,
- Be you not angry ere we finish here,
- If my tale should concern an inn-keeper.
- Nevertheless, I'll tell not that one yet,
- But ere we part your jokes will I upset."
- And thereon did he laugh, in great good cheer,
- And told his tale, as you shall straightway hear.
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- THUS ENDS THE PROLOGUE OF THE COOK'S TALE
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- THE COOK'S TALE
- by Geoffrey Chaucer
-
- There lived a 'prentice, once, in our city,
- And of the craft of victuallers was he;
- Happy he was as goldfinch in the glade,
- Brown as a berry, short, and thickly made,
- With black hair that he combed right prettily.
- He could dance well, and that so jollily,
- That he was nicknamed Perkin Reveller.
- He was as full of love, I may aver,
- As is a beehive full of honey sweet;
- Well for the wench that with him chanced to meet.
- At every bridal would he sing and hop,
- Loving the tavern better than the shop.
- When there was any festival in Cheap,
- Out of the shop and thither would he leap,
- And, till the whole procession he had seen,
- And danced his fill, he'd not return again.
- He gathered many fellows of his sort
- To dance and sing and make all kinds of sport.
- And they would have appointments for to meet
- And play at dice in such, or such, a street.
- For in the whole town was no apprentice
- Who better knew the way to throw the dice
- Than Perkin; and therefore he was right free
- With money, when in chosen company.
- His master found this out in business there;
- For often-times he found the till was bare.
- For certainly a revelling bond-boy
- Who loves dice, wine, dancing, and girls of joy-
- His master, in his shop, shall feel the effect,
- Though no part have he in this said respect;
- For theft and riot always comrades are,
- And each alike he played on gay guitar.
- Revels and truth, in one of low degree,
- Do battle always, as all men may see.
- This 'prentice shared his master's fair abode
- Till he was nigh out of his 'prenticehood,
- Though he was checked and scolded early and late,
- And sometimes led, for drinking, to Newgate;
- But at the last his master did take thought,
- Upon a day, when he his ledger sought,
- On an old proverb wherein is found this word:
- "Better take rotten apple from the hoard
- Than let it lie to spoil the good ones there."
- So with a drunken servant should it fare;
- It is less ill to let him go, apace,
- Than ruin all the others in the place.
- Therefore he freed and cast him loose to go
- His own road unto future care and woe;
- And thus this jolly 'prentice had his leave.
- Now let him riot all night long, or thieve.
- But since there's never thief without a buck
- To help him waste his money and to suck
- All he can steal or borrow by the way,
- Anon he sent his bed and his array
- To one he knew, a fellow of his sort,
- Who loved the dice and revels and all sport,
- And had a wife that kept, for countenance,
- A shop, and whored to gain her sustenance.
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- OF THIS COOK'S TALE CHAUCER MADE NO MORE
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