For to the, and thine fere, I bitok mi sone to lere, Ye taughte him to nimen forth min emprice!""Sire, quath Catoun, swich wordes beth nice.”"And his speche is forlore." "Nai sire, and he finde your grace bifore. Ac yif thou do thi sone duresse, As hadde the burgeis for his pie." "O, maister, he saide, what? what? I thè praie, tel me that!” "Sire, he saide, what helpeth hit mi sawe, And I thè schal mi tale sain." The emperour of Rome, Dioclician, His sone he het fechche anon. 2190 2200 THE X. TALE. THE MAGPIE. Nou, everich man that loueth his hale. Lestne wel Catones tale! "A burgeis was in Rome toun, A riche man of gret renoun; Marchaunt he was of gret auoir, And had a wif was queint and fair; But sche was fikel, vnder hir lok, And hadde a parti of Eue smok: And manie ben yit of hire kinne, That ben al bilapped therinne! "The burgers hadde a pie in his halle, That couthe telle tales alle Apertlich, in French langage, And heng in a fair cage, And seth lemmans comen and gon, And, for that the pie hadde i-said, "So hit bifil, vpon a dai, The burgeis fram home tok his wai, 2210 2220 And wente aboute his marchaundise: The wif waited anon hire prise, And sente here copiner fore; And whanne he com to the halle dore, For the wreiing of the pie. The wif him bi the hond hent, A laddre thai sette the halle to, A cler bacyn, and a candel; Thai sschadde upon the pies swer. And water on him gan schenche: "Tho the dai dawen gan, Awai stal the yonge man. 2230 2240 2250 Men vnlek dore and windòwe; The pie him schok with mochel howe, The pie saide," Bi God Almight! The copiner was her to-night, And hath i-don the mochel sschame; I-mad an hore of oure dame! 2260 And yit hit had ben, to-night, "The wif hath the tale i-herd, To-night was the weder fair and cler, And sche saith hit hath ben thonder: Of that night, and of the ours; 2270 The burgeis saide, the pie, Ne scholde him namore lie. For sorewe coude he no red: He seghgh hir and his cage, He thoughte of gile and of outrage. (That he brak with his hond ;) And manie other trecherie, 2280 2290 That was i-don to his pie. He went him doun, withouten oth, In his herte grim and wroth ; And with a god staf, ful sket, His wif ate dore he bet; And bad hire go, that ilche dai, "Lo sire, he seide, for a foles red, The pie, that seide soht, was ded; Hadde he taken god conseil, His pie hadde ben hol and hale; Thourgh here resoun, sscherewed and nice, 2300 |