 | The Fox and the Wolf |  |
188
THE FOX AND THE WOLF
A vox gon out of þe wode go,
Afingret so þat him wes wo;
He nes nevere in none wise
Afingret erour half so swiþe.
He ne hoeld nouþer wey ne strete,
For him wes loþ men to mete;
Him were levere meten one hen
Þen half an oundred wimmen.
He strok swiþe overal,
So þat he ofsei ane wal;
Wiþinne þe walle wes on hous.
The wox wes þider swiþe wous,
For he þouhte his hounger aquenche,
Oþer mid mete, oþer mid drenche.
Abouten he biheld wel ȝerne
Þo eroust bigon þe vox to erne
Al fort he come to one walle;
And som þerof wes afalle,
And wes þe wal overal tobroke,
And on ȝat þer wes iloke.
At þe furmeste bruche þat he fond,
He lep in, and over he wond.
Afingret so þat him wes wo;
He nes nevere in none wise
Afingret erour half so swiþe.
He ne hoeld nouþer wey ne strete,
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Him were levere meten one hen
Þen half an oundred wimmen.
He strok swiþe overal,
So þat he ofsei ane wal;
Wiþinne þe walle wes on hous.
The wox wes þider swiþe wous,
For he þouhte his hounger aquenche,
Oþer mid mete, oþer mid drenche.
Abouten he biheld wel ȝerne
Þo eroust bigon þe vox to erne
Al fort he come to one walle;
And som þerof wes afalle,
And wes þe wal overal tobroke,
And on ȝat þer wes iloke.
At þe furmeste bruche þat he fond,
He lep in, and over he wond.
Þo he wes inne, smere he lou,
And þerof he hadde gome inou;
For he com in wiþouten leve
Boþen of haiward and of reve.
On hous þer wes—þe dore wes ope—
Hennen weren þerinne icrope—
Five, þat makeþ anne flok—
And mid hem sat on kok.
Þe kok him wes flowen on hey,
And two hennen him seten ney.
And þerof he hadde gome inou;
For he com in wiþouten leve
Boþen of haiward and of reve.
On hous þer wes—þe dore wes ope—
Hennen weren þerinne icrope—
Five, þat makeþ anne flok—
And mid hem sat on kok.
Þe kok him wes flowen on hey,
And two hennen him seten ney.
‘Wox,’ quod þe kok, ‘wat dest þou þare?
Go hom, Crist þe ȝeve kare!
Houre hennen þou dest ofte shome.’
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Houre hennen þou dest ofte shome.’
‘Be stille, Ich hote, a Godes nome!’
Quaþ þe wox: ‘Sire Chauntecler,
Þou fle adoun, and com me ner.
I nabbe don her nout bote goed,
I have leten þine hennen blod;
Hy weren seke ounder þe ribe,
Þat hy ne miȝtte non lengour libe
Bote here heddre were itake;
Þat I do for almes sake.
Ich have hem letten eddre blod,
And þe, Chauntecler, hit wolde don goed.
Þou havest þat ilke ounder þe splen,
Þou nestes nevere daies ten;
For þine lif-dayes beþ al ago,
Bote þou bi mine rede do;
I do þe lete blod ounder þe brest,
Oþer sone axe after þe prest.’
Quaþ þe wox: ‘Sire Chauntecler,
Þou fle adoun, and com me ner.
I nabbe don her nout bote goed,
I have leten þine hennen blod;
Hy weren seke ounder þe ribe,
Þat hy ne miȝtte non lengour libe
Bote here heddre were itake;
Þat I do for almes sake.
Ich have hem letten eddre blod,
And þe, Chauntecler, hit wolde don goed.
Þou havest þat ilke ounder þe splen,
Þou nestes nevere daies ten;
For þine lif-dayes beþ al ago,
Bote þou bi mine rede do;
I do þe lete blod ounder þe brest,
Oþer sone axe after þe prest.’
‘Go wei,’ quod þe kok, ‘wo þe bigo!
Þou havest don oure kunne wo.
Go mid þan þat þou havest nouþe;
Acoursed be þou of Godes mouþe!
For were I adoun, bi Godes nome,
Ich miȝte ben siker of oþre shome.
Ac weste hit houre cellerer
Þat þou were icomen her,
He wolde sone after þe ȝonge,
Mid pikes, and stones, and staves stronge;
Alle þine bones he wolde tobreke;
Þene we weren wel awreke.’
Þou havest don oure kunne wo.
Go mid þan þat þou havest nouþe;
Acoursed be þou of Godes mouþe!
For were I adoun, bi Godes nome,
Ich miȝte ben siker of oþre shome.
Ac weste hit houre cellerer
Þat þou were icomen her,
He wolde sone after þe ȝonge,
Mid pikes, and stones, and staves stronge;
Alle þine bones he wolde tobreke;
Þene we weren wel awreke.’
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He wes stille, ne spak namore,
Ac he werþ aþurst wel sore;
Þe þurst him dede more wo
Þen hevede raþer his hounger do.
Overal he ede and souhte;
On aventure his witt him brouhte
To one putte—wes water inne—
Þat wes imaked mid grete ginne.
Tuo boketes þer he founde:
Þat oþer wende to þe grounde,
Þat wen me shulde þat on opwinde,
Þat oþer wolde adoun winde.
He ne hounderstod nout of þe ginne;
He nom þat boket, and lep þerinne,
For he hopede inou to drinke.
Þis boket beginneþ to sinke;
To late þe vox wes biþout,
Þo he wes in þe ginne ibrout.
Inou he gon him biþenche,
Ac hit ne halp mid none wrenche;
Adoun he moste, he wes þerinne;
Ikaut he wes mid swikele ginne.
Hit miȝte han iben wel his wille
To lete þat boket hongi stille.
Wat mid serewe and mid drede
Al his þurst him overhede.
Al þus he com to þe grounde,
And water inou þer he founde.
Þo he fond water, ȝerne he dronk;
Him þoute þat water þere stonk,
For hit wes toȝeines his wille.
Ac he werþ aþurst wel sore;
Þe þurst him dede more wo
Þen hevede raþer his hounger do.
Overal he ede and souhte;
On aventure his witt him brouhte
To one putte—wes water inne—
Þat wes imaked mid grete ginne.
Tuo boketes þer he founde:
Þat oþer wende to þe grounde,
Þat wen me shulde þat on opwinde,
Þat oþer wolde adoun winde.
He ne hounderstod nout of þe ginne;
He nom þat boket, and lep þerinne,
For he hopede inou to drinke.
Þis boket beginneþ to sinke;
To late þe vox wes biþout,
Þo he wes in þe ginne ibrout.
Inou he gon him biþenche,
Ac hit ne halp mid none wrenche;
Adoun he moste, he wes þerinne;
Ikaut he wes mid swikele ginne.
Hit miȝte han iben wel his wille
To lete þat boket hongi stille.
Wat mid serewe and mid drede
Al his þurst him overhede.
Al þus he com to þe grounde,
And water inou þer he founde.
Þo he fond water, ȝerne he dronk;
Him þoute þat water þere stonk,
For hit wes toȝeines his wille.
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‘Wo worþe,’ quaþ þe vox, ‘lust and wille,
Þat ne can meþ to his mete!
Ȝef ich nevede to muchel i-ete,
Þis ilke shome nedd I nouþe,
Nedde lust iben of mine mouþe.
Him is wo in euche londe,
Þat is þef mid his honde.
Ich am ikaut mid swikele ginne,
Oþer soum devel me broute herinne.
I was woned to ben wiis,
Ac nou of me idon hit hiis.’
Þe vox wep, and reuliche bigan.
Þer com a wolf gon after þan
Out of þe depe wode blive,
For he wes afingret swiþe.
Noþing he ne founde in al þe niȝte,
Wermide his honger aquenche miȝtte.
He com to þe putte, þene vox iherde;
He him kneu wel bi his rerde,
For hit wes his neiȝebore,
And his gossip, of children bore.
Adoun bi þe putte he sat.
Þat ne can meþ to his mete!
Ȝef ich nevede to muchel i-ete,
Þis ilke shome nedd I nouþe,
Nedde lust iben of mine mouþe.
Him is wo in euche londe,
Þat is þef mid his honde.
Ich am ikaut mid swikele ginne,
Oþer soum devel me broute herinne.
I was woned to ben wiis,
Ac nou of me idon hit hiis.’
Þe vox wep, and reuliche bigan.
Þer com a wolf gon after þan
Out of þe depe wode blive,
For he wes afingret swiþe.
Noþing he ne founde in al þe niȝte,
Wermide his honger aquenche miȝtte.
He com to þe putte, þene vox iherde;
He him kneu wel bi his rerde,
For hit wes his neiȝebore,
And his gossip, of children bore.
Adoun bi þe putte he sat.
Quod þe wolf: ‘Wat may ben þat
Þat Ich in þe putte ihere?
Hertou Cristine, oþer mi fere?
Say me soþ, ne gabbe þou me nout,
Wo haveþ þe in þe putte ibrout?’
Þe vox hine ikneu wel for his kun,
And þo eroust kom wiit to him;
For he þoute mid soumme ginne
Himself houpbringe, þene wolf þerinne.
Þat Ich in þe putte ihere?
Hertou Cristine, oþer mi fere?
Say me soþ, ne gabbe þou me nout,
Wo haveþ þe in þe putte ibrout?’
Þe vox hine ikneu wel for his kun,
And þo eroust kom wiit to him;
For he þoute mid soumme ginne
Himself houpbringe, þene wolf þerinne.
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Quod þe vox: ‘Wo is nou þere?
Ich wene hit is Sigrim þat Ich here.’
Ich wene hit is Sigrim þat Ich here.’
‘Þat is soþ,’ þe wolf sede;
‘Ac wat art þou, so God þe rede?’
‘Ac wat art þou, so God þe rede?’
‘A!’ quod þe vox, ‘Ich wille þe telle;
On alpi word Ich lie nelle.
Ich am Reneuard, þi frend,
And ȝif Ich þine come hevede iwend,
Ich edde so ibede for þe,
Þat þou sholdest comen to me.’
On alpi word Ich lie nelle.
Ich am Reneuard, þi frend,
And ȝif Ich þine come hevede iwend,
Ich edde so ibede for þe,
Þat þou sholdest comen to me.’
‘Mid þe?’ quod þe wolf. ‘War to?
Wat shulde Ich ine þe putte do?’
Wat shulde Ich ine þe putte do?’
Quod þe vox: ‘Þou art ounwiis,
Her is þe blisse of paradiis;
Her Ich mai evere wel fare,
Wiþouten pine, wiþouten kare;
Her is mete, her is drinke,
Her is blisse wiþouten swinke;
Her nis hounger never mo,
Ne non oþer kunnes wo;
Of alle gode her is inou.’
Her is þe blisse of paradiis;
Her Ich mai evere wel fare,
Wiþouten pine, wiþouten kare;
Her is mete, her is drinke,
Her is blisse wiþouten swinke;
Her nis hounger never mo,
Ne non oþer kunnes wo;
Of alle gode her is inou.’
Mid þilke wordes þe wolf lou.
‘Art þou ded, so God þe rede,
Oþer of þe worlde?’ þe wolf sede.
Quod þe wolf: ‘Wenne storve þou,
And wat dest þou þere nou?
Ne beþ nout ȝet þre daies ago,
Þat þou and þi wif also,
And þine children, smale and grete,
Alle togedere mid me hete.’
‘Art þou ded, so God þe rede,
Oþer of þe worlde?’ þe wolf sede.
Quod þe wolf: ‘Wenne storve þou,
And wat dest þou þere nou?
Ne beþ nout ȝet þre daies ago,
Þat þou and þi wif also,
And þine children, smale and grete,
Alle togedere mid me hete.’
‘Þat is soþ,’ quod þe vox,
‘Gode þonk, nou hit is þus,
Þat Ihc am to Criste vend;
Not hit non of mine frend.
I nolde, for al þe worldes goed,
Ben ine þe worlde, þer Ich hem fond;
Wat shuld Ich ine þe worlde go,
Þer nis bote kare and wo,
And livie in fulþe and in sunne?
Ac her beþ joies fele cunne;
Her beþ boþe shep and get.’
‘Gode þonk, nou hit is þus,
Þat Ihc am to Criste vend;
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I nolde, for al þe worldes goed,
Ben ine þe worlde, þer Ich hem fond;
Wat shuld Ich ine þe worlde go,
Þer nis bote kare and wo,
And livie in fulþe and in sunne?
Ac her beþ joies fele cunne;
Her beþ boþe shep and get.’
Þe wolf haveþ hounger swiþe gret,
For he nedde ȝare i-ete;
And þo he herde speken of mete,
He wolde bleþeliche ben þare.
‘A!’ quod þe wolf, ‘gode ifere,
Moni goed mel þou havest me binome;
Let me adoun to þe kome,
And al Ich wole þe forȝeve.’
For he nedde ȝare i-ete;
And þo he herde speken of mete,
He wolde bleþeliche ben þare.
‘A!’ quod þe wolf, ‘gode ifere,
Moni goed mel þou havest me binome;
Let me adoun to þe kome,
And al Ich wole þe forȝeve.’
‘Ȝe,’ quod þe vox, ‘were þou isrive,
And sunnen hevedest al forsake,
And to klene lif itake,
Ich wolde so bidde for þe
Þat þou sholdest comen to me.’
And sunnen hevedest al forsake,
And to klene lif itake,
Ich wolde so bidde for þe
Þat þou sholdest comen to me.’
‘To wom shuld Ich,’ þe wolfe seide,
Ben iknowe of mine misdede?
Her nis noþing alive
Þat me kouþe her nou srive.
Þou havest ben ofte min ifere,
Woltou nou mi srift ihere,
And al mi liif I shal þe telle?’
Ben iknowe of mine misdede?
Her nis noþing alive
Þat me kouþe her nou srive.
Þou havest ben ofte min ifere,
Woltou nou mi srift ihere,
And al mi liif I shal þe telle?’
‘Nay,’ quod þe vox, ‘I nelle.’
‘Neltou?’ quod þe wolf; ‘þin ore!
Ich am afingret swiþe sore;
Ich wot to-niȝt ich worþe ded
Bote þou do me somne reed.
For Cristes love, be mi prest.’
Ich am afingret swiþe sore;
Ich wot to-niȝt ich worþe ded
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For Cristes love, be mi prest.’
Þe wolf bey adoun his brest,
And gon to siken harde and stronge.
And gon to siken harde and stronge.
‘Woltou,’ quod þe vox, ‘srift ounderfonge,
Tel þine sunnen on and on,
Þat þer bileve never on.’
Tel þine sunnen on and on,
Þat þer bileve never on.’
‘Sone,’ quod þe wolf, ‘wel ifaie;
Ich habbe ben qued al mi lifdaie;
Ich habbe widewene kors,
Þerfore ich fare þe wors.
A þousent shep ich habbe abiten,
And mo, ȝef hy weren iwriten,
Ac hit me ofþinkeþ sore.
Maister, shal I tellen more?’
Ich habbe ben qued al mi lifdaie;
Ich habbe widewene kors,
Þerfore ich fare þe wors.
A þousent shep ich habbe abiten,
And mo, ȝef hy weren iwriten,
Ac hit me ofþinkeþ sore.
Maister, shal I tellen more?’
‘Ȝe,’ quod þe vox, ‘al þou most sugge,
Oþer elleswer þou most abugge.’
Oþer elleswer þou most abugge.’
‘Gossip,’ quod þe wolf, ‘forȝef hit me,
Ich habbe ofte sehid qued bi þe.
Men seide þat þou on þine live
Misferdest mid mine wive;
Ich þe aperseivede one stounde,
And in bedde togedere ou founde;
Ich wes ofte ou ful ney,
And in bedde togedere ou sey.
Ich wende, also oþre doþ,
Þat Ich iseie were soþ,
And þerfore þou were me loþ;
Gode gossip, ne be þou nouht wroþ.’
Ich habbe ofte sehid qued bi þe.
Men seide þat þou on þine live
Misferdest mid mine wive;
Ich þe aperseivede one stounde,
And in bedde togedere ou founde;
Ich wes ofte ou ful ney,
And in bedde togedere ou sey.
Ich wende, also oþre doþ,
Þat Ich iseie were soþ,
And þerfore þou were me loþ;
Gode gossip, ne be þou nouht wroþ.’
‘Wolf,’ quod þe vox him þo,
‘Al þat þou havest her bifore ido,
In þouht, in speche, and in dede,
In euche oþeres kunnes quede,
Ich þe forȝeve at þisse nede.’
‘Al þat þou havest her bifore ido,
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In euche oþeres kunnes quede,
Ich þe forȝeve at þisse nede.’
‘Crist þe forȝelde!’ þe wolf seide.
‘Nou Ich am in clene live,
Ne recche Ich of childe ne of wive.
Ac sei me wat I shal do,
And ou Ich may comen þe to.’
‘Nou Ich am in clene live,
Ne recche Ich of childe ne of wive.
Ac sei me wat I shal do,
And ou Ich may comen þe to.’
‘Do?’ quod þe vox. ‘Ich wille þe lere.
Isiist þou a boket hongi þere?
Þere is a bruche of hevene blisse.
Lep þerinne, mid iwisse,
And þou shalt comen to me sone.’
Isiist þou a boket hongi þere?
Þere is a bruche of hevene blisse.
Lep þerinne, mid iwisse,
And þou shalt comen to me sone.’
Quod the wolf, ‘Þat is liȝt to done.’
He lep in, and way sumdel—
Þat weste þe vox ful wel.
Þe wolf gon sinke, þe vox arise;
Þo gon þe wolf sore agrise.
Þo he com amidde þe putte,
Þe wolfe þene vox opward mette.
He lep in, and way sumdel—
Þat weste þe vox ful wel.
Þe wolf gon sinke, þe vox arise;
Þo gon þe wolf sore agrise.
Þo he com amidde þe putte,
Þe wolfe þene vox opward mette.
‘Gossip,’ quod þe wolf, ‘wat nou?
Wat havest þou imunt? weder wolt þou?’
Wat havest þou imunt? weder wolt þou?’
‘Weder Ich wille?’ þe vox sede.
‘Ich wille oup, so God me rede!
And nou go doun wiþ þi meel,
Þi biȝete worþ wel smal;
Ac Ich am þerof glad and bliþe,
Þat þou art nomen in clene live.
Þi soule-cnul Ich wille do ringe,
And masse for þine soule singe.’
‘Ich wille oup, so God me rede!
And nou go doun wiþ þi meel,
Þi biȝete worþ wel smal;
Ac Ich am þerof glad and bliþe,
Þat þou art nomen in clene live.
Þi soule-cnul Ich wille do ringe,
And masse for þine soule singe.’
Þe wrecche bineþe noþing ne vind
Bote cold water, and hounger him bind;
To colde gistninge he wes ibede;
Vroggen haveþ his dou iknede.
Þe wolf in þe putte stod,
Afingret so þat he ves wod.
Inou he cursede þat þider him broute;
Þe vox þerof luitel route.
Bote cold water, and hounger him bind;
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Vroggen haveþ his dou iknede.
Þe wolf in þe putte stod,
Afingret so þat he ves wod.
Inou he cursede þat þider him broute;
Þe vox þerof luitel route.
Þe put him wes þe house ney,
Þer freren woneden swiþe sley.
Þo þat hit com to þe time
Þat hoe shulden arisen ine,
For to suggen here houssong,
O frere þere wes among,
Of here slep hem shulde awecche,
Wen hoe shulden þidere recche.
He seide: ‘Ariseþ on and on,
And komeþ to houssong hevereuch on.’
Þis ilke frere heyte Ailmer;
He wes hoere maister curtiler.
He wes hofþurst swiþe stronge;
Riȝt amidward here houssonge,
Alhone to þe putte he hede,
For he wende bete his nede.
He com to þe putte, and drou,
And þe wolf wes hevi inou.
Þe frere mid al his maine tey
So longe þat he þene wolf isey!
For he sei þene wolf þer sitte,
He gradde: ‘Þe devel is in þe putte!’
To þe putte hy gounnen gon,
Alle mid pikes, and staves, and ston,
Euch mon mid þat he hedde;
Wo wes him þat wepne nedde.
Hy comen to þe putte, þene wolf opdrowe;
Þo hede þe wreche fomen inowe,
Þat weren egre him to slete
Mid grete houndes, and to bete.
Wel and wroþe he wes iswonge;
Mid staves and speres he wes istounge.
Þe wox bicharde him, mid iwisse,
For he ne fond nones kunnes blisse,
Ne hof duntes forȝevenesse.
Þer freren woneden swiþe sley.
Þo þat hit com to þe time
Þat hoe shulden arisen ine,
For to suggen here houssong,
O frere þere wes among,
Of here slep hem shulde awecche,
Wen hoe shulden þidere recche.
He seide: ‘Ariseþ on and on,
And komeþ to houssong hevereuch on.’
Þis ilke frere heyte Ailmer;
He wes hoere maister curtiler.
He wes hofþurst swiþe stronge;
Riȝt amidward here houssonge,
Alhone to þe putte he hede,
For he wende bete his nede.
He com to þe putte, and drou,
And þe wolf wes hevi inou.
Þe frere mid al his maine tey
So longe þat he þene wolf isey!
For he sei þene wolf þer sitte,
He gradde: ‘Þe devel is in þe putte!’
To þe putte hy gounnen gon,
Alle mid pikes, and staves, and ston,
Euch mon mid þat he hedde;
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Hy comen to þe putte, þene wolf opdrowe;
Þo hede þe wreche fomen inowe,
Þat weren egre him to slete
Mid grete houndes, and to bete.
Wel and wroþe he wes iswonge;
Mid staves and speres he wes istounge.
Þe wox bicharde him, mid iwisse,
For he ne fond nones kunnes blisse,
Ne hof duntes forȝevenesse.
| The Fox and the Wolf | |