 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
169
A TALE,
Devised in the plesaunt 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,
Mo will had he to Daliaunce.
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:
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,
Full fetously he prank'd his Bond;
Sleke weren his flaxen Locks ykempt.
And Isaac Wever was he nempt.
Who wyth grete Cheer, and litil Werke,
Upswalen was with Venere:
For meagre Lent ne recked he,
Ne Saincts Daies had in Remembraunce,
Mo will had he to Daliaunce.
170
He had a sharp and licorous Eie;
But it wold bett abide a Leke,
Or Onion, than the Sight of Greke:
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,
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,
Born in East-Cheape; who, by my Fay,
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 speciall Signe
She lack'd somdele of what ech Dame
Holds dere as Life, yet dredes to name:
So was eftsoons by Isaac won,
To blissful Consummation.
For a yonge Damosell did pyne,
Born in East-Cheape; who, by my Fay,
Ypert was as a Popinjay:
Ne Wit, ne Wordes did she waunt,
Wele cond she many a Romaunt;
171
She carrold soote as Nightingale:
And for the nonce couth rowle her Eyne,
Withouten Speche; a speciall Signe
She lack'd somdele of what ech Dame
Holds dere as Life, yet dredes to name:
So was eftsoons by Isaac won,
To blissful Consummation.
Here mought I now tellen the Festes,
Who yave the Bryde, how bibbd the Ghestes;
But withouten such Gawdes, I trow
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.
Who yave the Bryde, how bibbd the Ghestes;
But withouten such Gawdes, I trow
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.
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,
Ech cleping toder Life and Dere;
Heven shilde hem fro myne Bromley Host,
Or many a Groat theyr Meel woll cost.
The Citee for her Husbond's Graunge,
172
Twas vaine ayenst the Streme to rowe.
So wend they on one Steed yfere,
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 Wever sene
Yclad in sable Bombasine;
The Frankeleins Wyves accost her blythe,
Curteis to guilen hem of Tythe;
And yeve Honour Parochiall
In Pew, and eke at Festivall.
Worschip and Welth 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 Portaunce debonair,
On everich Henn bestow'd a Share
Of Plesaunce, yet no Genitours
She saw, to thrill his Paramours:
Oft sithes she mokel mus'd theron,
Yet nist she howgates it was don.
Yclad in sable Bombasine;
The Frankeleins Wyves accost her blythe,
Curteis to guilen hem of Tythe;
And yeve Honour Parochiall
In Pew, and eke at Festivall.
Worschip and Welth 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;
173
And was astonied at the Cocke;
That, in his Portaunce debonair,
On everich Henn bestow'd a Share
Of Plesaunce, yet no Genitours
She saw, to thrill his Paramours:
Oft sithes 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 falfen me.
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 falfen 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.
Ne fewer kepes our Yerd than ten;
174
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.
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.
175
O Benedicite! qd. she,
If kepyng hote so kindlych be,
Hie in thyne Boweles truss thyne Gere,
And eke the Skrippe that daungleth here.
If kepyng hote so kindlych be,
Hie 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.
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! chafe hem in myne woom.
Swete Nykin! chafe hem in myne woom.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |