The Canterbury Tales of Chaucer :: :: University of Virginia Library

This Sumner was not overstock'd with Grace,
He had a Bloated, Broad, Cherubic Face,
Of fiery Hue, with hollow Eyes and narrow,
Red as a Cock, and leach'rous as a Sparrow:
Black were his Eye-Brows, bristled was his Beard,
And much the Children his stern Visage fear'd.
His Nose with Carbuncles was overspread.
His Cheeks with white Welks on a Ground of red.

No inward Med'cine, he cou'd e'er procure,
Had Pow'r sufficient to effect their Cure.
Not new Quick-silver, with Ceruse too,
Brimstone, nor Oyl of Tartar, aught cou'd do.
Strong bloody Wine he lov'd, and well dress'd Fish,
And stunk of Garlick like a Spanish Dish.
When he was drunk, he'd talk a Man to Death,
And belch out Latin with unsav'ry Breath.
Two or three common Fragments he cou'd say;
No Wonder, for he heard it all the Day.
But if you press'd him farther, you might see
A sudden End of his Philosophy.
A leud young Fellow, for a Quart of Wine,
Might for a Twelvemonth have his Concubine.
He taught his loose Companions in their Sport,
T'evade the Censure of th' Archdeacon's Court.
But if a rich libid'nous Prize he found,
Him he inclos'd within his bawdy Pound.
This, as no vulgar Secret, he wou'd tell,
A large full Purse is the Archdeacon's Hell.

If rich Mens Souls, within their Purses lie,
'Tis just their Sins be punish'd there, say I.
To him all Wenches in the Bishop's See
Paid publick Tribute, or a private Fee.
Boldly he rode, a Garland on his Head,
Of all unmarry'd Men and Maids the Dread.