I rede4909 as for the best to let it gon.
For whoso maketh God his adversáry,
As for to work any thing in contráry
Of his will, certes never shall he thrive,
Though that he multiply term of his live.4910
And there a point;4911 for ended is my tale.
God send ev’ry good man boot of his bale.4912
The Manciple’s Tale
The Prologue
Weet4913 ye not where there stands a little town,
Which that y-called is Bob-up-and-down,4914
Under the Blee, in Canterbury way?
There gan our Hostë for to jape and play,
And saidë, “Sirs, what? Dun is in the mire.4915
Is there no man, for prayer nor for hire,
That will awaken our fellów behind?
A thief him might full lightly4916 rob and bind.
See how he nappeth, see, for cockë’s bones,
As he would fallë from his horse at ones.
Is that a Cook of London,4917 with mischance?
Do4918 him come forth, he knoweth his penánce;
For he shall tell a talë, by my fay,4919
Although it be not worth a bottle hay.
Awake, thou Cook,” quoth he; “God give thee sorrow!
What aileth thee to sleepë by the morrow?4920
Hast thou had fleas all night, or art drunk?
Or had thou with some quean all night y-swunk,4921
So that thou mayest not hold up thine head?”
The Cook, that was full pale and nothing red,
Said to Host, “So God my soulë bless,
As there is fall’n on me such heaviness,
I know not why, that me were lever4922 sleep,
Than the best gallon wine that is in Cheap.”
“Well,” quoth the Manciple, “if it may do ease
To thee, Sir Cook, and to no wight displease
Which that here rideth in this company,
And that our Host will of his courtesy,
I will as now excuse thee of thy tale;
For in good faith thy visage is full pale:
Thine eyen dazë,4923 soothly as me thinketh,
And well I wot, thy breath full sourë stinketh,
That sheweth well thou art not well disposed;
Of me certáin thou shalt not be y-glosed.4924
See how he yawneth, lo, this drunken wight,
As though he would us swallow anon right.
Hold close thy mouth, man, by thy father’s kin;
The devil of hellë set his foot therein!
Thy cursed breath infectë will us all:
Fy! stinking swine, fy! foul may thee befall.
Ah! takë heed, Sirs, of this lusty man.
Now, sweetë Sir, will ye joust at the fan?4925
Thereto, me thinketh, ye be well y-shape.
I trow that ye have drunken wine of ape,4926
And that is when men playë with a straw.”
And with this speech the Cook waxed all wraw,4927
And on the Manciple he gan nod fast
For lack of speech; and down his horse him cast,
Where as he lay, till that men him up took.
This was a fair chevachie4928 of a cook:
Alas! that he had held him by his ladle!
And ere that he again were in the saddle
There was great shoving bothë to and fro
To lift him up, and muchë care and woe,
So unwieldy was this silly paled ghost.
And to the Manciple then spake our Host:
“Because that drink hath dominatión
Upon this man, by my salvatión
I trow he lewëdly4929 will tell his tale.
For were it wine, or old or moisty4930 ale,
That he hath drunk, he speaketh in his nose,
And sneezeth fast, and eke he hath the pose.4931
He also hath to do more than enough
To keep him on his capel4932 out of the slough;
And if he fall from off his capel eftsoon,4933
Then shall we allë have enough to do’n
In lifting up his heavy drunken corse.
Tell on thy tale, of him make I no force.4934
But yet, Manciple, in faith thou art too nice4935
Thus openly to reprove him of his vice;
Another day he will paráventúre
Reclaimë thee, and bring thee to the lure;4936
I mean, he speakë will of smallë things,
As for to pinchen at4937 thy reckonings,
That were not honest, if it came to prefe.”4938
Quoth the Manciple, “That were a great mischíef;
So might he lightly bring me in the snare.
Yet had I lever4939 payë for the mare
Which he rides on, than he should with me strive.
I will not wrathë4940 him, so may I thrive)
That that I spake, I said it in my bourde.4941
And weet ye what? I have here in my gourd
A draught of wine, yea, of a ripë grape,
And right anon ye shall see a good jape.4942
This Cook shall drink thereof, if that I may;
On pain of my life he will not say nay.”
And certainly, to tellen as it was,
Of this vessél the cook drank fast (alas!
What needed it? he drank enough beforn),
And when he haddë pouped in his horn,4943
To the Manciple he took the gourd again.
And of that drink the Cook was wondrous fain,
And thanked him in such wise as he could.
Then gan our Host to laughë wondrous loud,
And said, “I see well it is necessary
Where that we go good drink with us to carry;
For that will turnë rancour and disease4944
T’ accord and love, and many a wrong appease.
O Bacchus, Bacchus, blessed be thy name,
That so canst turnen earnest into game!
Worship and thank be to thy deity.
Of that mattére ye get no more of me.
Tell on thy tale, Manciple, I thee pray.”
“Well, Sir,” quoth he, “now hearken what I say.”
The Tale4945
When Phoebus dwelled here in earth adown,
As oldë bookës makë mentioún,
He was the mostë lusty4946 bachelér
Of all this world, and eke the best archér.
He slew Python the serpent, as he lay
Sleeping against the sun upon a day;
And many another noble worthy deed
He with his bow wrought, as men mayë read.
Playen he could on every minstrelsy,
And singë,
