But shew to me all thy confessión.”
“Nay,” quoth the sickë man, “by Saint Simón
I have been shriven2371 this day of my curáte;
I have him told all wholly mine estate.
Needeth no more to speak of it, saith he,
But if me list of mine humility.”
“Give me then of thy good to make our cloister,”
Quoth he, “for many a mussel and many an oyster,
When other men have been full well at ease,
Hath been our food, our cloister for to rese:2372
And yet, God wot, unneth2373 the foundement2374
Performed is, nor of our pavëment
Is not a tilë yet within our wones:2375
By God, we owë forty pound for stones.
Now help, Thomas, for him that harrow’d hell,2376
For ellës must we ourë bookës sell,
And if ye lack our predicatión,
Then goes this world all to destructión.
For whoso from this world would us bereave,
So God me save, Thomas, by your leave,
He would bereave out of this world the sun.
For who can teach and worken as we conne?2377
And that is not of little time (quoth he),
But since Elijah was, and Elisée,2378
Have friars been, that find I of record,
In charity, y-thanked be our Lord.
Now, Thomas, help for saintë charity.”
And down anon he set him on his knee.
The sick man waxed well nigh wood2379 for ire,
He wouldë that the friar had been afire
With his falsë dissimulatión.
“Such thing as is in my possessión,”
Quoth he, “that may I give you and none other:
Ye say me thus, how that I am your brother.”
“Yea, certes,” quoth this friar, “yea, trustë well;
I took our Dame the letter of our seal”2380
“Now well,” quoth he, “and somewhat shall I give
Unto your holy convent while I live;
And in thine hand thou shalt it have anon,
On this conditión, and other none,
That thou depart2381 it so, my dearë brother,
That every friar have as much as other:
This shalt thou swear on thy professión,
Withoutë fraud or cavillatión.”2382
“I swear it,” quoth the friar, “upon my faith.”
And therewithal his hand in his he lay’th;
“Lo here my faith, in me shall be no lack.”
“Then put thine hand adown right by my back,”
Saidë this man, “and gropë well behind,
Beneath my buttock, therë thou shalt find
A thing, that I have hid in privity.”
“Ah,” thought this friar, “that shall go with me.”
And down his hand he launched to the clift,
In hopë for to findë there a gift.
And when this sickë man feltë this frere
About his tailë groping there and here,
Amid his hand he let the friar a fart;
There is no capel2383 drawing in a cart,
That might have let a fart of such a soun’.
The friar up start, as doth a wood2384 lioún:
“Ah, falsë churl,” quoth he, “for Goddë’s bones,
This hast thou in despite done for the nones:2385
Thou shalt abie2386 this fart, if that I may.”
His meinie,2387 which that heard of this affray,
Came leaping in, and chased out the frere,
And forth he went with a full angry cheer2388
And fetch’d his fellow, there as lay his store:
He looked as it were a wildë boar,
And groundë with his teeth, so was he wroth.
A sturdy pace down to the court he go’th,
Where as there wonn’d2389 a man of great honoúr,
To whom that he was always confessoúr:
This worthy man was lord of that villáge.
This friar came, as he were in a rage,
Where as this lord sat eating at his board:
Unnethës2390 might the friar speak one word,
Till at the last he saidë, “God you see.”2391
This lord gan look, and said, “Ben’dicite!
What? Friar John, what manner world is this?
I see well that there something is amiss;
Ye look as though the wood were full of thievës.
Sit down anon, and tell me what your grieve2392 is,
And it shall be amended, if I may.”
“I have,” quoth he, “had a despite to-day,
God yieldë you,2393 adown in your villáge,
That in this world is none so poor a page,
That would not have abominatioún
Of that I have received in your town:
And yet ne grieveth me nothing so sore,
As that the oldë churl, with lookës hoar,
Blasphemed hath our holy convent eke.”
“Now, master,” quoth this lord, “I you beseek”—
“No master, Sir,” quoth he, “but servitoúr,
Though I have had in schoolë that honoúr.
God liketh not, that men us Rabbi call,
Neither in market, nor in your large hall.”
“No force,”2394 quoth he; “but tell me all your grief.”
“Sir,” quoth this friar, “an odious mischíef
This day betid2395 is to mine order and me,
And so par consequence to each degree
Of holy churchë, God amend it soon.”
“Sir,” quoth the lord, “ye know what is to doon:2396
Distemp’r you not,2397 ye be my confessoúr.
Ye be the salt of th’ earth, and the savoúr;
For Goddë’s love your patiénce now hold;
Tell me your grief.” And he anon him told
As ye have heard before, ye know well what.
The lady of the house aye stillë sat,
Till she had heardë what the friar said.
“Hey, Goddë’s mother;” quoth she, “blissful maid,
Is there ought ellës? tell me faithfully.”
“Madame,” quoth he, “how thinketh you thereby?”
“How thinketh me?” quoth she; “so God me speed,
I say, a churl hath done a churlish deed,
What should I say? God let him never thé;2398
His sickë head is full of vanity;
I hold him in a manner phrenesy.”2399
“Madame,” quoth he, “by God, I shall not lie,
But I in other wise may be awreke,2400
I shall defame him ov’r all there2401 I speak;
This falsë blasphemoúr, that charged me
To partë that will not departed be,
To every man alikë, with mischance.”
The lord sat still, as he were in a trance,
And in his heart he rolled up and down,
“How had this churl imaginatioún
To shewë such a problem to the frere.
Never ere now heard I of such
