The Nun's Priest's Epilogue
’Sir Nonnes Preest,’ our hoste seyde anoon,
‘Y-blessed be thy breche, and every stoon!
This was a mery tale of Chauntecleer.
But, by my trouthe, if thou were seculer,
Thou woldest been a trede-foul a-right.
For, if thou have corage as thou hast might,
Thee were nede of hennes, as I wene,
Ya, mo than seven tymes seventene.
See, whiche braunes hath this gentil Preest,
So greet a nekke, and swich a large breest!
He loketh as a sperhauk with his yën;
Him nedeth nat his colour for to dyen
With brasil, ne with greyn of Portingale.
Now sire, faire falle yow for youre tale!’
And after that he, with ful mery chere,
Seide to another, as ye shullen here.
“Sir Nun’s Priest,” our host said anon,
“Y-blessed be thy breech, and every stone!
This was a merry tale of Chanticleer.
But, by my truth, if thou were secular,
Thou wouldest been a trade-fowl a-right.
For, if thou have courage as thou hast might,
Thee were need of hens, as I ween,
Yea, more than seven times seventeen.
See, which brawns hath this gentil Priest,
So great a neck, and such a large breast!
He looketh as a sparr’hawk with his eyen;
Him needeth not his colour for to dyen
With brasil, ne with grain of Portugal,
Now, sir, fair fall you for your tale!”
And after that he, with full merry cheer,
Said unto another, as ye shallen hear.
