The Cook's Prologue
The prologe of the Cokes Tale.
The Cook of London, whyl the Reve spak,
For Ioye, him thoughte, he clawed him on the bak,
‘Ha! ha!’ quod he, ‘for Cristes passioun,
This miller hadde a sharp conclusioun
Upon his argument of herbergage!
Wel seyde Salomon in his langage,
“Ne bringe nat every man in-to thyn hous;”
For herberwing by nighte is perilous.
Wel oghte a man avysed for to be
Whom that he broghte in-to his privetee.
I pray to god, so yeve me sorwe and care,
If ever, sith I highte Hogge of Ware,
Herde I a miller bettre y-set a-werk.
He hadde a Iape of malice in the derk.
But god forbede that we stinten here;
And therfore, if ye vouche-sauf to here
A tale of me, that am a povre man,
I wol yow telle as wel as ever I can
A litel Iape that fil in our citee.’
Our host answerde, and seide, ‘I graunte it thee;
Now telle on, Roger, loke that it be good;
For many a pastee hastow laten blood,
And many a Iakke of Dover hastow sold
That hath been twyes hoot and twyes cold.
Of many a pilgrim hastow Cristes curs,
For of thy persly yet they fare the wors,
That they han eten with thy stubbel-goos;
For in thy shoppe is many a flye loos.
Now telle on, gentil Roger, by thy name.
But yet I pray thee, be nat wrooth for game,
A man may seye ful sooth in game and pley.’
‘Thou seist ful sooth,’ quod Roger, ‘by my fey,
But “sooth pley, quaad pley,” as the Fleming seith;
And ther-fore, Herry Bailly, by thy feith,
Be thou nat wrooth, er we departen heer,
Though that my tale be of an hostileer.
But nathelees I wol nat telle it yit,
But er we parte, y-wis, thou shalt be quit.’
And ther-with-al he lough and made chere,
And seyde his tale, as ye shul after here.
Thus endeth the Prologe of the Cokes tale.
The prologue of the Cook’s Tale.
The Cook of London, while the Reeve spake,
For joy, him thought, he clawed him on the back,
“Ha! ha!” quoth he, “for Christ’s passion,
This miller had a sharp conclusion
Upon his argument of harbourage!
Well said Solomon in his language,
‘Ne bring not every man into thine house,’
For harbouring by night is perilous.
Well ought a man advised for to be
Whom that he brought into his privity.
I pray to god, so give me sorrow and care,
If ever, sith I hight Hodge of Ware,
Heard I a miller better y-set a-work.
He had a jape of malice in the dark.
But god forbid that we stinten here;
And therefore, if ye vouchsafe to hear
A tale of me, that am a povre man,
I will you tell, as well as ever I can
A little jape that fell in our city.”
Our host answered, and said, “I grant it thee;
Now tell on, Roger; look that it be good,
For many a pasty hast thou letten blood,
And many a Jack of Dover hast thou sold
That hath been twice hot and twice cold.
Of many a pilgrim hast thou Christ’s curse,
For of thy parsley yet they fare the worse,
That they have eaten with thy stubble goose;
For in thy shop is many a fly loose.
Now tell on, gentil Roger, by thy name.
But yet I pray thee, be not wroth for game,
A man may say full sooth in game and play.”
“Thou sayest full sooth,” quoth Roger, “by my fay,
But ‘sooth play, quade play,’ as the Fleming saith;
And therefore Harry Bailly, by thy faith,
Be thou not wroth, ere we departen here,
Though that my tale be of an hosteler.
But natheless I will not tell it yet,
But ere we part, y-wis, thou shalt be quit.”
And therewithal he laugh and made cheer,
And said his tale, as ye shall after hear.
Thus endeth the Prologue of the Cook’s tale.
