But takë heed, Sirs, now for Goddë’s love. He took his coal, of which I spake above, And in his hand he bare it privily, And while the priestë couched busily The coalës, as I toldë you ere this, This canon saidë, “Friend, ye do amiss; This is not couched as it ought to be, But soon I shall amenden it,” quoth he. “Now let me meddle therewith but a while, For of you have I pity, by Saint Gile. Ye be right hot, I see well how ye sweat; Have here a cloth, and wipe away the wet.” And whilë that the priestë wip’d his face, This canon took his coal⁠—with sorry grace 4811 ⁠— And layed it above on the midwárd Of the croslet, and blew well afterward, Till that the coals begannë fast to brenn. 4812 “Now give us drinkë,” quoth this canon then, “And swithe 4813 all shall be well, I undertake.