The Manciple’s Tale

Weet 4913 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 lightly 4916 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? Do 4918 him come forth, he knoweth his penánce; For he shall tell a talë, by my fay, 4919