none, That thou depart it so, my dearë brother, That every friar have as much as other: This shalt thou swear on thy professión, Withoutë fraud or cavillatión.” “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 capel drawing in a cart, That might have let a fart of such a soun’. The friar up start, as doth a wood lioún: “Ah, falsë churl,” quoth he, “for Goddë’s bones, This hast thou in despite done for the nones: Thou shalt abie this fart, if that I may.” His meinie, which that heard of this affray, Came leaping in, and chased out the frere, And forth he went with a full angry cheer 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’d 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: Unnethës might the friar speak one word, Till at the last he saidë, “God you see.”
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 grieve is, And it shall be amended, if I may.” “I have,” quoth he, “had a despite to-day, God yieldë you, 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