Now stood the lordë’s squiër at the board, That carv’d his meat, and heardë word by word Of all this thing, which that I have you said. “My lord,” quoth he, “be ye not evil paid, I couldë tellë, for a gownë-cloth, To you, Sir Friar, so that ye be not wroth, How that this fart should even dealed be Among your convent, if it liked thee.” “Tell,” quoth the lord, “and thou shalt have anon A gownë-cloth, by God and by Saint John.” “My lord,” quoth he, “when that the weather is fair, Withoutë wind, or perturbíng of air, Let bring a cart-wheel here into this hall, But lookë that it have its spokës all; Twelve spokës hath a cart-wheel commonly; And bring me then twelve friars, know ye why? For thirteen is a convent as I guess; Your confessór here, for his worthiness, Shall perform up the number of his convént. Then shall they kneel adown by one assent, And to each spokë’s end, in this mannére, Full sadly lay his nosë shall a frere; Your noble confessór there, God him save, Shall hold his nose upright under the nave. Then shall this churl, with belly stiff and tought As any tabour, hither be y-brought; And set him on the wheel right of this cart Upon the nave, and make him let a fart, And ye shall see, on peril of my life, By very proof that is demonstrative, That equally the sound of it will wend, And eke the stink, unto the spokës’ end, Save that this worthy man, your confessoúr (Because he is a man of great honoúr), Shall have the firstë fruit, as reason is; The noble uságe of friars yet it is, The worthy men of them shall first be served, And certainly he hath it well deserved; He hath to-day taught us so muchë good With preaching in the pulpit where he stood, That I may vouchësafe, I say for me, He had the firstë smell of fartës three; And so would all his brethren hardily; He beareth him so fair and holily.”
The lord, the lady, and each man, save the frere, Saidë, that Jankin spake in this mattére As well as Euclid, or as Ptolemy. Touching the churl, they said that subtilty And high wit made him speaken as he spake; He is no fool, nor no demoniac. And Jankin hath y-won a newë gown; My tale is done, we are almost at town.