called Damosellë Partelote, Courteous she was, discreet, and debonair, And cómpaniáble, and bare herself so fair, Sincë the day that she sev’n night was old, That truëly she had the heart in hold Of Chanticleer, locked in every lith; He lov’d her so, that well was him therewith. But such a joy it was to hear them sing, When that the brightë sunnë gan to spring, In sweet accord, “My lefe is fare in land.” For, at that time, as I have understand, Beastës and birdës couldë speak and sing.
And so befell, that in a dawëning, As Chanticleer among his wivës all Sat on his perchë, that was in the hall, And next him sat this fairë Partelote, This Chanticleer gan groanen in his throat, As man that in his dream is dretched sore, And when that Partelote thus heard him roar, She was aghast, and saidë, “Heartë dear, What aileth you to groan in this mannére? Ye be a very sleeper, fy for shame!” And he answer’d and saidë thus; “Madame, I pray you that ye take it not agrief; By God, me mette I was in such mischíef, Right now, that yet mine heart is sore affright’. Now God,” quoth he, “my sweven read aright, And keep my body out of foul prisoún. Me mette, how that I roamed up and down Within our yard, where as I saw a beast Was like an hound, and would have made arrest Upon my body, and would have had me dead. His colour was betwixt yellow and red; And tipped was his tail, and both his ears, With black, unlike the remnant of his hairs. His snout was small, with glowing eyen tway; Yet of his look almost for fear I dey; This caused me my groaning, doubtëless.”
“Away,” quoth she, “fy on you, heartëless! Alas!” quoth she, “for, by that God above! Now have ye lost my heart and all my love; I cannot love a coward, by my faith. For certes, what so any woman saith, We all desiren, if it mightë be, To have husbandës hardy, wise, and free, And secret, and no niggard nor no fool, Nor him that is aghast of every tool, Nor no avantour, by that God above! How durstë ye for shame say to your love That anything might makë you afear’d? Have ye no mannë’s heart, and have a beard? Alas! and can ye be aghast of swevenës? Nothing but