The Tale

A col-fox, full of sly iniquity, That in the grove had wonned yearës three, By high imaginatión forecast, The samë night thorough the hedges brast Into the yard, where Chanticleer the fair And in a bed of wortës still he lay, Till it was passed undern of the day, Waiting his time on Chanticleer to fall: As gladly do these homicidës all, That in awaitë lie to murder men. O falsë murd’rer! Rouking in thy den! O new Iscariot, new Ganilion! O false dissimuler, O Greek Sinón, That broughtest Troy all utterly to sorrow! O Chanticleer! accursed be the morrow That thou into thy yard flew from the beams; Thou wert full well y-warned by thy dreams That thilkë day was perilous to thee. But what that God forewot must needës be, After th’ opinion of certain clerkës. Witness on him that any perfect clerk is, That in school is great altercatión In this matter, and great disputatión, And hath been of an hundred thousand men. But I ne cannot boult it to the bren, As can the holy doctor Augustine, Or Boece, or the bishop Bradwardine, Whether that Goddë’s worthy foreweeting Straineth me needly for to do a thing (Needly call I simple necessity), Or ellës if free choice be granted me To do that samë thing, or do it not, Though God forewot it ere that it was wrought; Or if his weeting straineth never a deal, But by necessity conditionel. I will not have to do of such mattére; My tale is of a cock, as ye may hear, That took his counsel of his wife, with sorrow, To walken in the yard upon the morrow That he had mette the dream, as I you told. Womanë’s counsels be full often cold; Womanë’s counsel brought us first to woe, And made Adám from Paradise to go, There as he was full merry and well at case. But, for I n’ot to whom I might displease If I counsél of women wouldë blame, Pass over, for I said it in my game. Read authors, where they treat of such mattére, And what they say of women ye may hear. These be the cockë’s wordës, and not mine; I can no harm of no woman divine.