The Tale

Fair in the sand, to bathe her merrily, Lies Partelote, and all her sisters by, Against the sun, and Chanticleer so free Sang merrier than the mermaid in the sea; For Physiologus saith sickerly, How that they singë well and merrily. And so befell that, as he cast his eye Among the wortës, on a butterfly, He was ware of this fox that lay full low. Nothing ne list him thennë for to crow, But cried anon “Cock! cock!” and up he start, As man that was affrayed in his heart. For naturally a beast desireth flee From his contráry, if be may it see, Though he ne’er erst had soon it with his eye This Chanticleer, when he gan him espy, He would have fled, but that the fox anon Said, “Gentle Sir, alas! why will ye gon? Be ye afraid of me that am your friend? Now, certes, I were worse than any fiend, If I to you would harm or villainy. I am not come your counsel to espy. But truëly the cause of my comíng Was only for to hearken how ye sing; For truëly ye have as merry a steven, As any angel hath that is in heaven; Therewith ye have of music more feelíng, Than had Boece, or any that can sing. My lord your father (God his soulë bless) And eke your mother of her gentleness, Have in mine housë been, to my great ease: And certes, Sir, full fain would I you please. But, for men speak of singing, I will say, So may I brookë well mine eyen tway, Save you, I heardë never man so sing As did your father in the morrowning. Certes it was of heart all that he sung. And, for to make his voice the morë strong, He would so pain him, that with both his eyen He mustë wink, so loud he wouldë cryen, And standen on his tiptoes therewithal, And stretchë forth his neckë long and small. And eke he was of such discretión, That there was no man, in no región, That him in song or wisdom mightë pass. I have well read in Dan Burnel the Ass, Among his verse, how that there was a cock That, for a priestë’s son gave him a knock Upon his leg, while he was young and nice, He made him for to lose his benefice. But certain there is no comparisón Betwixt the wisdom and discretión Of yourë father, and his subtilty. Now singë, Sir, for saintë charity, Let see, can ye your father counterfeit?”