Now will I turn unto my tale again; The sely widow, and her daughters two, Heardë these hennës cry and makë woe, And at the doors out started they anon, And saw the fox toward the wood is gone, And bare upon his back the cock away: They criëd, “Out! harow! and well-away! Aha! the fox!” and after him they ran, And eke with stavës many another man Ran Coll our dog, and Talbot, and Garlánd; And Malkin, with her distaff in her hand Ran cow and calf, and eke the very hoggës, So fear’d they were for barking of the doggës, And shouting of the men and women eke. They rannë so, them thought their hearts would break. They yelled as the fiendës do in hell; The duckës criëd as men would them quell; The geese for fearë flewen o’er the trees, Out of the hivë came the swarm of bees, So hideous was the noise, ben’dicite! Certes he, Jackë Straw, and his meinie, Ne madë never shoutës half so shrill, When that they woulden any Fleming kill, As thilkë day was made upon the fox. Of brass they broughtë beamës and of box, Of horn and bone, in which they blew and pooped, And therewithal they shrieked and they hooped; It seemed as the heaven shouldë fall.
Now, goodë men, I pray you hearken all; Lo, how Fortúnë turneth suddenly The hope and pride eke of her enemy. This cock, that lay upon the fox’s back,