the suburbës of a town,” quoth he, “Lurking in hernës and in lanës blind, Where as these robbers and these thieves by kind Holdë their privy fearful residence, As they that darë not show their presénce, So farë we, if I shall say the soothë.” “Yet,” quoth our Hostë, “let me talkë tó thee; Why art thou so discolour’d of thy face?” “Peter!” quoth he, “God give it hardë grace, I am so us’d the hotë fire to blow, That it hath changed my coloúr, I trow; I am not wont in no mirrór to pry, But swinkë sore, and learn to multiply. We blunder ever, and poren in the fire, And, for all that, we fail of our desire; For ever we lack our conclusión. To muchë folk we do illusión, And borrow gold, be it a pound or two, Or ten or twelve, or many summës mo’, And make them weenen, at the leastë way, That of a poundë we can makë tway. Yet is it false; and aye we have good hope It for to do, and after it we grope: But that sciénce is so far us beforn, That we may not, although we had it sworn, It overtake, it slides away so fast; It will us makë beggars at the last.”
While this Yeomán was thus in his talkíng, This Canon drew him near, and heard all thing Which this Yeomán spake, for suspición Of mennë’s speech ever had this Canón: For Cato saith, that he that guilty is, Deemeth all things be spoken of him y-wis; Because of that he gan so nigh to draw To his Yeomán, that he heard all his saw; And thus he said unto his Yeoman tho; “Hold thou thy peace, and speak no wordës mo’: For if thou do, thou shalt it dear abie. Thou slanderest me here in this companý, And eke discoverest that thou shouldest hide.” “Yea,” quoth our Host, “tell on, whatso betide; Of all his threatening reck not a mite.” “In faith,” quoth he, “no more do I but lite.” And when this Canon saw it would not be But his Yeoman would tell his privitý, He fled away for very sorrow and shame.
“Ah!” quoth the Yeoman, “here shall rise a game; All that I can anon I will you tell, Since he is gone; the foulë fiend him quell! For ne’er hereafter will I with him meet, For penny nor for pound, I you behete. He that me broughtë first unto that game, Ere that he die, sorrow have