March ended, thirty days and two, Befell that Chanticleer in all his pride, His seven wivës walking him beside, Cast up his eyen to the brightë sun, That in the sign of Taurus had y-run Twenty degrees and one, and somewhat more; He knew by kind, and by none other lore, That it was prime, and crew with blissful steven. “The sun,” he said, “is clomben up in heaven Twenty degrees and one, and more y-wis. Madamë Partelote, my worldë’s bliss, Hearken these blissful birdës how they sing, And see the freshë flowers how they spring; Full is mine heart of revel and solace.” But suddenly him fell a sorrowful case; For ever the latter end of joy is woe: God wot that worldly joy is soon y-go: And, if a rhetor couldë fair indite, He in a chronicle might it safely write, As for a sov’reign notability. Now every wise man, let him hearken me; This story is all as true, I undertake, As is the book of Launcelot du Lake, That women hold in full great reverence. Now will I turn again to my senténce.
Un zorro colirruvio, de malicia lleno, que en la arboleda tres años hubo bueno, por alta imaginación previsto, aquella misma noche el seto ha bristo al corral donde Chanticleer el bello Y en un lecho de coles quedo yacía, hasta pasado el undern del día, esperando su hora sobre Chanticleer para caer: como hacen con gusto estos homicidas doquier, que en acecho aguardan para a los hombres matar. ¡Oh falso asesino! ¡Agazapado en tu muladar! ¡Nuevo Iscariot, nuevo Ganilón! ¡Oh falso disimulador, oh griego Sinón, que a Troya entera llevaste al pesar! ¡Oh Chanticleer! maldita sea la mañana al par en que a tu corral volaste de las vigas; bien advertido estabas por tus fatigas y sueños, de que aquel día te era pernicioso.