or wisdom mighte passe.
I have wel red in Dan Burnel the asse
Among his verses, how ther was a cok,
That when a prestes sone gave him a knok
Upon his leg, whil he was yong and nyce,
He made him for to lose his benefice.
But certeyn ther is no comparisoún
Betwix the wisdom and discressioún
Of youre fader, and of his subtiltee.
Now synge, sir, for seinte Charitee,
Let see, can ye your fader countrefete?”
This Chaunteclere his wynges gan to bete,
As man that coude his tresoun nought espye,
So was he ravyssht with his flaterie.
Allas! ye lordynges, many a fals flatoúr
Is in your hous, and many a fair lyér,
That pleasen you wel more, by my faith,
Than he that sothfastnesse unto you saith.
Rede ye Ecclesiast of flaterie;
Be war, ye lordes, of their treccherie.

This Chaunteclere stood highe upon his toes,
Strecching his necke, and held his eyen close,
And gan to crowe lowde for the nonce;
And Dan Russél the fox stert up at once,
And by the throte caughte Chaunteclere,
And on his bak toward the woode him bere.
For yit was there no man that him espied.
O desteny, that maist not be defied!
Allas, that Chaunteclere flew fro the beames!
Allas, his wif that rekkèd not of dremis!
And on a Friday fel al this meschaunce.
O Venus, that art goddesse of pleasaúnce,
Since that thy servant was this Chaunteclere,
And in thy service ever did his powere,
More for delit, than the world to multiplie,
Why woldst thou suffre him on thy day to dye?
O Gaufred, dere mayster soverayn,
That, when the worthy king Richard was slayn
With shot, compleynedist of his deth so sore,
Why had I nought thy cunning and thy lore,
The Friday for to chiden, as did ye?
(For on a Friday sothly slayn was he.)
Than wold I shewe you how I coude compleyne,
For Chauntecleres drede, and for his peyne.
Certis such cry and lamentacioún
Was never of ladies made, whan Ilioún
Was wonne, and Pirrus with his straighte swerd,
Whan he had caught kyng Priam by the berd,
Had slain hym as doth tellen Eneydos,
As maden alle the hennes in the close,
Whan thay had seyn of Chauntecler the sight.
But above al Dame Pertelote shright,
Ful lowder than did Hasdrubaldes wyf,
When that hir housebond hadde lost his lyf,
And that the Romayns had i-brent Cartáge,
She was so ful of torment and of rage,
That wilfully unto the fyr she stert,
And brend hirselven with a stedfast hert.
O woful hennes, right so crièd ye,
As, when that Nero brente the citee
Of Rome, cride the senatoures wyves,
For that there housbondes losten alle there lyves;
Withouten gilt this Nero hath them slayn.

Now wil I torne to my matér agayn.
The silly wydow, and hir doughtres tuo,
Herden these hennys crie and maken wo,
And out at dores starte thay anon,
And saw the fox toward the grove gon,
And bar upon his bak the cok away;
They criden, “Out! harrow and wayleway!
Ha, ha, the fox!” and after him thay ran,
And eek with staves many another man;
Ran Colle our dogge, and Talbot, and Garlond,
And Malkyn, with a distaf in hir hond;
Ran cow and calf, and eek the verray hogges
Were sore fered for berkyng of the dogges,
And showtyng of the men and wymmen eke,
Thay ronne that thay thought there herte breke.
Thay yelleden as feendes do in helle;
The duckes criden as men wold them kill;
The gees for fere flowen over the trees;
Out of the hyves cam the swarm of bees;
So hidous was the noyse, a bencite!
Certes Jacke Straw, and al his compaignie,
Ne maden shoutes never half so shrille,
When that thay wolden eny Flemyng kille,
As on that day was made upon the fox.
Of brass thay broughten hornes and of box,
Of horn and bone, in which thay blew and pooped,
And therwithal thay shrykèd and thay hooped:
It semèd as that heven itself shulde falle.

Now, goode men, I pray you herken alle;
Lo, how fortúne torneth sodeinly
The hope and pride eek of her enemy!
This cok that lay upon this foxes bak,
In al his drede, unto the fox he spak,
And saide, “Sir, if that I were as ye,
Yet shuld I sayn (so may God helpe me),
Turn ye agayn, ye proude cherles alle!
A verray pestilens upon you falle!
Now am I come unto this woodes syde,
For al your noyse, the cok shal heer abyde;
I wil him ete in faith, and that anon.”
The fox answerd, “In faith, it shal be doon.”
And whil he spak that word, al sodeinly
This cok brak from his mouth right spedily,
And hy upon a tree he flew anon.
And whan the fox saw that he was igone,
“Allas!” quoth he, “O Chaunteclere, allas!
I have to you,” quoth he, “y-don trespás,
Inasmoche as I makèd you afered,
Whan I you caught, and brought out of the yerd;
But, sir, I dede it in no wickid entent;
Com doun, and I shal telle you what I ment.
I shal say soth to you, God help me so.”
“Nay than,” quoth he, “I curse us bothe tuo.
And first I curse myself, bothe blood and bones,
If thou bigile me any ofter than once.
Thou shalt no more, thurgh thy flaterye,
Make me to synge and wynke with myn eye.
For he that wynkith, whan he sholde see,
Al wilfully, God let him cursèd be!”
“Nay,” quoth the fox, “but God give him meschaunce,
That is so undiscret of governaúnce,
That jangleth, when he sholde holde his pees.”