kepe us from his fals dissemblynge!
What wiste this priest with whom that he delte?
Nor of his comyng harm he no thing felte.
O sely priest, o innocent of mind,
With greed of money anon thou shalt be blind;
O graceless, ful blynd is thy conceyt,
No thing art thou now ware of the deceyt,
Which that this fox i-shapen hath to thee,
His wily wrenches now thou maist not flee,
Wherfor to go to the conclusioun,
That réferreth to thy confusion,
Unhappy man, anon I wil me hie
To tellen thin unwit and thy folýe,
And eek the falsnesse of that other wretche,
As far forth as my connyng wil it stretche.

This canoun was my lord, ye wolde weene;
Sir Ost, in faith, and by the heven queene,
It was another canoun, and not he,
That can an hundred fold more subtiltee.
He hath bitrayèd folkes many a tyme;
Of his falsness it dullith me to ryme.
And ever when I speke of this falshede,
For shame of him my cheekes wexen red;
And now they have bygonne for to glowe,
Though redness have I noon, right wel I knowe,
In my viságe, for the fumes diverse
Of metals, which ye have me herd reherse,
Consumed and wasted have al my reednesse.
Now tak heed of this canouns cursednesse.

“Sir,” quoth he to the priest, “let your man goon
For quyksilver, that we it have anon:
And let him bringen ounces tuo or three;
And when he cometh, as faste shul ye see
A wonder thing, which ye saw never ere this.”
“Sir,” quoth the priest, “it shal be doon, I wis.”
He bad his servaunt fetchen him his thinges,
And he al redy was at his biddynges,
And went him forth, and com anon agayn
With his quyksilver, shortly for to sayn,
And took these ounces three to the canoun;
And he it layde faire and wel adoun,
And bad the servaunt coles for to bringe,
That he anon might go to his werkynge.
The coles weren right anon i- fett,
And this canoun took out a crosselett,
Out of his bosom, and shewed it to the priest.
“This instrument,” quoth he, “which that thou seest,
Tak in thin hond, and put thiself therinne
Of this quyksilver an ounce, and here bygynne
In the name of Crist to wax a philosophre.
Ther be ful fewe, to whiche that I wolde profre
To shewe them thus moche of my science;
For ye shul see heer by experience,
That this quiksilver I wil mortifye,
Right in youre sight anon, withouten lye,
And make it as good silver and as fyn
As ther is any in youre purs or myn,
Or else wher; and make it malleable;
And else holde me fals and unable
Amonges folk for ever to appeere.
I have a powder heer that cost me deere,
Shal make al good, for it is cause of al
My connyng, which that I you shewe shal.
Send out youre man, and let him be theroute;
And shut the dore, whils we be aboute
Oure privitee, that no man us aspye,
Whiles we werken in this philosophie.”
Al, as he bad, fulfilléd was in dede.
This ilke servaunt anon right out is sped,
And then his master shut the dore anon,
And to their labour speedily thay goon.

This priest, at this cursed canouns biddyng,
Upon the fyr anon he sette this thing,
And blew the fyr, and busied him ful fast;
And this canoun into the crosslet cast
A powder, I knew not wherof it was
I-made, either of chalk, either of glas,
Or som what else, that was nought worthy a flye
To blynde with this priest; and bad him ply
These coles for to couch them al above
The crosslet; for “in token I thee love,”
Quoth this canoun, “thou with thin handes tuo
Shal werken al thing which that shal be do.”
“Graunt mercy,” quoth the priest, and was ful glad,
And couched the coles as the canoun bad.
And whil he busy was, this feendly wretche,
This false canoun (the foule feend him fetche!)
Out of his bosom took a false cole,
In which ful subtilly was made an hole,
And therin put was of silver metál
An ounce, and stoppéd was withoute fayle
This hole with wax, to kepe the metal in.
And understond ye, that this false gyn
Was not made there, but it was made bifore;
And other thinges I shal telle more
Here after-ward, Which that he with him broughte.
Ere he com there, to bigyle him he thought,
And so he dede, ere thay two wente awaye;
Til he had cheated him, he did not stay.
It dulleth me, when that I of him speke;
On his falsnesse fayn wold I me wreke,
If I wist how, but he is heer and there,
He is so variant, he bideth no where.

But take ye heed now, sirs, for Goddes love.
He took this cole of which I spak above,
And in his hond he bare it privily,
And whiles the prieste couchéd bysily
The coles, as I tolde you ere this,
This canoun sayde, “Freend, ye do amys;
This is not couchéd as it oughte be,
But soon I shal amenden it,” quoth he.
“Now let me meddle therwith but a while,
For of you have I pitee, by seint Gile!
Ye be right hot, I see wel how ye swete;
Have heer a cloth and wype away the wete.”
And whiles that this priest him wypéd has,
This canoun took his cole, I curse his face!
And layd it doun above on the myd-ward,
Of the crosslet, and blew wel afterward,
Til that the coles gonne faste brenne.
“Now geve us drinke,” quoth the canoun thenne,
“Now soon al shal be wel, I undertake.
Sitte we doun, and let us mery make.”
And when that now the canounes