false cole
Was brent, al the metál out of the hole
Into the crosselet anon fel adoun;
And so it moste needes by resoún;
Since it so even aboven couchéd was;
But therof wist the priest no thing, allas!
He deméd alle the coles weren goode,
For of the sleight he no thing understood.

And whan this alchemister saw his tyme,
“Rys up, sir priest,” quoth he, “and stonde by me;
And for I wot wel ingot have ye noon,
Go, walke forth, and brynge me a chalk-stoon;
For I wol make it of the same shap,
That is an ingot, if I may have hap.
And bringe with you a bolle too or a panne
Ful of water, and ye shul wel see thanne
How that oure besyness shal happe and preve.
And yit, for ye shul have no mysbileeve
Nor wrong conceyt of me in youre absence,
I wil nought be out of youre owne presénce,
But go with you, and come with you agayn.”
The chambur dore, shortly for to sayn,
Thay opened and shutte, and wente forth their weye,
And forth with them they caryèd the keye,
And comen agayn withouten eny delay.
What shuld I tary al the longe day?
He took the chalk, and shope it in the wise
Of an ingot, as I shal you devyse;
I say, he took out of his owne sleeve
A bar of silver (evel mot he thrive!)
When silver was but of an unce of weight.
And take ye heed now of his cursed slight;
He shope his ingot in lengthe and eek in brede
Like to this bar, withouten eny drede;
So sleighly, that the prest it nought aspyde;
And in his sleeve agayn he gan it hyde;
And fro the fyr he took up his mateére,
And into the ingot put it with mery cheere;
And into the watir-vessel he it cast,
Whan that him list, and bad this prest as faste,
“Lok what there is; put in thin hond and grope;
Thou fynde ther some silver shalt, I hope.”
What devel of helle shold it else be?
Shavyng of silver, silver is, pardee!

He putte his hond in and tok oute then
The silver fyn, and glad in every veyne
Was this prest, whan he saw that it was so.
“A! Goddes blessyng, and his modres also,
And alle saintes, have ye, sir canoún.”
Seyde the prest, “and I their malisoun.
But, if ye vouchesauf to teche me
This nobil craft and this sobtilitee,
I wil be youre in al that ever I may.”
Quoth this canoún, “Yet wil I make assay
The secound tyme, that ye may taken heede,
And be expert of this, and in your neede
Another day to assay in myn absence
This discipline, and this crafty science;
Let take another unce,” quoth he tho,
“Of quyksilver, withouten wordes mo,
And do therwith as ye have doon er this
With that other, which that now silver is.”
The prest him busyeth in al that he can
To do as this canoún, this cursed man,
Comaunded him, and faste blew the fyr,
Al for to come to theffect of his desyr.
And this canoún right in the mene-while
Al redy was this prest eft to bygile,
And for a countenaunce in his hond bar
An holow stikke (tak keep and be war),
In thende of which an unce and nothing more
Of silver metal put was, as bifore
Was in his cole, and stoppèd with wex wel
For to kepe in his metal every del.
And whil the prest was in his besynesse,
This canoun with his stikke gan him dresse
To him anon, and cast his pouder in,
As he dede ere, (the devel out of his skyn
Him turne, I pray to God, for his falshede!
For he was ever fals in word and deede).
And with this stikke above the crosselet,
That was y-made holow and counterfete,
He styred the coles, til to melt began
The wex agaynst the fyr, as every man,
But it a fool be, wot wel that it doth,
And al that in the hole was out goth,
And into the croslet hastily it fel.
Now, goode sirs, what wil ye better than wel?
Whan that this prest thus was begiled agayn,
Supposyng not but truthe, soth to sayn,
He was so glad, that I can nought expresse
In no maner his myrthe and his gladnesse,
And to the canoun profred he eft soone
Body and good. “Yea,” quoth the canoun,“soone,
Though pore I be, crafty thou shalt me fynde;
I warne thee, yet is ther more byhynde.
Is ther any coper herinne?” quoth he.
“Yea, sir,” quoth this priest, “I trowe wel ther be.”
“Else go by thou some and that anon.”
“Now I wil go, good sir, and bringe it soone.”
He went his way, and cam with this coper;
And this canoun took in his hondes there,
And of that coper weyed out but an ounce.
Too simple is my tongue for to pronounce,
As minister of my witt, the doublenesse
Of this canoun, root of al cursednesse.
He semèd frendly to them that knew him nought,
But he was fiendly bothe in werk and thought.
It werieth me to telle of his falsnesse;
And nontheles yit wil I it expresse,
To that entent men may be war therby,
And for no other cause trewely.

He put this unce of coper in the crosselet,
And on the fyr at once he hath it set,
And cast in pouder, and made the prest to blowe,
And in his worching for to stoupe lowe,
As he dede ere, and al was but a jape;
Right as he list the prest he made his ape.
And afterward the ingot in he cast,
And in the panne putte it atte last
Of water, and in he put his owne hond.
And in his sleeve, as ye byforen-hond
Herd telle, the silver barre lay adoun;
He sleyghly took it out, this cursed canoún,
(Unwitynge this prest of his false craft),
And in the pannes botme he hath it laft;
And in the water feleth to and fro.
And wonder privily took up also
The coper barre, (nought knowyng this prest)
And hidde it, and then caught him by the brest,
And to him spak,