The Manciple’s TaleThe Prologue
Weet ye not where there stands a little town,Which that y-called is Bob-up-and-down,Under the Blee, in Canterbury way?There gan our Hoste for to jape and play,And saide, “Sirs, what? Dun is in the mire.Is there no man, for prayer nor for hire,That will awaken our fellow behind?A thief him might full rob and bindSee how he nappeth, see, for cocke’s bones,As he would falle from his horse at ones.Is that a Cook of London, with mischance?Do him come forth, he knoweth his penance;For he shall tell a tale, by my fay,Although it be not worth a bottle hay.
Awake, thou Cook,” quoth he; “God give thee sorrowWhat aileth thee to sleepe by the morrow?Hast thou had fleas all night, or art drunk?Or had thou with some quean all night y-swunk,So that thou mayest not hold up thine head?”The Cook, that was full pale and nothing red,Said to Host, “So God my soule bless,As there is fall’n on me such heaviness,I know not why, that me were lever sleep,Than the best gallon wine that is in Cheap.”“Well,” quoth the Manciple, “if it may do easeTo thee, Sir Cook, and to no wight displeaseWhich that here rideth in this company,And that our Host will of his courtesy,I will as now excuse thee of thy tale;For in good faith thy visage is full pale:Thine eyen daze, soothly as me thinketh,And well I wot, thy breath full soure stinketh,That sheweth well thou art not well disposed;Of me certain thou shalt not be y-glosed.See how he yawneth, lo, this drunken wight,As though he would us swallow anon right.Hold close thy mouth, man, by thy father’s kin;The devil of helle set his foot therein!Thy cursed breath infecte will us all:Fy! stinking swine, fy! foul may thee befall.Ah! take heed, Sirs, of this lusty man.Now, sweete Sir, will ye joust at the fan?Thereto, me thinketh, ye be well y-shape.I trow that ye have drunken wine of ape,And that is when men playe with a straw.”
And with this speech the Cook waxed all wraw,And on the Manciple he gan nod fastFor lack of speech; and down his horse him cast,Where as he lay, till that men him up took.This was a fair chevachie of a cook:Alas! that he had held him by his ladle!And ere that he again were in the saddleThere was great shoving bothe to and froTo lift him up, and muche care and woe,So unwieldy was this silly paled ghost.And to the Manciple then spake our Host:“Because that drink hath dominationUpon this man, by my salvationI trow he lewedly will tell his tale.For were it wine, or old or moisty ale,That he hath drunk, he speaketh in his nose,And sneezeth fast, and eke he hath the poseHe also hath to do more than enoughTo keep him on his capel out of the slough;And if he fall from off his capel eftsoon,Then shall we alle have enough to do’nIn lifting up his heavy drunken corse.Tell on thy tale, of him make I no force.But yet, Manciple, in faith thou art too niceThus openly to reprove him of his vice;Another day he will paraventureReclaime thee, and bring thee to the lure;I mean, he speake will of smalle things,As for to pinchen at thy reckonings,That were not honest, if it came to prefe.”Quoth the Manciple, “That were a great mischief;So might he lightly bring me in the snare.Yet had I lever paye for the mareWhich he rides on, than he should with me strive.I will not wrathe him, so may I thrive)That that I spake, I said it in my bourde.And weet ye what? I have here in my gourdA draught of wine, yea, of a ripe grape,And right anon ye shall see a good jape.This Cook shall drink thereof, if that I may;On pain of my life he will not say nay.”And certainly, to tellen as it was,Of this vessel the cook drank fast (alas!What needed it? he drank enough beforn),And when he hadde pouped in his horn,To the Manciple he took the gourd again.And of that drink the Cook was wondrous fain,And thanked him in such wise as he could.
Then gan our Host to laughe wondrous loud,And said, “I see well it is necessaryWhere that we go good drink with us to carry;For that will turne rancour and diseaseT’accord and love, and many a wrong appease.O Bacchus, Bacchus, blessed be thy name,That so canst turnen earnest into game!Worship and thank be to thy deity.Of that mattere ye get no more of me.Tell on thy tale, Manciple, I thee pray.”“Well, Sir,” quoth he, “now hearken what I say.”