The Cook’s TaleThe Prologue
The Cook of London, while the Reeve thus spake,For joy he laugh’d and clapp’d him on the back:“Aha!” quoth he, “for Christes passion,This Miller had a sharp conclusion,Upon this argument of herbergage.Well saide Solomon in his language,Bring thou not every man into thine house,For harbouring by night is perilous.Well ought a man avised for to beWhom that he brought into his privity.I pray to God to give me sorrow and careIf ever, since I highte Hodge of Ware,Heard I a miller better set a-work;He had a jape of malice in the derk.But God forbid that we should stinte here,And therefore if ye will vouchsafe to hearA tale of me, that am a poore man,I will you tell as well as e’er I canA little jape that fell in our city.”
Our Host answer’d and said; “I grant it thee.Roger, tell on; and look that it be good,For many a pasty hast thou letten blood,And many a Jack of Dover hast thou sold,That had been twice hot and twice cold.Of many a pilgrim hast thou Christe’s curse,For of thy parsley yet fare they the worse.That they have eaten in thy stubble goose:For in thy shop doth many a fly go loose.Now tell on, gentle Roger, by thy name,But yet I pray thee be not wroth for game;A man may say full sooth in game and play.”“Thou sayst full sooth,” quoth Roger, “by my fay;But sooth play quad play, as the Fleming saith,And therefore, Harry Bailly, by thy faith,Be thou not wroth, else we departe here,Though that my tale be of an hostelere.But natheless, I will not tell it yet,But ere we part, y-wis thou shalt be quit.”And therewithal he laugh’d and made cheer,And told his tale, as ye shall after hear.