The Works of John Dryden, now first collected in eighteen volumes. Volume 12. John Dryden

      They crieden out, Harow! and wala wa!

      A ha the fox! and after him they ran,

      And eke with staves many an other man;

      Ran Colle our dogge, and Talbot and Gerlond,

      And Malkin, with hire distaf in hire hond;

      Ran cow and calf; and eke the veray hogges

      So fered were for barking of the dogges,

      And shouting of the men and women eke,

      They ronnen so, hem thought hir hertes breke;

      They yelleden as fendes don in helle;

      The dokes crieden as men wold hem quelle:

      The gees for fere flewen over the trees,

      Out of the hive came the swarme of bees,

      So hidous was the noise, a benedicite!

      Certes he Jakke Straw and his meinie,

      Ne maden never shoutes half so shrille,

      Whan that they wolden any Fleming kille,

      As thilke day was made upon the fox.

      Of bras they broughten beemes and of box,

      Of horn and bone, in which they blew and pouped,

      And therwithal they shriked and they houped;

      It semed as that the heven shulde falle.

      Now, goode men, I pray you herkeneth alle:

      Lo how Fortune turneth sodenly

      The hope and pride eke of hire enemy.

      This cok that lay upon the foxes bake,

      In all his drede unto the fox he spake,

      And sayde; Sire, if that I were as ye

      Yet wold I sayn, (as wisly God helpe me)

      Turneth agein, ye proude cherles alle,

      A veray pestilence upon you falle:

      Now I am come unto the wodes side,

      Maugre your hed, the cok shal here abide;

      I wol him ete in faith, and that anon.

      The fox answered, in faith it shal be don;

      And as he spake the word, al sodenly

      The cok brake from his mouth deliverly,

      And high upon a tree he flew anon.

      And whan the fox saw that the cok was gon,

      Alas! quod he, o Chaunteclere, alas!

      I have (quod he) ydon to you trespas,

      In as moche as I maked you aferd,

      Whan I you hente and brought out of your yerd;

      But, Sire, I did it in no wikke entente:

      Come doun, and I shal tell you what I mente:

      I shall say sothe to you, God help me so.

      Nay than, quod he, I shrewe us bothe two;

      And first I shrewe myself bothe blood and bones

      If thou begile me oftener than ones:

      Thou shalt no more thurgh thy flaterie

      Do me to sing and winken with myn eye,

      For he that winketh whan he shulde see,

      Al wilfully, God let him never the.

      Nay, quod the fox, but God yeve him meschance,

      That is so indiscrete of governance,

      That jangleth whan that he shuld hold his pees.

      Lo, which it is for to be reccheles

      And negligent, and trust on flaterie.

      But ye that holden this Tale a folie,

      As of a fox, or of a cok or hen,

      Taketh the moralitee therof, good men;

      For Seint Poule sayth, that all that writen is,

      To our doctrine it is ywriten ywis.

      Taketh the fruit, and let the chaf be stille.

      Now, goode God, if that it be thy wille,

      As sayth my Lord, so make us all good men,

      And bring us to thy high blisse. Amen.

      Sire Nonnes Preest, our Hoste sayd anon,

      Yblessed be thy breche and every ston;

      This was a mery tale of Chaunteclere:

      But by my trouthe if thou were seculere,

      Thou woldest ben a tredefoule a right:

      For if thou have courage as thou hast might

      Thee were nede of hennes, as I wene,

      Ye mo than seven times seventene.

      Se whiche braunes hath this gentil Preest,

      So gret a necke and swiche a large breest!

      He loketh as a sparhauk with his eyen:

      Him nedeth not his colour for to dien

      With Brasil, ne with grain of Portingale.

      But, Sire, faire falle you for your tale.

      And after that he with ful mery chere

      Sayd to another, as ye shulen here.

      THE FLOUR AND THE LEFE