|
The Host Tale
The fruyt of every tale is for to seye;
They ete, and drynke, and daunce, and synge, and pleye.
They soupen and they speke,
And drynken evere strong ale atte beste.
"Now lat us sitte and drynke, and make us merie,
And lat us dyne as soone as that ye may;
Lat us heere a messe, and go we dyn
The service doon, they soupen al by day;
And to the dyner faste they hem spedde,
and go we dyn
With hym to dyne
To come to dyner
And thus I lete hem ete and drynke and pleye,
But thus I lete in lust and jolitee
I lete hem, til men to the soper dresse.
They ete and drynke, and whan this hadde an ende,
Of mete and drynke,
And eten also and drynken over hir myght,
To eten of the smale peres grene.
They drynke, and speke, and rome a while and pleye,
Ordeyened hath this feeste of which I tolde
Go
to feste
at a kynges feeste
Each man woot wl that at a kynges feeste
Hath plentee, to the mooste and to the leeste
Arrayed for this feste in every wise
Whan he of wyn was repleet at his feeste,
They fette hym first the sweete wyn,
And sende hym drynke,
And there he swoor on ale and breed,
With bread and chesse, and a good ale in a jubbe
Cheweth greyn and lycorys
With whete and malt
Both mele and corn
be it whete or otes,
For male and breed, and rosted hem a goos
That they han eten with thy stubbel goos
And beggeth mele and chese, or elles corn.
Instide of flour yet wol I yeve hem bren
Than maystow chese
Yif us a busshel whete, malt, or reye,
A goddes kechyl, or a trype of chese,
Bacon or beef,
Seynd bacoun, and somtyme an ey or tweye,
The bacon was nat fet for hem,
And of youre softe breed nat but a shyvere,
And after that a rosted pigges heed
Milk and broun breed,
many a muscle and many an oystre,
A cake of half a busshel fynde
many a pastee
And eek the wyn,
The spices and the wyn is come anoon,
Of spicerie, of leef, and bark, and roote
Ther spryngen herbes, grete and smale,
The lycorys and cetewale,
And many a clowe-gylofre,
And notemuge to putte in ale,
Wheither it be moyste or stale,
And roial spicerye,
And gyngebreed
And lycorys, and eek comyn,
So that men myghte dyne.
Bacus the wyn hem shynketh al aboute,
And broghte of myghty ale a large quart
And whan that each of hem had dronke his part
Now kepe yow fro the white and fro the rede,
Whan man so drynketh of the white and rede
fro the white wyn of Lepe,
This wyn of Spaigne crepeth subtilly
And thanne he taketh a sop in fyn clarree,
He drynketh ypocras, clarree, and vernage
Of spices hoote
Or else a draught of fresh-drawn, malty ale,
I hadde levere than a barel ale
Drynketh a draughte
drinken of this welle a draughte
Fecche me drynke,
He drank
And drank, and yaf his felawe drynke also,
Men drynken,
This messager drank sadly ale and wyn,
Nay thou shalt drynken of another tonne
Shall savoure wors than ale
For she drank wyn
She drank,
How fairer been thy brestes than is wyn!
Whan I had dronke a draughte of sweete wyn.
As evere moote I drynken wyn or ale,
But first I make a protestacioun
That I am dronke,
That for dronken was al pale
saugh that he was dronke of ale,
Ful pale he was for dronken
O Januarie, dronken in plesaunce
I wol drynke licour of the vyne,
I am wont to preche, for to wynne.
So dronke he was,
O dronke man,
Ye fare as folk that dronken were of ale.
And for despit he drank ful muchel moore,
Lo, how that dronken Looth, unkyndely
For dronkenesse is
And dronkenesse is eek a foul record
A lecherous thyng is wyn
A likerous mouth moste han a likerous tayl.
Hath wyn bireved me myn eyen sight?
Ye shul have digestyves
Of wormes, er y take youre laxatyves
Of lawriol, centaure, and fumetere
Of herbe yve, growing in oure yeerd, ther mery is
Pekke hem up right as they grow, and ete heme yn!
Til wel ny the day bigan to sprynge.
Here is ended the Host Tale.
|