The Manciple's Tale

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When Phoebus' wife had sent for her leman,
Anon they wroughten all their *lust volage.*    *light or rash pleasure*
This white crow, that hung aye in the cage,
Beheld their work, and said never a word;
And when that home was come Phoebus the lord,
This crowe sung, "Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo!"
"What? bird," quoth Phoebus, "what song sing'st thou now?
Wert thou not wont so merrily to sing,
That to my heart it was a rejoicing
To hear thy voice? alas! what song is this?"
"By God," quoth he, "I singe not amiss.
Phoebus," quoth he, "for all thy worthiness,
For all thy beauty, and all thy gentleness,
For all thy song, and all thy minstrelsy,
*For all thy waiting, bleared is thine eye*   *despite all thy watching,
With one of little reputation,                        thou art befooled*
Not worth to thee, as in comparison,
The mountance* of a gnat, so may I thrive;                        *value
For on thy bed thy wife I saw him swive."
What will ye more? the crow anon him told,
By sade* tokens, and by wordes bold,                 *grave, trustworthy
How that his wife had done her lechery,
To his great shame and his great villainy;
And told him oft, he saw it with his eyen.
This Phoebus gan awayward for to wrien;*                     *turn aside
Him thought his woeful hearte burst in two.
His bow he bent, and set therein a flo,*                          *arrow
And in his ire he hath his wife slain;
This is th' effect, there is no more to sayn.
For sorrow of which he brake his minstrelsy,
Both harp and lute, gitern* and psaltery;                        *guitar
And eke he brake his arrows and his bow;
And after that thus spake he to the crow.

"Traitor," quoth he, "with tongue of scorpion,
Thou hast me brought to my confusion;
Alas that I was wrought!* why n'ere** I dead?            *made **was not
O deare wife, O gem of lustihead,*                         *pleasantness
That wert to me so sad,* and eke so true,                     *steadfast
Now liest thou dead, with face pale of hue,
Full guilteless, that durst I swear y-wis!*                   *certainly
O rakel* hand, to do so foul amiss                          *rash, hasty
O troubled wit, O ire reckeless,
That unadvised smit'st the guilteless!
O wantrust,* full of false suspicion!                      *distrust <3>
Where was thy wit and thy discretion?
O! every man beware of rakelness,*                             *rashness
Nor trow* no thing withoute strong witness.                     *believe
Smite not too soon, ere that ye weete* why,                        *know
And *be advised* well and sickerly**                  *consider* *surely
Ere ye *do any execution                                *take any action
Upon your ire* for suspicion.                           upon your anger*
Alas! a thousand folk hath rakel ire
Foully fordone, and brought them in the mire.
Alas! for sorrow I will myself slee*                               *slay
And to the crow, "O false thief," said he,
"I will thee quite anon thy false tale.
Thou sung whilom* like any nightingale,                  *once on a time
Now shalt thou, false thief, thy song foregon,*                    *lose
And eke thy white feathers every one,
Nor ever in all thy life shalt thou speak;
Thus shall men on a traitor be awreak.                         *revenged
Thou and thine offspring ever shall be blake,*                    *black
Nor ever sweete noise shall ye make,
But ever cry against* tempest and rain,           *before, in warning of
In token that through thee my wife is slain."
And to the crow he start,* and that anon,                        *sprang
And pull'd his white feathers every one,
And made him black, and reft him all his song,
And eke his speech, and out at door him flung
Unto the devil, *which I him betake;*            *to whom I commend him*
And for this cause be all crowes blake.
Lordings, by this ensample, I you pray,
Beware, and take keep* what that ye say;                           *heed
Nor telle never man in all your life
How that another man hath dight his wife;
He will you hate mortally certain.
Dan Solomon, as wise clerkes sayn,
Teacheth a man to keep his tongue well;
But, as I said, I am not textuel.
But natheless thus taughte me my dame;
"My son, think on the crow, in Godde's name.
My son, keep well thy tongue, and keep thy friend;
A wicked tongue is worse than is a fiend:
My sone, from a fiend men may them bless.*           *defend by crossing
My son, God of his endeless goodness                          themselves
Walled a tongue with teeth, and lippes eke,
For* man should him advise,** what he speak.         *because **consider
My son, full often for too muche speech
Hath many a man been spilt,* as clerkes teach;                *destroyed
But for a little speech advisedly
Is no man shent,* to speak generally.                            *ruined
My son, thy tongue shouldest thou restrain
At alle time, *but when thou dost thy pain*          *except when you do
To speak of God in honour and prayere.                 your best effort*
The firste virtue, son, if thou wilt lear,*                       *learn
Is to restrain and keepe well thy tongue;<4>
Thus learne children, when that they be young.
My son, of muche speaking evil advis'd,
Where lesse speaking had enough suffic'd,
Cometh much harm; thus was me told and taught;
In muche speeche sinne wanteth not.
Wost* thou whereof a rakel** tongue serveth?            *knowest **hasty
Right as a sword forcutteth and forcarveth
An arm in two, my deare son, right so
A tongue cutteth friendship all in two.
A jangler* is  to God abominable.                           *prating man
Read Solomon, so wise and honourable;
Read David in his Psalms, and read Senec'.
My son, speak not, but with thine head thou beck,*          *beckon, nod
Dissimule as thou wert deaf, if that thou hear
A jangler speak of perilous mattere.
The Fleming saith, and learn *if that thee lest,*   **if it please thee*
That little jangling causeth muche rest.
My son, if thou no wicked word hast said,
*Thee thar not dreade for to be bewray'd;*         *thou hast no need to
But he that hath missaid, I dare well sayn,         fear to be betrayed*
He may by no way call his word again.
Thing that is said is said, and forth it go'th, <5>
Though him repent, or be he ne'er so loth;
He is his thrall,* to whom that he hath said                      *slave
A tale, *of which he is now evil apaid.*          *which he now regrets*
My son, beware, and be no author new
Of tidings, whether they be false or true; <6>
Whereso thou come, amonges high or low,
Keep well thy tongue, and think upon the crow."

 

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