Medieval Bestiary : Encyclopedia : Reynard the Fox

Texts : Reynard the Fox

Roman de Renart

In Branch I of the French Roman de Renart, King Noble the lion has summoned Reynard to court to answer for his crimes, but the fox refuses to appear. Brun the bear is sent to fetch him, and travels to Reynard's castle. Reynard tricks Brun, telling him there is a place he knows where the bear can have as much honey as he can eat. Brun eagerly follows Reynard's instructions, but soon regrets it.

From Ernest Martin, Le Roman de Renart (1882), volume 1, page 17-21, lines 577-719.

Onques n'i ot resne tenu
De si a tant qu'il sont venu
El bois Lanfroi le forester:
Iloc s'arestent li destrer.
Lanfroi qui le bois soloit vendre,
Un chesne ot conmence a fendre.
Deus coins de cesne toz entiers
I avoit mis li forestiers.
'Brun' set Renart, 'bau doz amis,
Vez ci ce que je t'ai premis.
Ici dedenz est li castoivre.
Or del mangier, si iron boivre:
Or as bien trove ton avel.'
Et Brun li ors mist le musel
El cesne et ses deus pies devant.
Et Renart le vet sus levant
Et adrecant en contremont.
En sus se trest, si le semont.
'Cuverz' fait il, 'ovre ta boce!
A pou que tes musauz n'i toce.
Fil a putein. ovre ta gole!'
Bien le concie et bien le bole.
Maudite soit sa vie tote,
Que james n'en traisist il gote,
Que n'i avoit ne miel ne ree.
Endementres que Brun i bee,
Renart a les coinz enpoigniez
Et a grant peine descoigniez.
Et quant li coing furent oste,
La teste Brun et li coste
Furent dedens le cesne enclos.
Ore est li las a mal repos:
Moult l'avoit mis en male presse.
Et Renart qui ja n'ait confesse,
(Quar onc ne fist bien ne ammone)
De long s'estut, si le ranprone.
'Brun' set il, 'jel savoie bien
Que queriez art et engien
Que ja del miel ne gosteroie.
Mes je sai bien que je feroie,
S'une autre fois avoie a fere.
Molt estes ore deputere
Que de cel miel ne me paes.
A hi! con me conduisiez,
Et con seroie a savete,
Se g'estoie en enfremete!
Vos me lairees poires moles.'
Atant es vos a cez paroles
Sire Lanfroi le forestier,
Et Renart se mist au frapier.
Quant li vileins vit Brun l'ors pendre
Au cesne que il devoit fendre,
A la vile s'en vient le cors.
'Harou! harou!' fait il 'a l'ors!
Ja le porrons as poins tenir.'
Qui dont veïst vileins venir
Et formier par le boscage!
Qui porte tinel, et qui hache,
Qui flael, qui baston d'espine.
Grant peor a Brun de s'escine.
Quant il oï venir la rage,
Fremist et pense en son corage
Que meus li vient le musel perdre
Que Lanfroi le poüst aerdre,
Qui devant vient a une hace.
Tent et retent, tire et relache
(Estent le cuir, ronpent les venes)
Si durement que a grans peines
Fent li cuirs et la teste qasse.
Del sanc i a perdu grant masse,
Le cuir des pies et de la teste.
Onc nus ne vit si leide beste.
Li sans li vole del musel,
Entor son vis n'ot tant de pel
Dont en poïst fere une borse.
Einsi s'en vet le filz a l'orse.
Parmi le bois s'en vet fuiant,
Et li vilein le vont huiant:
Bertot le filz sire Gilein,
Et Hardoïn Copevilein,
Et Gonberz et li filz Galon,
Et danz Helins li niez Faucon
Et Otrans li quens de l'Anglee
Qui sa feme avoit estranglee:
Tyegiers li forniers de la vile
Qui esposa noire Cornille,
Et Aymer Brisefaucille
Et Rocelin li filz Bancille,
Et le filz Oger de la Place,
Qui en sa mein tint une hache:
Et misire Hubert Grosset
Et le filz Faucher Galopet.
Li ors s'enfuit a grant anguisse.
Et li prestres de la parose
Qui su pere Martin d'Orliens,
Qui venoit d'espandre son fiens,
(Une force tint en ses meins)
Si l'a feru parmi les reins,
Que par pou ne l'a abatu.
Molt l'a blecie et confondu.
Cil qui set pinnes et lanternes,
Ateint Brun l'ors entre deus cesnes:
D'une corne de buef qu'il porte
Li a tote l'escine torte.
Et d'autres vileins i a tant
Qui as tinels le vont batant,
Que a grant peine s'en escape.
Or est Renarz pris a la trape,
Se Bruns li ors le puet ateindre.
Mes quant il l'oï de loin pleindre,
Tantost s'est mis par une adrece
A Malpertuis sa forterece,
Ou il ne crient ost ne aguet.
Au trespasser que Bruns a fet
Li a Renart deus gas lancies.
'Brun, estes vos bien avancies'
Ce dit Renart 'del miel Lanfroi
Que vos aves mangie sans moi?
Vostre male foi vos parra.
Certes il vos en mescharra
Que ja n'aures en la fin prestre.
De quel ordre voles vos estre
Que roge caperon portes?'
Et li ors fut si amates
Qu'il ne li pot respondre mot.
Fuiant s'en vet plus que le trot:
Qu'encor quide caoir es meins
Lanfroi et les autres vileins.
Tant a ale esporonant
Que dedens le midi sonant
En est venus en la carere
Ou li lions tint cort plenere.
Pasmes chaï el parevis.
Li sans li cuevre tot le vis
Et si n'aporte nule oreille.
Trestote la cort s'en merveille.
Li rois dit 'Brun, qui t'a ce fet?
Ledement t'a ton capel treit,
Par pou qu'il ne t'a escuissie.'
Brun avoit tant del sanc lessie
Que la parole li failli.
'Rois' fet il, 'ainsi m'a bailli
Renart com vos poes veoir.'

On their good chargers, the two abreast,
And galloped, never taking a rest,
So urgently did they wish to gain
Lanfroi’s forest, where they drew rein.
There an enormous oak tree stood.
Lanfroi, who wanted to sell the wood,
Had driven in two mighty wedges,
Making a slit between their edges.
Renard said, ‘Bruin, my dear friend,
We have come to our journey’s end.
The honey’s inside there. Eat it first,
Then we will go and quench our thirst;
You shall have what you've always loved.”
Standing on his hind legs,
Bruin shoved His muzzle and his two front paws
Into the hole. To help his cause,
Renard keeps pushing him from below,
Shouting he hasn’t far to go:
“Open your mouth, you son of a whore!
You’re almost there! Just a little more!
Only unlock your teeth, you scum!”
Now Renard’s great moment has come;
For Bruin, though, it’s not so funny—"
He didn’t find a drop of honey
However hard and long he tried,
And, while his mouth was opened wide,
Renard, damn his soul! with a mighty clout,
Suddenly knocked both wedges out!
In the space where the oak tree had been split,
A third of Bruin was tightly fit—
Not a good way to take a rest!
The poor bear really is hard-pressed,
Held a captive by the tree,
While Renard (not known for charity,
And let his confession not be made)
Shouts that it’s he who’s been betrayed:
“Bruin, I always did believe
That you had something up your sleeve!
You’re at the honey and won’t stop
Until you've left me not a drop!
Next time I'll beat you at your game!
But don’t you feel the slightest shame
At eating all that lovely honey?
And then, I suppose, I’ll get no money!
I can imagine the kind of trick
You'd have played on me had I fallen sick—
You'd have brought rotten pears for a treat!”
But Renard knew he had better retreat
When he looked up just in time to see
That Lanfroi was coming toward the tree.
The peasant could not believe his luck—
There was Bruin so tightly stuck!
Off to the village Lanfroi sped,
Shouting, ‘‘Come help and the bear is dead!
We’ve got him now but hurry! hurry!”
You should have seen the peasants scurry,
Swarm through the trees with bloodthirsty looks!
Some carry clubs, some pruning hooks,
Flails and axes raised to attack!
Bruin shivers, fears for his back.
Hearing the mob’s ferocious voice,
He knows in his heart he has no choice—
Better, no doubt, to sacrifice His muzzle, held as in a vise,
Than to wait there for Lanfroi to seize.
So Bruin starts to push and squeeze
And pull, no matter how it hurts,
Stretching his skin while blood spurts
In bright streams from his broken veins.
His skin gives way—not enough remains
On his mangled head to make a purse—
Never did any beast look worse!
From all his dreadful wounds the blood
Comes pouring in a crimson flood;
There’s no skin at all on his front feet.
Much has he suffered to retreat!
But now at last poor Bruin could
Run away through the depths of the wood.
And the shouting peasants are not slow:
The son of Lord Billin, called Bertot,
And with him Hardoin Hit and Run,
Gonbert and with him Gallon’s son
(Falcon’s nephew) and Count Ortrands
Who strangled his wife with his own hands;
Tygers, who baked the village’s bread—
(Black Cornelia he took to bed).
And Aymery the Sickle Breaker,
And Rocelin the son of Shaker.
Ogier’s son, not there to relax,
Held in his hand a battle-axe;
And there was my lord Hubert
Grosset And the son of Faucher Galopet.
The war party was increased
By the presence of the parish priest,
Father of Martin de la Tour.
He had just finished spreading manure
And took up the pitchfork he had plied
To plant it deep in Bruin’s side
As the bear in pain and anguish fled—
A little deeper and he was dead.
Catching Bruin against an oak,
Another of those peasant folk,
A comb and lantern maker by trade,
Struck at him, not with a blade,
But with a steer’s horn, wrenching his back.
Besides all these, there is no lack
Of peasants beating him with flails—
The wonder is that he prevails.
Renard, who knows his prospects are grim
If Bruin gets a chance at him,
Hears the bear at a distance, free,
And takes a shortcut to Maupertuis,
That mighty fortress where he knows
He'll be safe from his strongest foes.
Seeing Bruin close to his door,
Renard gibes at him once more:
“Bruin, I hope you’re satisfied!
I know you never meant to divide
Lanfroi’s honey. Those who pretend
Good faith will come to a bitter end,
And don’t think a priest will see you through!
But tell me, are you aspiring to
A monastic order? What's this red
Hood-like thing that’s on your head?”’
But Bruin, too far gone for banter,
Left at an energetic canter,
Still in terror at the thought
Of what would happen if he were caught.
So he spurred on, so fast that soon,
Just as the bells were rung at noon,
The bear was riding through the gate
To where the lion sat in state.
Bruin fell fainting on the floor,
His face entirely covered with gore.
As his friends come running, it appears
The bear has arrived without his ears.
The king said, ‘Bruin, who did that?
Who so foully ripped off your hat
And left your legs in such a state?”
His loss of blood had been so great
That Bruin’s voice was very weak:
“King,” he said, ‘I went out to seek
Renard, and found him, as you can tell.”

Renart le Novel

This sample from Renart le Novel shows how the author has moralized the Reynard genre. Reynard has captured King Noble's son Pride, who does not object and soon joins the fox's side in the war.

‘Come!’ he said to him. ‘I’ve something else to show you: the most amazing abode from here to Persia!’ And he led him to his sanctum, built of treachery, hate and envy. The doorway was made of loathing and the floors were paved with spite. Reynard had all kinds of people with him in his household, and it would take all day to describe the fuss they made of Pride. In honour of him the whole place was draped in cloth of gold, and from deep within six ladies came, nobly, richly dressed in gold. They came to meet Pride two by two, singing, hand in hand: they were princesses of the house. Foremost among the six were two sisters, Wrath and Envy: what a pity it is they’re living. Ahead of the others they stepped to welcome Pride, and knelt in adoration. And after Wrath and Envy, Greed and Sloth honoured him as highly as they could, and hot on their heels came Lust and Gluttony; they followed swiftly after each other, all of them attired in gold. It was just before dawn that Pride entered there. And he was greeted with music from fiddles and psalteries, organs, citoles, and a mighty fanfare of silver trumpets: what a reception he was given! And from their treasure-store the six ladies proffered Pride a crown of pure, fine gold encrusted with diamonds, sapphires, emeralds, rubies and cameos brown and white and grey. Pride accepted the offer with delight and gave the ladies a thousand thanks. Reynard took the crown, and then the ladies placed it on Pride’s head, crowning him and setting him as king above them: since he was the head, the chief of all vices, his head was the right place for it.

Proserpine knew of the crowning the very moment it was done. She loved Pride deeply, as he loved her. From Hell she sent him a golden sceptre, along with a host of demons, as a token of her love and a symbol of power, so that he might be king and emperor in this world. What the Father had the Son redeem on the cross, Pride sends down to Hell. This sceptre was sent to Pride from Hell with Lucifer’s approval, and Pride thanked his beloved Proserpine deeply.

Everyone there in the palace rejoiced at the bestowing of the gift, making such a row and racket that you wouldn’t have heard God’s thunder. Pride is crowned by many people in this world – and none is crowned without Pride’s parentage.

Reynard didn’t leave the six ladies; he said to them: ‘Stay with our king and keep him company.’

‘We shall,’ they said. ‘Not for a single day, as long as we live, will we be parted from him: we’ll be behind him all the way!’

‘And I’ll be with you always!’ said Reynard. ‘And I’ll look as fitting in your company as a jewel set in gold!’

And on a golden throne, with a solid gold sceptre in his hand, they seated Pride in a corner of the hall, and beside him the six ladies who’ve done such damage in the world and crow about it endlessly. And Reynard promised faithfully to aid them. They joyously thanked him on bended knee. And to Lord Pride they said:

‘Sire, you are king of all the world, for there are no people in the world so pure that they bear no stain from you or from one of us, or are unblemished by Reynard’s treachery. Reynard’s installed Hypocrisy and Guile in many a town; there’s little sign of the true Father! Reynard has deluded and bedazzled all those caught in his snare – and we’re no shirkers: we do all the direst damage we can! The clergy are loaded with Greed, their hearts set afire by Her daughter Covetousness. The princes, counts and kings are almost all devoted to us; and thanks to the example of the great, the lesser folk are ours, too! And so it is that the world’s sunk: so utterly befouled that we know of none who’s stayed unsullied, hardly any who’ve distanced themselves from the world and cleansed themselves. No earthly man can be clean unless he’s washed off the world, and purged himself of you and us and our companion Reynard! For the world is ours: when we work together we have power over all, and share it with no one!

‘But we’ve sixteen enemies in the world who are our undoing – each of them baulks us terribly. One is called Repentance, another is Her sister Confession: those two drive us from people’s hearts. Humility is our enemy, too, battling against us fiercely in this world; and Sobriety and Abstinence are at constant war with Gluttony, Faith against Sloth, Largesse against Greed, and Virginity and Chastity give Lust a right hard time! Temperance, Sense and Reason cause all kinds of trouble for Wrath and Envy; and Concord, Peace and Silence work likewise to make them struggle. But Envy doesn’t care – nor does Her sister Wrath, who’s wrought the death of many in the world. If, good sire, you’ll help us and Reynard, then the one who died on the cross will hold little sway! And if you agree, we’ll dally here no longer but go and visit our people in the world – and out of it, in the religious Orders!’

‘Let’s go!’ said Pride. ‘And leave Reynard to see to this war!’

And in high spirits Pride rode from Maupertuis with the six ladies who send so many souls to Hell. Reynard saw them on their way, and Pride asked him to lend him one of his sons, to keep him in his thoughts. Reynard chose to entrust to Pride his eldest, Malebranche, who knew by heart – he needed no script! – all his father’s skills: Reynard had instructed him since childhood. So Pride took him and held him very dear, making him his counsellor in his father’s place and seneschal of his household and bearer of the royal gonfanon. He sent Reynard back to Maupertuis, but bade him return to him once the war was over, and Reynard vowed to do so. Then he took his leave and departed, while Pride rode on with his troops, banner unfurled in the wind, setting out to conquer far and wide. He bade the ladies go and range through towns and cities, and drop in on councils and assemblies.

‘And I’ll go and visit the wealthy, who always strive to honour me – princes, counts and kings, ladies, knights and burgesses! And I’ll go to the pope and the legates at Rome – they’ll all bid me welcome! The archbishops are almost all my men, and the bishops and the prelates of Holy Church, and the abbots: they all hold me in high esteem and consider me their friend! And via the great the lesser folk will come to me! Come with me, Greed, and bring your eldest daughter Covetousness – she’ll be warmly welcomed by the cardinals and clergy. Thanks to you two I’ve won many: once they’ve piled up hoards of riches they give no thought to humility: they put me in its place! There are many poor folk who’re pious, humble, modest, kind, good-natured, who’d be quite different if they were rich, well-heeled! It’s only poverty that makes them humble!’

Once Pride had had his say he ordered his men to set off at once, and away they rode. More than five hundred trumpets, at Pride’s command, sounded their departure.

Let’s pray to God, the king of heaven, to keep us so free from Pride that we may live our lives in such a way that when we pass from here we may join Him up above; and may He protect us from those six ladies and from Reynard, and bring us to despise this bitter world and to love Him so well that He may place us as His sons in the heavenly realm.

Le Couronnement de Renart

Ysengrin the wolf travels to every land to recruit all of the animals to his cause. The author lists each animal, either in the vernacular or in Latin. The list is taken directly from the Liber de natura rerum, an encyclopedia by Thomas of Cantimpré, which the author must have had access to. As in Thomas's text, several animals appear more than once under different names.

From Alfred Foulet, Le couronnement de Renard, poème du treizième siècle (1929), page 52-56, line 1708-1825.

Que vos diroie? Il asambla
Tous les barons qui prince furent
Des bieste qui.iiij. piés urent,
De cascune maniere : conte
Ou duch ou prince, mis ou conte
En roumanch, ou en droit latin
Pour cou que toutes ne destin
A roumanchier, car ne porroie
Se toutes les or vos nomoie.
Et nonpourquant nomer covient
Les aucunes. car il m'en tient
Pour cou que jou en ai afaire.
A l'asne primes me doi traire
Car c'est comencemens par a.
Aper, Aloy, Anabula,
Alches, Ana et Ahune.
Cil furent primes asamblé.
Bubalus et Bonacus,
Canis ausi et Camelus.
Cama. Calopus et Castor
I virent a l'autre cor.
Camelopredus. Capra i virent.
Capreolus vel rubrica s'i cotint
Mout noblement aveuch Cato.
Cefusa ne se prisa po.
Cervus, qui revint d'autre part.
Cimera retint en sa part.
Et autresi Cirogrilus
Revint aveuch .Cuniculus
Cricetus et .Corocroces
Catapleba revint apriés.
Demma, Dammula grant couvine
Refisent quant Duran ravine
D'une contree de viers Inde.
Daxus, Elephans lor asinde.
Equumcervum a l'autre les
Ront Eale, Hemcires amenés.
Hamtra, Ermatius ausi
Revirent d'Ierminie iqui.
Erminius mout noblement
Vint d'autre par a mout grant gent.
Furunculus et Felena
Furions aveus amena.
Feles. Finge grant gent avoient.
Glis et Gali les conduisoient.
Geneta, Guesses n'i faillirent;
Quant Ibiches devant aus virent.
Et Ibidra, Istrix ausi,
Si les ont de cuer conjoï.
Apriés ciaus revint Spinosus.
Hyena s'i est enbatus
Aveuch le duc Leopardum;
Lamia, qu'il tint a barum,
Tint par la main dant Lazani.
Lins, qui venoit aveques li.
Ramenoit tenant Licaon.
Lupus, qui j'apiel en sornon
Isengrin, venoit en lor route.
Lucius, qui home ne doute,
Menoit o lui Leucroceca.
Uns riches cuens. dans Locusta.
Ravoit ausi biele compaingne.
Leoncophana, qui n'adaingne
Home nul qui li puisse nuire.
Lepus, Lachta. pou lui deduire
Menoit o lui a grant harnas.
Lucer et Luter, ne fu gas
Com chevauchoient noblement.
Mulus. Monacheros granment
Ne virent mie a mains de rote.
Molosus. sa maisnie toute
Ravoient pasé le grant flueve.
Mauricomorion recuevre
Mantitora de sa maisnie.
Musquelibet n'oblia mie
Mammonetus, le duch dou Nil.
Migale, qui avoit son fil.
Revenoit tro a grant beubant.
Murilegus tout ansimant
Venoit, o li dant Mustela.
Mus et earum genera
Ravoient le camp empli
Que Neomon ne peut o li
Chevauchier ne fust Onager.
Onocentaurus tout l'iver
Avoit mis d'errer, ce dist on.
Orix. Oraflus. ce dist on.
Ovis amenoient o eus.
Pardus, Panthera mie seus
Ne venoient. quant Parader,
Pegasus. Pilosus en l'er
Fisent voler grande porriere.
Pathio. Putorius maniere
Eurent bien de faire malisse.
Pirolus, par son grant malisse
Sailloit de toutes par isniel.
Rangiver, Simia mout biel
Entre tous se sorent avoir.
Tygris, se je dire le voir,
D'orguel passoit tous lé plus fors.
Taurus vel bos revint si fors
Que tous les rens fisent ploiier.
Taurus Indie fu si fier
Que nus des autres ne le pase.
Tramei, qui avoit grant mase
De gent. revint de l'autre part.
Tragelaphus, qui bien sa part
Tenoit aveuch Trogodite,
Talpa, sour le destrier monté.
Venoit aveuch Unicornis.
Ursus. Vesontes et Urnis
Demandoient mout dant Renart.
Varius venoit d'autre part,
Soi mout demenant a Zibo.
Zubrones tenoit a mout po
Que ses chevaus dont n'estançoit,
Et pour itant derrains venoit
De tous chiaus que je vos ai dit.

Van den vos Reynaerde

The story of how Reynard got Ysengrin and Hersent's paws for shoes is found in the Dutch version of the Reynard cycle, Van den vos Reynaerde and its derivitives. Ysengrin the wolf and Brun the bear denounce Reynard to King Noble, who has now decided Reynard is innocent and an ally; the king arrests both animals and has them bound. Reynard has declared he will go on pilgrimage to Rome, and so needs a scrip (a pouch carried by pilgrims) and some sturdy shoes. He convinces the royals that the material for the scrip should be skin taken from the bear's back, and his shoes should be made from the paws of Ysengrin the wolf and his wife Hersent.

Old Dutch

Isingrijn quam met groeten gheninde
ghedronghen voer de coninghinne
ende sprac met eenen fellen zinne
te Reynaert waert so verre
dat die coninc wart al erre
ende hiet Ysingrine vaen
ende Brune. Alsoe saen
worden si ghevanghen ende ghebonden.
Ghi ne saghet nye verwoedde honden
doen meer lachters dan men hem dede,
Ysingrine ende Brunen mede!
Men voerese als leede gaste.
Men bantse beede daer so vaste
dat si binnen eere nacht
met gheenrande cracht
een let niet en mochten roeren.
Nu hoert hoe hise voert sal voeren,
Reynaert, die hem was te wreet!
Hi dede dat men Brunen sneet
van sinen rugghe een velspot af,
dat men hem teere scerpen gaf,
voets lanc ende voets breet.
Nu ware Reynaert al ghereet,
haddi IV verssche scoen.
Nu hoert wat hi sal doen,
hoe hi sal IV scoen ghewinnen!
Hi ruunde toter coninghinnen:
‘Vrauwe, ic bem hu peelgrijn.
Hier es mijn oem, Ysingrijn.
Hi hevet IV vaste scoen.
Helpt mi dat icse an mach doen.
Ic neme hu ziele in mine plecht.
Het es peelgrins recht
dat hi ghedincket in sine ghebeden
al tgoet dat men hem noyt dede.
Ghi moghet hu ziele an mi scoyen.
Doet Haersenden, miere moyen,
gheven twee van haren scoen.
Dit moghedi wel met eeren doen:
so blivet thuus in haer ghemac.’
Gherne die coninghinne sprac:
‘Reynaert, ghi ne mochtes niet onbaren,
ghi ne hebt scoen: ghi moetet varen
huten lande in des Gods ghewout,
over berghe ende int wout
ende terden struke ende steene.
Dinen aerbeit wert niet cleene;
hets dijn noet datt u hebs scoen.
Ic wilre gherne mijn macht toe doen.
Die Ysingrijns waren hu wel ghemicke:
si zijn so vaste ende so dicke
die Ysingrijn draghet ende zijn wijf.
Al sout hem gaen an haer lijf,
elkerlijc moet hu gheven twee scoen
daer ghi hu vaert mede moet doen.’
Dus hevet die valsche peelgrijn
beworven dat dher Ysingrijn
al toten knien hevet verloren
van beede sine voeten voren
dat vel algader toten claeuwen.
Ghi ne saecht noint voghel braeuwen
die stilre hilt al sine leden
dan Ysingrijn de zine dede,
doe men so jammerlike ontscoyde
dat hem dat bloet ten teen afvloyde!
Doe Ysingrijn ontscoyt was,
moeste gaen ligghen up dat gras
vrauwe Hersvint die wulfi nne
met eenen wel drouven zinne
ende liet haer afdoen dat vel
ende die claeuwen also wel
bachten van beede haren voeten.
Dese daet dede wel soeten
Reynaerde sinen drouven moet.
Nu hoert wat claghen hi noch doet!
‘Moye,’ seit hi, ‘moye,
in hoe meneghen vernoye
hebdi dor minen wille ghewesen!
Dats mi al leet, sonder van desen
eist mi lief. Ic segghe hu twi.
Ghi zijt, des ghelovet mi,
een die liefste van minen maghen.
Bedi sal ic hu scoen andraghen.
God weet dats al huwe bate.
Ghi sult an hoghen afl ate
deelen ende an al dat perdoen,
lieve moye, dat ic in hu scoen
sal bejaghen overzee.’
Vrauwe Hersvinden was so wee
dat so cume mochte spreken:
‘Ay, Reynaert, God moete mi wreken
dat ghi over ons siet huwen wille!’
Ysingrijn balch ende zweech stille
ende zijn gheselle Brune, neware
hem was te moede arde zware.
Si laghen ghebonden ende ghewont.
Hadde oec doe ter selver stont
Tybeert die cater ghewesen daer,
ic dar wel segghen over waer:
hi hadde so vele ghedaen tevoren,
hi ne waers niet bleven sonder toren!
Wat helpt dat ict hu maecte lanc?
Des ander daghes voer de zonneupganc
dede Reynaert zijn scoen smaren,
die Ysingrijns tevoren waren
ende zijns wijfs vrauwe Hersenden,
ende hadse vaste ghedaen benden
om zine voeten ende ghinc
daer hi vant den coninc
ende zijn wijf die coninghinne.
Hi sprac met eenen soeten zinne:
‘Heere, God gheve hu goeden dach
ende mier vrauwen, die ic mach
prijs gheven met rechte.
Nu doet Reynaert gheven, huwen knechte,
palster ende scerpe ende laet mi gaen.’

English

Ysingrijn pushed his way very roughly
to a place before the queen
and uttered with a fierce demeanour
such coarse accusations of Reynaert
that the king was roused to great anger
and had Ysingrijn taken prisoner
and Bruun too. Straightaway
they were apprehended and tied up.
You never saw rabid dogs
more deeply humiliated than they did them,
Ysingrijn and Bruun also!
They were treated like hateful foes.
They were tied up so tightly there
that the entire night
they were unable to move
so much as a single limb.
Now hear what more he will do to them,
Reynaert, who treated them very cruelly!
He got them to cut from Bruun’s back
a piece of skin
that was given him by way of a scrip,
a foot long and a foot broad.
Now Reynaert would be quite ready,
provided he had four new shoes.
Now hear what he will do,
how he will obtain four shoes!
He whispered to the queen:
‘Lady, I am your pilgrim.
Here is my uncle, Ysingrijn.
He has four stout shoes.
Help me, so I can put them on.
I shall take your soul into my care.
It is a pilgrim’s duty
to remember in his prayers
all the good that was ever done for him.
You may benefit your soul by giving me shoes.
Have Haersint, my aunt,
give two of her shoes.
You may do this in all decency:
she will stay quietly at home.’
Full of good will the queen spoke:
‘Reynaert, you should not lack
shoes: you have to travel
in foreign lands, in God’s care,
across mountains and through woods,
and over stumps and stones.
Yours is not an easy task,
so that it is necessary for you to have shoes.
I will be pleased to use my influence to get them.
Ysingrijn’s would suit you well:
they are very strong and robust,
the ones that Ysingrijn and his wife wear.
Even if it cost them their lives,
each of them must give you two shoes
with which you will be able to make your journey.’
In this way did the false pilgrim
achieve that Lord Ysingrijn
lost the skin of both his front paws
from his knees
all the way down to his nails.
You never saw a bird having its eyelids
stitched together make less of a stir
than Ysingrijn moved his limbs
when he was divested so pitifully of his shoes
that the blood ran down from his toes!
When Ysingrijn had been unshoed,
Lady Haersint, the she-wolf,
had to lie down on the grass,
looking very sad,
and had the skin stripped off
as well as the nails
of her back feet.
Th is action was balm to
Reynaert’s distressed mood.
Now hear how he proceeds to lament!
‘Aunt,’ he said, ‘aunt,
how much misery
you have had to endure on my account!
I am very sorry, but in this case
it pleases me. I shall tell you why.
You are, I assure you,
one of my dearest relatives.
For that reason I will wear your shoes.
God knows you will benefit by it.
You will share in the papal indulgences
and in the full pardon,
dear aunt, that I will acquire in your shoes
in the Holy Land.’
Lady Haersint was in so much pain
that she could hardly speak:
‘Oh, Reynaert, may God avenge me
for you imposing your will on us!’
Ysingrijn was furious and remained silent,
like his companion Bruun,
but they were utterly despondent.
They lay bound and injured.
If at that time Tybeert the cat
had been there,
I dare say this with certainty:
he had earlier done so much
that he would not have escaped distress!
What use would it serve if I told you more?
The next day before dawn
Reynaert had his shoes greased
which earlier had belonged to Ysingrijn
and his wife Lady Haersint,
and had them tied securely
round his feet and went
to where he found the king
and his wife the queen.
He said gently:
‘Lord, may God grant you a good day
and my lady, whom I have
every reason to praise.
Now let Reynaert, your servant, be given
staff and scrip and let me depart.’

From William Caxton, Edmund Goldsmid, ed. The History of Reynard the Fox. Translated and printed by William Caxton, 1481 (1481, 1884), page 84-86.

Yegrym cam proudly ouer the felde to fore the kynge / and he thanked the quene / and spack wyth afelle moed ylle wordes on the foxe / in suche wise that the kynge herde it / and was wroth and made the woulf and the bere anon to be arestyd / ye sawe neuer wood dogges do / more harme / than was don to them they were bothe fast bounden so sore that alle that nyght / they myght not ster hande ne foot / They myght scarsely rore ne meue ony loynte / Now here how the foxe forth dyde / he hated hem / he laboured so to the quene that he gate leue for to haue as moche of the beres skyn vpon his ridge as a foote longe and a foot brode for to make hym therof a scryppe / thenne was the foxe redy yf he had foure stronge shoon / now here how he dyde for to gete these shoon

he said to the quene / madame I am youre pylgrym / here is myn eme sir Isegrym that hath .iiij. stronge shoon whiche were good for me / yf he wolde late me haue two of them I wolde on the waye besyly thynke on your sowle / ffor it is ryght that a pylgrym shold alway thynke and praye for them that doo him good / Thus maye ye doo your sowle good yf ye will. And also yf ye myght gete of myn aunte dame eerswyn also two of her shoon to gyue me / she may wel doo it / ffor she gooth but lytil out / but abydeth alway at home

thenne sayde the quene / reynard yow be'ioueth wel suche shoes / ye may not be wythout them / they shal be good for you to kepe your feet hoolfor to passe with them many a sharpe montayn and stony roches / ye can fynde no better shoes for yrm / than suche as Isegrym and his wif haue and were / they be good and stronge / though it sholde louche their lyf eche of them shal gyue you two shoes for to acoomplissh wyth your hye pilgremage

Thus hath this false pylgrym goten fro Isegrym ij shooes fro his feet / whiche were haled of the clawes to the senewis ye sawe neuer foule that men rosted laye so stylle / as Isegrym dyde / when his shoes were haled oi / he styred not / and yet his feet bledde / thenne whan Isegrym was vnshoed / Tho muste dame eerswyn his wyf lye doun in the grasse wyth an heuy chere / And she loste ther her hynder shoes.

Tho was the foxe glad and said to his aunte in scorne / My dere aunte how moche sorow haue ye suffred for my sake / whiche me sore repenteth / sauf this / herof I am glad ftor ye be the lyeuest of alle my kyn / Therefore I wyl gladly were your shoen / ye shal be partener of my pylgremage / and dele of the pardon that I shal with your shoen fecche ouer the see

dame erswyne was so woo that she vnnethe myghte speke / Neuertheles this she saide / A reynart that ye now al thus haue your wyl / I pray god to wreke it

ysegrym and his felaw the bere helden their pees and wheren al stylle / they were euyl at ease / ffor they were / bounden and sore wounded had tybert the catte haue ben there / he shold also somwhat haue suffred / in suche wyse / as he sholde not escaped thens wythout hurte and shame

The next day whan the sonne aroos reynard thenne dyde grece his shoes whiche he had of ysegrym and erswyn his wyf / and dyd hem on and bonde hem to his feet /and wente to the kynge and to the quene and said to hem with a glad chere / Noble lord and lady god gyue you good morow and I desire of your grace that I may haue male and staff blessyd as belongeth to a pilgrym.

From Joseph Jacobs, The most delectable history of Reynard the fox (1895), page 98-102.

But now Isegrim, with great majesty and pride tracing over the fields, came before the King and Queen, and with most bitter and cruel words inveighed against the fox in such a passionate and impudent manner, that the King, being infinitely moved with displeasure, caused the wolf and the bear to be presently arrested upon high treason; which suddenly was done with all violence and fury, and they were bound hand and foot so fast, that they could neither stir nor move from the place where they were couched.

Now when the fox had thus enthralled and entangled them, he so laboured with the Queen, that he got leave to have so much of the bear's skin as would make him a large scrip for his journey; which granted, he wanted nothing but a strong pair of shoes to defend his feet from the stones in his travel; whereupon he said to the Queen, 'Madam, I am your pilgrim, and if it would please your Majesty but to take it into your consideration, you shall find that sir Isegrim hath a pair of shoon, excellent long-lasting ones, which would you vouchsafe to bestow upon me, I should pray for your Majesty's soul in all my travel, above any charitable devotion. Also mine aunt, Dame Ereswine, hath other two shoes, which would your Majesty bestow upon me, I should be most infinitely bound to you, nor should you do to her any wrong, because she goes seldom abroad.'

The Queen replied, 'Reynard, I can perceive how you can want such shoes, for your journey is full of labour and difficulty, both in respect of the stony mountains and the gravelly ways, and therefore you shall have (though it touch their life never so nearly) from each of them a pair of shoes to accomplish and finish your journey.'

After the fox had made this petition, Isegrim was taken, and his shoes pulled off in most cruel and violent manner, so that all the veins and sinews lay naked, nor durst the poor massacred wolf either complain or resist. After he had been thus tormented, then Dame Ereswine his wife was used on the same manner on her hinder feet, as her husband was on his forefeet; which the fox seeing, said to her in a scornful manner, 'Dear aunt, how much am I bound to you that take all this pains for my sake! Questionless, you shall be a sharer in my pilgrimage, and take part in the pardon I shall bring from beyond the seas by the help of your shoes.'

Then Ereswine (though speech were troublesome to her) said, 'Well, sir Reynard, you have your will accomplished, yet Heaven, I hope, will requite the misdoer.'

This she said, but her husband and the bear lay mute, for their wounds were grievous unto them; and surely had the cat been there also, he had not escaped some extreme punishment. The next morning, very early, Reynard, causing his shoes to be well oiled, put them on, and made them as fit to his feet as they were to the wolves', and then went to the King and Queen, and said, 'My dread Lord and Lady, your poor subject voweth before your Majesties, humbly beseeching your highnesses to vouchsafe to deliver me my mail and my staff blessed, according to the custom due unto pilgrims.'

From E. W. Holloway, Heinrich Leutemann, Reynard the Fox: A Poem in Twelve Cantos (1852), page 31-32.

"Not so," quoth furious Isegrim,
"Let us again address the King!"
And led Sir Bruno forth, though loth,
Before the throne, where straight they both
Began a long and loud protest,
Against the Monarch's new behest.
"Have we not said," King Nobel cried,
"That we are now on Reynard's side?”
In wrath he spoke, and speaking sign'd
Unto his guards, to seize and bind
Them both upon the spot;
For now he thought on Reynard's words,
In former times, that both these lords
Had join'd his father's plot.
Thus Reynard by his cunning fables,
Upon his foemen turn'd the tables ;
Nay more, he brought the thing so wide,
That he a piece of Bruno's hide ,
(Which from his living back they strip)
Received, to make his pilgrim's scrip.
Nor yet content, the caitiff sues
The Queen , to grant a pair of shoes,
Hinting that those of Isegrim,
In fact, are just the things for him;
And that his wife might also spare
Without much loss, a hinder pair,
As she but seldom wish'd to roam,
And housewives still are best at home.
The Queen was pleased to hear his prayer,
Granted his wish both then and there,
And vow'd, if even they should die,
Two pairs of shoes they should supply.
Quoth he: "Of all the good I do,
A part will still revert to you,
I'll name my King's and Queen's good deeds
With zeal, when ' er I tell my beads;
A pilgrim's duty 'tis to pray
For all who help him on his way,
May heaven your kindly deeds repay!"
So Ifegrim with pain and woe,
Yielded his buskins to his foe;
And Reynard saw with cruel glee,
The Wolf's legs stripp'd below the knee.
His hapless wife, his trouble shared,
As both her hinder feet were bared;
They lost at once, both claws and hide,
That Reynard's wants might be supplied.
So they, and eke the wretched Bear,
Sat and bemoan'd their misery there;
While Reynard without fear or shame,
Derided all, but most the dame.
"Well, Cousin Gieremuth!" he cried,
"I fear'd thy shoes would be too wide,
But faith, I find they fit me well
I hope they will prove durable!
If so or not, I'll keep them still,
As tokens of my friend's good will;
And what I bring of holy ware,
Pardons and such like, thou shalt share,
When I come back from Rome."
Poor Gieremuth could scarcely speak,
Yet cried in accents faint and weak:
"Heaven will no doubt our wrongs repay
Upon thee, at the proper day,
Would God, that day were come!"
The Wolf in silence bore his care,
Nor answer made the wounded Bear;
While Reynard wish'd the Cat were there,
Their misery and woe to share.
Early next morn, no time to lose,
Sir Reynard having oil'd the shoes,
Which through his guile, the day before
From his poor relatives were tore,
Before the Monarch stood:
"Great Prince!" he cried, "I'm ready now,
For the fulfilment of my vow,
But if thou think'st it good;
Let holy priest a blessing say,
And thus dismiss me on my way
In humble, pious mood."

Reineke Fuchs

The Old High German poem Reineke Fuchs by Heinrich der Glîchezâre is a variation on the French Roman de Renart. In this extract the cock Chanticleer has a dream about danger from a fox.

From Karl Reissenberger, ed., Reinhart Fuchs (1886), page 32-37, lines 1-149. Primarily from manuscript Universitätsbibliothek Heidelberg, Cod. Pal. germ. 341.

Vernemet vremdiu maere,
diu sint vil gewaere,
von einem tiere wilde,
dâ man bî mac bilde
nemen umbe manegiu dinc.
ez kêret allen sînen gerinc
an triegen und an kündecheit,
des quam ez dicke in arbeit.
ez hâte vil unküste erkant
und ist Reinhart fuhs genant.
Nû sol ich iuch wizzen lân,
wâ von diu rede ist getân.
ein gebûre vil rîche,
der saz gemelîche
bî einem dorfe über ein velt,
dâ hât er erbe und gelt.
korn und hirses genuoc.
vil harte ebene giene sîn pfluoc.
der was geheizen Lanzelîn,
bâbe Ruotzela daz wîp sîn .
er hâte eine grôze klage:
er muoste hüeten alle tage
sîner hüener vor Reinharte.
sîn hof und sîn garte
was niht beziunet ze fromen.
dâ von muost er dicke komen
ze schaden, den er ungerne sach.
bâbe Ruotzela zuo im sprach
"alter gouch, Lanzelin,
nû hân ich der hüener mîn
von Reinharte zehen verlorn.
daz müet mich und ist mir zorn.
meister Lanzelin was bescholden,
(daz ist noch unvergolden)
doch er des niht enliez,
ern taete , als in Ruotzela hiez.
einen zûn machter vil guot,
dar inne wânt er hân behuot
Schanteclêrn und sin wip,
den gie Reinhart an den lip.
Eines tages dô din sunne ûf gie,
Reinhart dô niht enlie,
ern gienge zuo dem hove mit sinnen
dô wolter einer unminnen
Schanteclêrn bereiten,
ouch brâhtern ze arbeiten.
der zûn dûhtin ze dicke und ze hôch,
mit den zenen er dannen zôch
einen spachen und smucte sich dô.
als er nieman sach, des was er vrô,
nû wanter sich durch den hac,
vil nâhe er Schanteclêre lac,
sîn verchvîent Reinhart.
Pinte sîn gewar wart,
Schanteclêr bî der want slief.
ver Pinte schrê "her" unde rief
und vlouc bî eine swellen
mit andern iren gellen.
Schanteclêr quam gerant
und hiez si wider zuo der want
strîchen vil schiere.
"irn durft vor keinem tiere
niemer ûf erwarten
in disem beziunten garten.
doch bitet got, vil lieben wip,
daz er mir beschirme mînen lîp.
mir ist getroumet swâre,
daz sag ich iu ze wâre ,
wie ich in einem rôten belliz solde sîn,
daz houbetloch was beinîn.
ich fürhte, daz sîn arbeit.
dem heiligen engel sî ez geseit
der erscheine mirz ze guote
mir ist swaere ze muote."
Ver Pinte sprach "hêrre unde trût,
ich sach sich regen in jenem krût,
mich entriegen mîne sinne,
hie ist, ich enweiz , waz übeles inne.
der rîche got beschirme dich !
mir gât über erklich,
mir grûwet sô, ich fürhte wir
ze noeten komen, daz sag ich dir."
Schanteclêr sprach "sam mir min lip,
mê verzaget ein wip,
danne tuon viere man.
dicke wir vernomen hân,
daz sich erscheinet, daz ist wâr,
manec troum über siben jar."
ver Pinte sprach "lât iuwern zorn
und vlieget ûf disen dorn,
gedenket wol, daz unser kint
leider harte kleine sint.
verliusest dû hêrre dînen lîp,
sô muoz ich sîn ein riuwec wip
und unberâten iemer mê.
mir tuot mîn herze vil wundern wê,
wan ich sô sêre fürhte dîn.
nû beschirme dich unser trehtîn."
Schanteclêr ûf den dorn vlouc,
Reinhart in herabe troue,
Pinte schiere vliehende wart.
under den dorn lief Reinhart,
Schanteclêr im ze hôhe saz,
Reinhart begunde üeben baz
sîne liste, die er hât.
er sprach "wer ist, der da ûf stât?
bist dû daz Sengelîn?"
"nein ich", sprach Schanteclêr, "ich enbin,
also hiez der vater mîn."
Reinhart sprach, "daz mac wol sîn,
nû riuwet mich dîns vater tôt ,
wan der dem minnesten êre bôt.
wan triuwe under künne,
daz ist michel wünne.
dû gebâres zuo undâre,
daz sag ich dir ze wâre.
dîn vater was des mînen vrô .
ern gesaz sus hôhe nie alsô,
gesaehe er den vater mîn,
ern vlüge ze im und hieze in sîn
willekomen, ouch vermeit er nie,
ern swunge sîne vitechen ie,
ez waere spâte oder vruo.
diu ougen teter beidiu zuo,
und sanc im als ein vroelich huon."
Schanteclêr sprach, "daz wil ich tuon,
ez lêrte mich der vater mîn:
dû solt grôz wilkomen sîn."
die vitech begund er swingen,
und vroelich nider springen,
des was dem tôren ze gâch,
daz gerou in sêre dar nâch:
blinzende er singende wart.
bî dem houbete nam in Reinhart.
Pinte schrei und begunde sich missehaben,
Reinhart tet niht wan danne draben.
und huop sich wundern balde
rehte hin gegen dem walde.
den schal vernam Lanzelîn.
er sprach "owê der hüener mîn!"
Schanteclêr sprach ze Reinharte
"war gâhet ir sus harte?
wes lât ir iuch disen gebûr beschelten?
mugt irz im niht vergelten?"
"ja ich, sammir Reinhart",
sprach er, "ir gât eine üppige vart."
Schanteclêr was ungerne dô,
als er im entleip, dô want er sâ vrô
den hals ûz Reinhartes munde.

The Vox and the Wolf

The Middle English tale Of þe Vox and of þe Wolf, from George H. McKnight, ed., Middle English Humorous Tales in Verse (1913), pages 25-37.

A vox gon out of þe wode go,
Afingret so, þat him wes wo;
He nes neuere in none wise
Afingret erour half so swiþe.
He ne hoeld nouþer wey ne strete,
For him wes loþ men to mete;
Him were leuere meten one hen,
Þen half anoundred wimmen.
He strok swiþe ouer-al,
So þat he ofsei ane wal;
Wiþinne þe walle wes on hous,
The wox wes þider swiþe wous;
For he þohute his hounger aquenche,
Oþer mid mete, oþer mid drunche.
Abouten he biheld wel ȝerne;
Þo eroust bigon þe vox to erne.
Al fort he come to one walle,
And som þer-of wes afalle,
And wes þe wal ouer-al to-broke,
And on ȝat þer wes I-loke;
At þe furmeste bruche þat he fond,
He lep in, and ouer he wond.
Þo he wes inne, smere he lou,
And þer-of he hadde gome I-nou;
For he com in wiþ-outen leue
Boþen of haiward and of reue.
On hous þer wes, þe dore wes ope,
Hennen weren þerinne I-crope,
Fiue, þat makeþ anne flok,
And mid hem sat on kok.
Þe kok him wes flowen on hey,
And two hennen him seten ney.
"Wox," quod þe kok, "wat dest þou þare?
Go hom, crist þe ȝeue kare!
Houre hennen þou dest ofte shome."
"Be stille, ich hote, a godes nome!"
Quaþ þe wox, "sire chauntecler,
Þou fle adoun, and com me ner.
I nabbe don her nout bote goed,
I have leten þine hennen blod;
Hy weren seke ounder þe ribe,
Þat hy ne miȝtte non lengour libe.
Bote here heddre were I-take;
Þat I do for almes sake.
Ich haue hem letten eddre blod,
And þe, chauntecler, hit wolde don goed.
Þou hauest þat ilke ounder þe splen,
Þou nestes neuere daies ten;
For þine lif-dayes beþ al ago,
Bote þou bi mine rede do;
I do þe lete blod ounder þe brest,
Oþer sone axe after þe prest."
"Go wei," quod þe kok, "wo þe bi-go!
Þou hauest don oure kunne wo.
Go mid þan þat þou hauest nouþe;
Acoursed be þou of godes mouþe!
For were I adoun bi godes nome!
Ich miȝte ben siker of oþre shome
Ac weste hir houre cellerer,
Þat þou were I-comen her.
He wolde sone after þe ȝonge,
Mid pikes and stones and staues stronge;
Alle þine bones he wolde to-breke;
Þene we weren wel awreke."
He wes stille, ne spak namore,
Ac he werþ aþurst wel sore;
Þe þurst hem dede more wo,
Þen heuede raþer his hounger do.
Ouer-al he ede and sohvte;
On auenture his wiit him brohute,
To one putte wes water inne
Þat wes I-maked mid grete ginne.
Tuo boketes þer he founde,
Þat oþer wende to þe grounde,
Þat wen me shulde þat on opwinde,
Þat oþer wolde adoun winde.
He ne hounderstod nout of þe ginne,
He nom þat boket, and lep þerinne;
For he hopede I-nou to drinke.
Þis boket biginneþ to sinke;
To late þe vox wes biþout,
Þo he wes in þe ginne I-brout.
I-nou he gon him bi-þenche,
Ac hit ne halp mid none wrenche;
Adoun he moste, he wes þerinne;
I-kaut he wes mid swikele ginne.
Hit miȝte han iben wel his wille
To lete þat boket hongi stille.
Wat mid serewe and mid drede,
Al his þurst him ouer-hede.
Al þus he com to þe grounde,
And water I-nou þer he founde.
Þo he fond water, ȝerne he dronk,
Him þoute þat water þere stonk,
For hit wes to-ȝeines his wille.
"Wo worþe," quaþ þe vox, "lust and wille,
Þat ne can meþ to his mete!
ȝef ich neuede to muchel I-ete,
Þis ilke shome neddi nouþe;
Nedde lust I-ben of mine mouþe.
Him is wo in euche londe,
Þat is þef mid his honde.
Ich am I-kaut mid swikele ginne,
Oþer soum deuel me broute her-inne.
I was woned to ben wiis,
Ac nou of me I-don hit hiis."
Þe vox wep, and reuliche bigan.
Þer com a wolf gon after þan
Out of þe depe wode bliue,
For he wes afingret swiþe.
Noþing he ne founde in al þe niȝte,
Wer-mide his honger aquenche miȝtte.
He com to þe putte, þene vox I-herde;
He him kneu wel bi his rerde,
For hit wes his neiȝebore,
And his gossip, of children bore.
A-doun bi þe putte he sat.
Quod þe wolf, "Wat may ben þat
Þat ich in þe putte I-here?
Hertou cristine, oþer mi fere?
Say me soþ, ne gabbe þou me nout,
Wo haueþ þe in þe putte, I-brout?"
Þe vox hine I-kneu wel for his kun,
And þo eroust kom wiit to him;
For he þoute mid soumme ginne,
Him-self houpbringe, þene wolf þerinne.
Quod þe vox, "Wo is nou þere?
Ich wene hit is sigrim þat ich here."
"Þat is soþ," þe wolf sede,
"Ac wat art þou, so god þe rede?'
"A," quod þe vox, "ich wille þe telle;
On alpi word ich lie nelle.
Ich am reneuard, þi frend,
And ȝif ich þine come heuede I-wend,
Ich hedde so I-bede for þe,
Þat þou sholdest comen to me."
"Mid þe?" quod þe wolf, "War to?
Wat shulde ich ine þe putte do?"
Quod þe vox, "Þou art ounwiis,
Her is þe blisse of paradiis;
Her ich mai euere wel fare,
Wiþ-outen pine, wiþouten kare;
Her is mete, her is drinke,
Her is blisse wiþouten swinke;
Her nis hounger neuermo,
Ne non oþer kunnes wo;
Of alle gode her is I-nou."
Mid þilke wordes þe volf lou.
"Art þou ded, so god þe rede,
Oþer of þe worlde?" þe wolf sede.
Quod þe wolf, "Wenne storue þou,
And wat dest þou þere nou?
Ne beþ nout ȝet þre daies ago,
Þat þou and þi wif also,
And þine children, smale and grete,
Alle to-gedere mid me hete."
"Þat is soþ," quod þe vox,
"Gode þonk, nou hit is þus,
Þat ihc am to criste vend.
Not hit non of mine frend.
I nolde, for al þe worldes goed,
Ben ine þe worlde, þer ich hem fond.
Wat shuldich ine þe worlde go,
Þer nis bote kare and wo,
And liuie in fulþe and in sunne?
Ac her beþ ioies fele cunne;
Her beþ boþe shep and get."
Þe wolf haueþ hounger swiþe gret,
For he nedde ȝare I-ete;
And þo he herde speken of mete,
He wolde bleþeliche ben þare.
"A!" quod þe wolf, "gode I-fere,
Moni goed mel þou hauest me binome;
Let me adoun to þe kome.
And al ich wole þe for-ȝeue."
"ȝe," quod þe vox, "were þou I-sriue,
And sunne heuedest al forsake,
And to klene lif I-take,
Ich wolde so bidde for þe,
Þat þou sholdest comen to me."
"To wom shuldich," þe wolfe seide,
Ben I-knowe of mine misdede?
Her nis noþing aliue,
Þat me kouþe her nou sriue.
Þou hauest ben often min I-fere,
Woltou nou mi srift I-here,
And al mi liif I shal þe telle?"
"Nay," quod þe vox, "I nelle."
"Neltou," quod þe wolf, "þin ore,
Ich am afingret swiþe sore;
Ich wot to niȝt ich worþe ded,
Bote þou do me somne reed.
For cristes loue be mi prest."
Þe wolf bey adoun his brest,
And gon to siken harde and stronge.
"Woltou," quod þe vox, "srift ounderfonge,
Tel þine sunnen on and on,
Þat þer bileue neuer on."
"Sone," quod þe wolf, "wel I-faie,
Ich habbe ben qued al mi lifdaie;
Ich habbe widewene kors,
Þerfore ich fare þe wors.
A þousent shep ich habbe abiten,
And mo, ȝef hy weren I-writen.
Ac hit me of-þinkeþ sore.
Maister, shal I tellen more?"
"ȝe," quod þe vox, "al þou most sugge,
Oþer elles-wer þou most abugge."
"Gossip," quod þe wolf, "forȝef hit me,
Ich habbe ofte sehid qued bi þe,
Men seide þat þou on þine liue
Misferdest mid mine wiue;
Ich þe aperseiuede one stounde,
And in bedde togedere ou founde.
Ich wes ofte ou ful ney,
And in bedde to-gedere ou sey.
Ich wende, al-so oþre doþ,
Þat ich I-seie were soþ,
And þerfore þou were me loþ;
Gode gossip, ne be þou nohut wroþ.'"
"Vuolf," quod þe vox him þo,
"Al þat þou hauest her bifore I-do,
In þohut, in speche, and in dede,
In euche oþeres kunnes quede,
Ich þe forȝeue at þisse nede."
"Crist þe forȝelde!" þe wolf seide.
"Nou ich am in clene liue,
Ne recche ich of childe ne of wiue.
Ac sei me wat I shal do,
And ou ich may comen þe to."
"Do?" quod þe vox. "Ich wille þe lere.
I-siist þou a boket hongi þere?
Þere is a bruche of heuene blisse,
Lep þerinne, mid I-wisse,
And þou shalt comen to me sone."
Quod the wolf, "þat is liȝt to done."
He lep in, and way sumdel;
Þat weste þe vox ful wel.
Þe wolf gon sinke, þe vox arise;
Þo gon þe wolf sore agrise.
Þo he com amidde þe putte,
Þe wolfe þene vox opward mette.
"Gossip," quod þe wolf, "Wat nou?
Wat hauest þou I-muntȝ weder wolt þou?"
"Weder, Ich wille?" þe vox sede.
"Ich wille oup, so god me rede!
And nou go doun, wiþ þi meel,
Þi biȝete worþ wel smal.
Ac ich am þerof glad and bliþe,
Þat þou art nomen in clene liue.
Þi soule-cnul ich wille do ringe,
And masse for þine soule singe."
Þe wrecche bineþe noþing ne vind,
Bote cold water, and hounger him bind;
To colde gistninge he wes I-bede,
Wroggen haueþ his dou I-knede.
Þe wolf in þe putte stod,
Afingret so þat he ves wod.
Inou he cursede þat þider him broute;
Þe vox þer of luitel route.
Þe put him wes þe house ney,
Þer freren woneden swiþe sley.
Þo þat hit com to þe time,
Þat hoe shulden arisen Ine,
For to suggen here houssong,
O frere þere wes among,
Of here slep hem shulde awecche,
Wen hoe shulden þidere recche.
He seide, "Ariseþ on and on,
And komeþ to houssong heuereuchon."
Þis ilke frere heyte ailmer;
He wes hoere maister curtiler.
He wes hofþurst swiþe stronge;
Riȝt amidward here houssonge
Al-hone to þe putte he hede;
For he wende bete his nede.
He com to þe putte, and drou,
And þe wolf wes heui I-nou.
Þe frere mid al his maine tey
So longe þat he þene wolf I-sey!
For he sei þene wolf þer sitte,
He gradde, "Þe deuel is in þe putte!"
To þe putte hy gounnen gon,
Alle mid pikes and staues and ston,
Euch mon mid þat he hedde;
Wo wes him þat wepne nedde.
Hy comen to þe putte þene wolf opdrowe;
Þo hede þe wreche fomen I-nowe,
Þat weren egre him to slete
Mid grete houndes, and to bete.
Wel and wroþe he wes I-swonge,
Mid staues and speres he wes I-stounge.
Þe wox bicharde him, mid Iwisse,
For he ne fond nones kunnes blisse,
Ne hof duntes forȝeuenesse.

Nun's Priest's Tale

Geoffrey Chaucer's The Nun's Priest's Tale (from the Canterbury Tales) tells the story of the cock Chanticleer and an unnamed fox (i.e.Reynard), probably derived most directly from Reineke Fuchs.

Extract from the Middle English Nun's Priest's Tale by Geoffrey Chaucer (Canterbury Tales).

A povre wydwe, somdel stape in age,
Was whilom dwellyng in a narwe cotage
Biside a greve, stondynge in a dale.
This wydwe, of which I telle yow my tale,
Syn thilke day that she was last a wyf,
In pacience ladde a ful symple lyf,
For litel was hir catel and hir rente.
By housbondrie, of swich as God hir sente,
She foond hirself and eek hire doghtren two.
Thre large sowes hadde she, and namo,
Three keen, and eek a sheep that highte Malle.
Ful sooty was hir bour and eek hire halle,
In which she eet ful many a sklendre meel-
Of poynaunt sauce hir neded never a deel.
No deyntee morsel passed thurgh hir throte,
Hir diete was accordant to hir cote.
Repleccioun ne made hire nevere sik,
Attempree diete was al hir phisik,
And exercise, and hertes suffisaunce.
The goute lette hir nothyng for to daunce,
N'apoplexie shente nat hir heed.
No wyn ne drank she, neither whit ne reed,
Hir bord was served moost with whit and blak,
Milk and broun breed, in which she foond no lak,
Seynd bacoun, and somtyme an ey or tweye,
For she was as it were a maner deye.
A yeerd she hadde, enclosed al aboute
With stikkes, and a drye dych withoute,
In which she hadde a Cok, hight Chauntecleer,
In al the land of crowyng nas his peer.
His voys was murier than the murie orgon
On messe-dayes, that in the chirche gon.
Wel sikerer was his crowyng in his logge,
Than is a clokke, or an abbey orlogge.
By nature he crew eche ascencioun
Of the equynoxial in thilke toun;
For whan degrees fiftene weren ascended,
Thanne crew he, that it myghte nat been amended.
His coomb was redder than the fyn coral,
And batailled, as it were a castel wal.
His byle was blak, and as the jeet it shoon,
Lyk asure were hise legges and his toon,
His nayles whiter than the lylye flour,
And lyk the burned gold was his colour.
This gentil cok hadde in his governaunce
Sevene hennes, for to doon al his plesaunce,
Whiche were hise sustres and his paramours,
And wonder lyk to hym as of colours;
Of whiche the faireste hewed on hir throte
Was cleped faire damoysele Pertelote.
Curteys she was, discreet, and debonaire
And compaignable, and bar hyrself so faire
Syn thilke day that she was seven nyght oold,
That trewely she hath the herte in hoold
Of Chauntecleer loken in every lith.
He loved hire so, that wel was hym therwith.
But swich a joye was it to here hem synge
Whan that the brighte sonne gan to sprynge,
In sweete accord, "My lief is faren in londe!"
For thilke tyme, as I have understonde,
Beestes and briddes koude speke and synge.
And so bifel, that in the dawenynge,
As Chauntecleer, among hise wyves alle,
Sat on his perche, that was in the halle,
And next hym sat this faire Pertelote,
This Chauntecleer gan gronen in his throte
As man that in his dreem is drecched soore.
And whan that Pertelote thus herde hym roore
She was agast, and seyde, "Herte deere,
What eyleth yow, to grone in this manere?
Ye been a verray sleper, fy for shame!"
And he answerde and seyde thus, "Madame,
I pray yow that ye take it nat agrief.
By God, me thoughte I was in swich meschief
Right now, that yet myn herte is soore afright.
Now God," quod he, "my swevene recche aright,
And kepe my body out of foul prisoun.
Me mette how that I romed up and doun
Withinne our yeerd, wheer as I saugh a beest
Was lyk an hound, and wolde han maad areest
Upon my body, and han had me deed.
His colour was bitwixe yelow and reed,
And tipped was his tayl and bothe hise eeris;
With blak, unlyk the remenant of hise heeris;
His snowte smal, with glowynge eyen tweye.
Yet of his look, for feere almoost I deye!
This caused me my gronyng, doutelees."
"Avoy!" quod she, "fy on yow hertelees!
Allas," quod she, "for by that God above
Now han ye lost myn herte and al my love!
I kan nat love a coward, by my feith,
For certes, what so any womman seith,
We alle desiren, if it myghte bee,
To han housbondes hardy, wise, and free,
And secree, and no nygard, ne no fool,
Ne hym that is agast of every tool,
Ne noon avauntour; by that God above!
How dorste ye seyn for shame unto youre love
That any thyng myghte make yow aferd?
Have ye no mannes herte, and han a berd?
Allas! and konne ye been agast of swevenys?
Nothyng, God woot, but vanitee in swevene is!
Swevenes engendren of replecciouns,
And ofte of fume and of complecciouns,
Whan humours been to habundant in a wight.
Certes, this dreem which ye han met tonyght
Cometh of greet superfluytee
Of youre rede colera, pardee,
Which causeth folk to dreden in hir dremes
Of arwes, and of fyre with rede lemes,
Of grete beestes, that they wol hem byte,
Of contek, and of whelpes grete and lyte;
Right as the humour of malencolie
Causeth ful many a man in sleep to crie
For feere of blake beres, or boles blake,
Or elles blake develes wole him take.
Of othere humours koude I telle also
That werken many a man in sleep ful wo,
But I wol passe as lightly as I kan.
Lo Catoun, which that was so wys a man,
Seyde he nat thus, `Ne do no fors of dremes`?
Now sire," quod she, "whan ye flee fro the bemes,
For Goddes love, as taak som laxatyf.
Up peril of my soule, and of my lyf,
I conseille yow the beste, I wol nat lye,
That bothe of colere and of malencolye
Ye purge yow; and for ye shal nat tarie,
Though in this toun is noon apothecarie,
I shal myself to herbes techen yow,
That shul been for youre hele and for youre prow.
And in oure yeerd tho herbes shal I fynde,
The whiche han of hir propretee by kynde
To purge yow bynethe and eek above.
Foryet nat this, for Goddes owene love!
Ye been ful coleryk of compleccioun;
Ware the sonne in his ascencioun
Ne fynde yow nat repleet of humours hoote.
And if it do, I dar wel leye a grote
That ye shul have a fevere terciane,
Or an agu that may be youre bane.
A day or two ye shul have digestyves
Of wormes, er ye take youre laxatyves
Of lawriol, centaure, and fumetere,
Or elles of ellebor that groweth there,
Of katapuce, or of gaitrys beryis,
Of herbe yve, growyng in oure yeerd, ther mery is;
Pekke hem up right as they growe, and ete hem yn!
Be myrie, housbonde, for youre fader kyn,
Dredeth no dreem, I kan sey yow namoore!"
"Madame," quod he, "graunt mercy of youre loore.
...
And eek it is ny day, I may nat dwelle.
Shortly I seye, as for conclusioun,
That I shal han of this avisioun
Adversitee, and I seye forthermoor
That I ne telle of laxatyves no stoor,
For they been venymes, I woot it weel,
I hem diffye, I love hem never a deel.
Now let us speke of myrthe, and stynte al this;
Madame Pertelote, so have I blis,
Of o thyng God hath sent me large grace,
For whan I se the beautee of youre face,
Ye been so scarlet reed aboute youre eyen,
It maketh al my drede for to dyen.
For, al so siker as In principio
Mulier est hominis confusio,-
Madame, the sentence of this Latyn is,
`Womman is mannes joye and al his blis.'
For whan I felle a-nyght your softe syde,
Al be it that I may nat on yow ryde,
For that oure perche is maad so narwe, allas!
I am so ful of joye and of solas,
That I diffye bothe swevene and dreem."
And with that word he fly doun fro the beem,
For it was day, and eke hise hennes alle;
And with a chuk he gan hem for to calle,
For he hadde founde a corn lay in the yerd.
Real he was, he was namoore aferd;
He fethered Pertelote twenty tyme,
And trad as ofte, er that it was pryme.
He looketh as it were a grym leoun,
And on his toos he rometh up and doun,
Hym deigned nat to sette his foot to grounde.
He chukketh whan he hath a corn yfounde,
And to hym rennen thanne hise wyves alle.
Thus roial as a prince is in an halle,
Leve I this Chauntecleer in his pasture,
And after wol I telle his aventure.
Whan that the monthe in which the world bigan
That highte March, whan God first maked man,
Was compleet, and passed were also
Syn March was gon, thritty dayes and two,
Bifel that Chauntecleer in al his pryde,
Hise sevene wyves walkynge by his syde,
Caste up hise eyen to the brighte sonne,
That in the signe of Taurus hadde yronne
Twenty degrees and oon, and somwhat moore;
And knew by kynde, and by noon oother loore,
That it was pryme, and crew with blisful stevene.
"The sonne," he seyde, "is clomben upon hevene
Fourty degrees and oon, and moore, ywis.
Madame Pertelote, my worldes blis,
Herkneth thise blisful briddes how they synge,
And se the fresshe floures how they sprynge.
Ful is myn herte of revel and solas."
But sodeynly hym fil a sorweful cas,
For evere the latter ende of joye is wo.
God woot that worldly joye is soone ago,
And if a rethor koude faire endite,
He in a cronycle saufly myghte it write,
As for a sovereyn notabilitee.
Now every wys man, lat him herkne me:
This storie is al so trewe, I undertake,
As is the book of Launcelot de Lake,
That wommen holde in ful greet reverence.
Now wol I come agayn to my sentence.
A col-fox, ful of sly iniquitee,
That in the grove hadde woned yeres three,
By heigh ymaginacioun forn-cast,
The same nyght thurghout the hegges brast
Into the yerd, ther Chauntecleer the faire
Was wont, and eek hise wyves, to repaire;
And in a bed of wortes stille he lay,
Til it was passed undren of the day,
Waitynge his tyme on Chauntecleer to falle,
As gladly doon thise homycides alle
That in await liggen to mordre men.
O false mordrour, lurkynge in thy den!
O newe Scariot! newe Genyloun!
False dissymulour, O Greek synoun
That broghtest Troye al outrely to sorwe!
O Chauntecleer, acursed be that morwe
That thou into that yerd flaugh fro the bemes!
Thou were ful wel ywarned by thy dremes
That thilke day was perilous to thee;
But what that God forwoot moot nedes bee,
After the opinioun of certein clerkis.
Witnesse on hym that any parfit clerk is,
That in scole is greet altercacioun
In this mateere, and greet disputisoun,
And hath been of an hundred thousand men.
But I ne kan nat bulte it to the bren,
As kan the hooly doctour Augustyn,
Or Boece, or the Bisshop Bradwardyn,
Wheither that Goddes worthy forwityng
Streyneth me nedefully to doon a thyng, -
"Nedely" clepe I symple necessitee;
Or elles, if free choys be graunted me
To do that same thyng, or do it noght,
Though God forwoot it, er that it was wroght;
Or if his wityng streyneth never a deel
But by necessitee condicioneel.
I wol nat han to do of swich mateere;
My tale is of a Cok, as ye may heere,
That tok his conseil of his wyf, with sorwe,
To walken in the yerd upon that morwe
That he hadde met that dreem, that I yow tolde.
Wommennes conseils been ful ofte colde;
Wommannes conseil broghte us first to wo,
And made Adam fro Paradys to go,
Ther as he was ful myrie, and wel at ese.
But for I noot to whom it myght displese,
If I conseil of wommen wolde blame,
Passe over, for I seye it in my game.
Rede auctours, wher they trete of swich mateere,
And what they seyn of wommen ye may heere.
Thise been the cokkes wordes, and nat myne;
I kan noon harm of no womman divyne.
Faire in the soond, to bathe hire myrily,
Lith Pertelote, and alle hir sustres by,
Agayn the sonne; and Chauntecleer so free
Soong murier than the mermayde in the see-
For Phisiologus seith sikerly
How that they syngen wel and myrily.
And so bifel, that as he cast his eye
Among the wortes on a boterflye,
He was war of this fox that lay ful lowe.
Nothyng ne liste hym thanne for to crowe,
But cride anon, "Cok! cok!" and up he sterte,
As man that was affrayed in his herte.
For natureelly a beest desireth flee
Fro his contrarie, if he may it see,
Though he never erst hadde seyn it with his ye.
This Chauntecleer, whan he gan hym espye,
He wolde han fled, but that the fox anon
Seyde, "Gentil sire, allas, wher wol ye gon?
Be ye affrayed of me that am youre freend?
Now, certes, I were worse than a feend
If I to yow wolde harm or vileynye.
I am nat come your conseil for t'espye,
But trewely, the cause of my comynge
Was oonly for to herkne how that ye synge.
For trewely, ye have as myrie a stevene
As any aungel hath that is in hevene.
Therwith ye han in musyk moore feelynge
Than hadde Boece, or any that kan synge.
My lord youre fader - God his soule blesse! -
And eek youre mooder, of hir gentillesse
Han in myn hous ybeen, to my greet ese;
And certes, sire, ful fayn wolde I yow plese.
But for men speke of syngyng, I wol seye,
So moote I brouke wel myne eyen tweye,
Save yow I herde nevere man yet synge
As dide youre fader in the morwenynge.
Certes, it was of herte al that he song!
And for to make his voys the moore strong,
He wolde so peyne hym, that with bothe hise eyen
He moste wynke, so loude he solde cryen,
And stonden on his tiptoon therwithal,
And strecche forth his nekke long and smal.
And eek he was of swich discrecioun,
That ther nas no man in no regioun,
That hym in song or wisedom myghte passe.
I have wel rad in daun Burnel the Asse
Among hise vers, how that ther was a cok,
For that a presstes sone yaf hym a knok,
Upon his leg, whil he was yong and nyce,
He made hym for to lese his benefice.
But certeyn, ther nys no comparisoun
Bitwixe the wisedom and discrecioun
Of youre fader, and of his subtiltee.
Now syngeth, sire, for seinte charitee,
Lat se konne ye youre fader countrefete!"
This Chauntecleer hise wynges gan to bete,
As man that koude his traysoun nat espie,
So was he ravysshed with his flaterie.
Allas, ye lordes! many a fals flatour
Is in youre courtes, and many a losengeour,
That plesen yow wel moore, by my feith,
Than he that soothfastnesse unto yow seith.
Redeth Ecclesiaste of Flaterye;
Beth war, ye lordes, of hir trecherye.
This Chauntecleer stood hye upon his toos,
Strecchynge his nekke, and heeld hise eyen cloos,
And gan to crowe loude for the nones,
And daun Russell the fox stirte up atones,
And by the gargat hente Chauntecleer,
And on his bak toward the wode hym beer,
For yet ne was ther no man that hym sewed.
O destinee, that mayst nat been eschewed!
Allas, that Chauntecleer fleigh fro the bemes!
Allas, his wyf ne roghte nat of dremes!
And on a Friday fil al this meschaunce.
O Venus, that art goddesse of plesaunce!
Syn that thy servant was this Chauntecleer,
And in thy servyce dide al his poweer,
Moore for delit than world to multiplye,
Why woltestow suffre hym on thy day to dye?
O Gaufred, deere Maister soverayn!
That whan thy worthy kyng Richard was slayn
With shot, compleynedest his deeth so soore,
Why ne hadde I now thy sentence and thy loore,
The Friday for to chide, as diden ye?-
For on a Friday soothly slayn was he.
Thanne wolde I shewe yow, how that I koude pleyne
For Chauntecleres drede and for his peyne.
Certes, swich cry ne lamentacioun
Was nevere of ladyes maad, whan Ylion
Was wonne, and Pirrus with his streite swerd,
Whan he hadde hent kyng Priam by the berd,
And slayn hym, as seith us Eneydos,
As maden alle the hennes in the clos,
Whan they had seyn of Chauntecleer the sighte.
But sovereynly dame Pertelote shrighte
Ful louder than dide Hasdrubales wyf,
Whan that hir housbonde hadde lost his lyf,
And that the Romayns hadde brend Cartage;
She was so ful of torment and of rage
That wilfully into the fyr she sterte,
And brende hirselven with a stedefast herte.
O woful hennes, right so criden ye,
As, whan that Nero brende the Citee
Of Rome, cryden senatoures wyves,
For that hir husbondes losten alle hir lyves, -
Withouten gilt this Nero hath hem slayn.
Now wole I turne to my tale agayn.
This sely wydwe, and eek hir doghtres two,
Herden thise hennes crie, and maken wo,
And out at dores stirten they anon,
And seyn the fox toward the grove gon,
And bar upon his bak the cok away;
And cryden, "Out! Harrow and weylaway!
Ha! ha! The fox!" and after hym they ran,
And eek with staves many another man,
Ran Colle, oure dogge, and Talbot, and Gerland,
And Malkyn with a dystaf in hir hand,
Ran cow and calf, and eek the verray hogges,
So fered they fered for berkyng of the dogges,
And shoutyng of the men and wommen eeke,
They ronne so, hem thoughte hir herte breeke;
They yolleden as feends doon in helle,
The dokes cryden as men wolde hem quelle,
The gees for feere flowen over the trees,
Out of the hyve cam the swarm of bees,
So hydous was the noyse, a! benedicitee!
Certes, he Jakke Straw and his meynee
Ne made nevere shoutes half so shille,
Whan that they wolden any Flemyng kille,
As thilke day was maad upon the fox.
Of bras they broghten bemes and of box,
Of horn, of boon, in whiche they blewe and powped,
And therwithal they skriked and they howped,
It seemed as that hevene sholde falle!
Now, goode men, I pray yow, herkneth alle.
Lo, how Fortune turneth sodeynly
The hope and pryde eek of hir enemy!
This cok, that lay upon the foxes bak,
In al his drede unto the fox he spak,
And seyde, "Sire, if that I were as ye,
Yet wolde I seyn, as wys God helpe me,
`Turneth agayn, ye proude cherles alle,
A verray pestilence upon yow falle!
Now am I come unto the wodes syde,
Maugree youre heed, the cok shal heere abyde,
I wol hym ete, in feith, and that anon.'"
The fox answerde, "In feith, it shal be don."
And as he spak that word, al sodeynly
This cok brak from his mouth delyverly,
And heighe upon a tree he fleigh anon.
And whan the fox saugh that he was gon,
"Allas!" quod he, "O Chauntecleer, allas!
I have to yow," quod he, "ydoon trespas,
In as muche as I maked yow aferd,
Whan I yow hente and broght into this yerd.
But, sire, I dide it of no wikke entente,
Com doun, and I shal telle yow what I mente;
I shal seye sooth to yow, God help me so."
"Nay, thanne," quod he, "I shrewe us bothe two,
And first I shrewe myself bothe blood and bones,
If thou bigyle me ofter than ones.
Thou shalt namoore, thurgh thy flaterye,
Do me to synge and wynke with myn eye;
For he that wynketh whan he sholde see,
Al wilfully, God lat him nevere thee."
"Nay," quod the fox, "but God yeve hym meschaunce,
That is so undiscreet of governaunce,
That jangleth, whan he sholde holde his pees."
Lo, swich it is for to be recchelees,
And necligent, and truste on flaterye!
But ye that holden this tale a folye,
As of a fox, or of a cok and hen,
Taketh the moralite, goode men;
For Seint Paul seith, that al that writen is,
To oure doctrine it is ywrite, ywis.
Taketh the fruyt, and lat the chaf be stille.
Now goode God, if that it be thy wille,
As seith my lord, so make us alle goode men,
And brynge us to his heighe blisse. Amen.