Part 34 (1/2)

”Then put thine hand adown right by my back,”

Saide this man, ”and grope well behind, Beneath my b.u.t.tock, there thou shalt find A thing, that I have hid in privity.”

”Ah,” thought this friar, ”that shall go with me.”

And down his hand he launched to the clift,* *cleft In hope for to finde there a gift.

And when this sicke man felte this frere About his taile groping there and here, Amid his hand he let the friar a fart; There is no capel* drawing in a cart, *horse That might have let a fart of such a soun'.

The friar up start, as doth a wood* lioun: *fierce ”Ah, false churl,” quoth he, ”for G.o.dde's bones, This hast thou in despite done for the nones:* *on purpose Thou shalt abie* this fart, if that I may.” *suffer for His meinie,* which that heard of this affray, *servants Came leaping in, and chased out the frere, And forth he went with a full angry cheer* *countenance And fetch'd his fellow, there as lay his store: He looked as it were a wilde boar, And grounde with his teeth, so was he wroth.

A st.u.r.dy pace down to the court he go'th, Where as there wonn'd* a man of great honour, *dwelt To whom that he was always confessour: This worthy man was lord of that village.

This friar came, as he were in a rage, Where as this lord sat eating at his board: Unnethes* might the friar speak one word, *with difficulty Till at the last he saide, ”G.o.d you see.”* *save

This lord gan look, and said, ”Ben'dicite!

What? Friar John, what manner world is this?

I see well that there something is amiss; Ye look as though the wood were full of thieves.

Sit down anon, and tell me what your grieve* is, *grievance, grief And it shall be amended, if I may.”

”I have,” quoth he, ”had a despite to-day, G.o.d *yielde you,* adown in your village, *reward you That in this world is none so poor a page, That would not have abominatioun Of that I have received in your town: And yet ne grieveth me nothing so sore, As that the olde churl, with lockes h.o.a.r, Blasphemed hath our holy convent eke.”

”Now, master,” quoth this lord, ”I you beseek” -- ”No master, Sir,” quoth he, ”but servitour, Though I have had in schoole that honour. <24> G.o.d liketh not, that men us Rabbi call Neither in market, nor in your large hall.”

*”No force,”* quoth he; ”but tell me all your grief.” *no matter*

Sir,” quoth this friar, ”an odious mischief This day betid* is to mine order and me, *befallen And so par consequence to each degree Of holy churche, G.o.d amend it soon.”

”Sir,” quoth the lord, ”ye know what is to doon:* *do *Distemp'r you not,* ye be my confessour. *be not impatient*

Ye be the salt of th' earth, and the savour; For G.o.dde's love your patience now hold; Tell me your grief.” And he anon him told As ye have heard before, ye know well what.

The lady of the house aye stiller sat, Till she had hearde what the friar said, ”Hey, G.o.dde's mother;” quoth she, ”blissful maid, Is there ought elles? tell me faithfully.”

”Madame,” quoth he, ”how thinketh you thereby?”

”How thinketh me?” quoth she; ”so G.o.d me speed, I say, a churl hath done a churlish deed, What should I say? G.o.d let him never the;* *thrive His sicke head is full of vanity; I hold him in *a manner phrenesy.”* *a sort of frenzy*

”Madame,” quoth he, ”by G.o.d, I shall not lie, But I in other wise may be awreke,* *revenged I shall defame him *ov'r all there* I speak; *wherever This false blasphemour, that charged me To parte that will not departed be, To every man alike, with mischance.”

The lord sat still, as he were in a trance, And in his heart he rolled up and down, ”How had this churl imaginatioun To shewe such a problem to the frere.

Never ere now heard I of such mattere; I trow* the Devil put it in his mind. *believe In all arsmetrik* shall there no man find, *arithmetic Before this day, of such a question.

Who shoulde make a demonstration, That every man should have alike his part As of the sound and savour of a fart?

O nice* proude churl, I shrew** his face. *foolish **curse Lo, Sires,” quoth the lord, ”with harde grace, Who ever heard of such a thing ere now?

To every man alike? tell me how.

It is impossible, it may not be.

Hey nice* churl, G.o.d let him never the.** *foolish **thrive The rumbling of a fart, and every soun', Is but of air reverberatioun, And ever wasteth lite* and lite* away; *little There is no man can deemen,* by my fay, *judge, decide If that it were departed* equally. *divided What? lo, my churl, lo yet how shrewedly* *impiously, wickedly Unto my confessour to-day he spake; I hold him certain a demoniac.

Now eat your meat, and let the churl go play, Let him go hang himself a devil way!”

Now stood the lorde's squier at the board, That carv'd his meat, and hearde word by word Of all this thing, which that I have you said.

”My lord,” quoth he, ”be ye not *evil paid,* *displeased*

I coulde telle, for a gowne-cloth,* *cloth for a gown*

To you, Sir Friar, so that ye be not wrot, How that this fart should even* dealed be *equally Among your convent, if it liked thee.”

”Tell,” quoth the lord, ”and thou shalt have anon A gowne-cloth, by G.o.d and by Saint John.”

”My lord,” quoth he, ”when that the weather is fair, Withoute wind, or perturbing of air, Let* bring a cart-wheel here into this hall, cause*

But looke that it have its spokes all; Twelve spokes hath a cart-wheel commonly; And bring me then twelve friars, know ye why?