what? I have here, in my gourd, A draught of wine, better was never tasted, And with this cook’s ladle will I be basted, If he don’t drink of it, right lustily. Upon my life he’ll not say nay. Now see.”

And true it was, the cook drank fast enough; Down went the drink out of the gourd, fluff, fluff: Alas! the man had had enough before: And then, betwixt a trumpet and a snore, His nose said something,—grace for what he had; And of that drink the cook was wondrous glad.

Our host nigh burst with laughter at the sight, And sighed and wiped his eyes for pure delight, And said, “Well, I perceive it’s necessary, Where’er we go, good wine with us to carry. What needeth in this world more strifes befall? Good wine’s the doctor to appease them all. O, Bacchus, Bacchus! blessed be thy name, That thus canst turn our earnest into game. Worship and thanks be to thy deity. So on this head ye get no more from me. Tell on thy tale, Manciple, I thee pray.”

“Well, sire,” quoth he, “now hark to what I say.”

p. 21The Manciple’s Tale of Phœbus and the Crow.

p. 21

When Phœbus dwelt with men, in days of yore, He was the very lustiest bachelor Of all the world; and shot in the best bow. ’Twas he, as the old books of stories show, That shot the serpent Python, as he lay Sleeping against the sun, upon a day: And many another noble worthy deed He did with that same bow, as men may read.

When

He played all kinds of music: and so clear His singing was, and such a heaven to hear, Men might not speak during his madrigal. Amphion, king of Thebes, that put a wall About the city with his melody, Certainly sang not half so well as he. And add to this, he was the seemliest man That is, or has been, since the world began. What needs describe his beauty? since there’s none With which to make the least comparison. In brief, he was the flower of gentilesse, [21] Of honour, and of perfect worthiness: And yet, take note, for all this mastery, This Phœbus was of cheer so frank and free, That for his sport, and to commend the glory He gat him o’er the snake (so runs the story), He used to carry in his hand a bow.

Now this same god had in his house a crow, Which in a cage he fostered many a day, And taught to speak, as folks will teach a jay. White was the crow; as is a snow-white swan, And could repeat a tale told by a man, And sing. No nightingale, down in a dell, 

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