if thou hap’st to come into our dell, Lord! how we’ll do our best to give thee greeting!”  “Thanks,” quoth the Sumner; “merry be our meeting.” So in each other’s hand their troths they lay, And swear accord: and forth they ride and play.

This Sumner then, which was as full of stir, And prate, and prying, as a woodpecker, And ever inquiring upon everything, Said, “Brother, where is thine inhabiting, In case I come to find thee out some day?”

This yeoman dropped his speech in a soft way, And said, “Far in the north. But ere we part, [42] I trow thou shalt have learnt it so by heart, Thou mayst not miss it, be it dark as pitch.”

“Good,” quoth the Sumner. “Now, as thou art rich, Show me, dear brother, riding thus with me, Since we are bailiffs both, some subtlety, How I may play my game best, and may win: And spare not, pray, for conscience or for sin, But, as my brother, tell me how do ye.”

“Why, ’faith, to tell thee a plain tale,” quoth he, “As to my wages, they be poor enough; My lord’s a dangerous master, hard and chuff; And since my labour bringeth but abortion, I live, so please ye, brother, by extortion, I take what I can get; that is my course; By cunning, if I may; if not, by force; So cometh, year by year, my salary.”  “Now certes,” quote the Sumner, “so fare I. I lay my hands on everything, God wot, Unless it be too heavy or too hot. What I may get in counsel, privily, I feel no sort of qualm thereon, not I. Extortion or starvation;—that’s my creed. Repent who list. The best of saints must feed. That’s all the stomach that my conscience knoweth. Curse on the ass that to confession goeth. Well be we met, ’Od’s heart! and by my dame! But tell me, brother dear, what is thy name?”

Now ye must know, that right in this meanwhile, This yeoman ’gan a little for to smile. “Brother,” quoth he, “my name, if I must tell— I am a fiend: my dwelling is in hell: And here I ride about my fortuning, To wot if folk will give me anything. To that sole end ride I, and ridest thou; And, without pulling rein, will I ride now To the world’s end, ere I will lose a prey.”

“God bless me,” quoth the Sumner, “what d’ye say? I thought ye were a yeoman verily. Ye have a man’s shape, sir, as well as I. Have ye a shape then, pray, determinate In hell, good sir, where ye have your estate?”

“Nay, certainly,” quoth he, “there have we none; But whoso liketh it, he taketh one; And so we make folk think us what we please. Sometimes we go like apes, 

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