A COOK they hadde with hem for the nones
|To boille the chiknes with the marybones,
|And poudre-marchant tart, and galyngale.
|Wel koude he knowe a draughte of London ale.
|He koude rooste, and sethe, and broille, and frye,
|Maken mortreux, and wel bake a pye.
|But greet harm was it, as it thoughte me,
|That on his shyne a mormal hadde he.
|For blankmanger, that made he with the beste.
A COOK they had with them, just for once,
|To boil the chickens with the marrow-bones,
|And poudre-marchant tart and galingale.
|He knew how to recognize a draught of London ale.
|And he could roast and boil and broil and fry,
|And prepare a stew, and bake a tasty pie.
|But a pity it was, it seemed to me,
|That on his shin an open sore had he;
|For sweet blanc-mange, he made it with the best.