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From The Summoner's Tale, lines 536-551:
The lady of the house agrees on the churlishness of Thomas' behaviour
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From The Canterbury Tales:
The Summoner's Tale
lines 552-578: The host is puzzled by the intellectual challenge of dividing the indivisible fart

       The lord sat stille as he were in a traunce,
And in his herte he rolled up and doun,
"How hadde this cherl ymaginacioun
555To shewe swich a probleme to the frere?
Nevere erst er now herde I of swich mateere.
I trowe the devel putte it in his mynde.
In ars-metrike shal ther no man fynde,
Biforn this day, of swich a question.
560Who sholde make a demonstracion
That every man sholde have yliche his part
As of the soun or savour of a fart?
O nyce, proude cherl, I shrewe his face!
Lo, sires," quod the lord, "with harde grace!
565Who evere herde of swich a thyng er now?
To every man ylike, tel me how?
It is an inpossible, it may nat be.
Ey, nyce cherl, God lete him nevere thee!
The rumblynge of a fart, and every soun,
570Nis but of eir reverberacioun,
And evere it wasteth litel and litel awey.
Ther is no man kan deemen, by my fey,
If that it were departed equally.
What, lo, my cherl, lo, yet how shrewedly
575Unto my confessour to-day he spak!
I holde hym certeyn a demonyak!
Now ete youre mete, and lat the cherl go pleye;
Lat hym go honge hymself a devel weye!"
       The lord sat still as he were in a trance,
And in his mind he rolled it up and down:
"How had this churl imagination grown
555To pose so fine a problem to the friar?
I never heard the like, or I'm a liar;
I think the devil stuck it in his mind.
And in arithmetic did no man find,
Before this day, such puzzling question shown.
560Who could be able, now, to make it known
How every man should have an equal part
Of both the sound and savour of a fart?
O scrupulous proud churl, beshrew his face!
Lo, sirs," this lord said then, with hard grimace,
565"Who ever heard of such a thing ere now?
To every man alike? But tell me how!
Why it's impossible, it cannot be!
Exacting churl, God give him never glee!
The rumbling of a fart, and every sound,
570Is but the air's reverberation round,
And ever it wastes, by little and little, away.
There is no man can judge, aye, by my fay,
Whether it were divided equally.
Behold, my church And yet how cursedly
575To my confessor has he made this crack!
I hold him surely a demoniac!
Now eat your meat and let the churl go play,
Let him go hang himself, the devil's way!"

Next Next:
From The Summoner's Tale, lines 579-588:
The lord's squire offers the solution if he is rewarded