|
"Namoore of this, for Goddes dignitee," |
| 230 | Quod oure Hooste, "for thou makest me |
| So wery of thy verray lewednesse, |
| That also wisly God my soule blesse, |
| Min eres aken of thy drasty speche. |
| Now swich a rym the devel I biteche! |
| 235 | This may wel be rym dogerel," quod he. |
| "Why so?" quod I, "why wiltow lette me |
| Moore of my tale than another man |
| Syn that it is the beste tale I kan?" |
|
|
"No more of this, for God's high dignity!" |
| 230 | Exclaimed our host, "For you, sir, do make me |
| So weary with your vulgar foolishness |
| That, as may God so truly my soul bless, |
| My two ears ache from all your worthless speech; |
| Now may such rhymes the devil have, and each! |
| 235 | This sort of thing is doggerel," said he. |
| "Why so?" I asked, "Why will you hinder me |
| In telling tales more than another man, |
| Since I have told the best rhyme that I can?" |
|
