EPILOGUE TO THE NONNE PREESTES TALE.
|EPILOGUE TO THE NUN’S PRIEST’S TALE.|
‘Sir Nonnes Preest,’ our hoste seyde anoon,
‘Y-blessed be thy breche, and every stoon!
This was a mery tale of Chauntecleer.
But, by my trouthe, if thou were seculer,
Thou woldest been a trede-foul a-right.
For, if thou have corage as thou hast might,
Thee were nede of hennes, as I wene,
Ya, mo than seven tymes seventene.
See, whiche braunes hath this gentil Preest,
So greet a nekke, and swich a large breest!
He loketh as a sperhauk with his yën;
Him nedeth nat his colour for to dyen
With brasil, ne with greyn of Portingale.
Now sire, faire falle yow for youre tale!’
|And with that, our Host said, “Damn! What a great story, Mr. Nun’s Priest! Bless your britches and your balls! And I’ll bet that if you weren’t a priest, you’d be a quite the cock among hens yourself! You could have all the women you wanted—more than a hundred of them, I bet. I mean, just look at the muscles on this priest! What a powerful neck and chest he has! And eyes as sharp as a hawk’s! And what a great complexion. He doesn’t need to use any of that fine Portuguese makeup or anything to hide any blemishes! Man, what a guy, and what a tale!|
And after that he, with ful mery chere,
Seide to another, as ye shullen here.
|And after that, he happily spoke to another person in our group, as you’ll soon hear.|