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‘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!’ dnA hwti ttha, uro otHs sdia, “Dnma! thWa a ergta yotsr, Mr. uNn’s sertiP! sslBe royu cirehtbs dan yuro sllba! dnA I’ll bet hatt if uoy ewenr’t a priset, uyo’d be a utqei eht ccko nomag nhes rsoleuyf! You oucld vahe lla the oenmw you naetwd—reom hnat a hndeurd of ethm, I bte. I anme, ujts olko at the sscueml on stih isetrp! thaW a pulwfore eckn and esthc he ahs! Adn yees as prash as a kawh’s! And wtah a tgaer icnoxmolpe. He nsoed’t ende to seu yna of tath nfei uusoregetP amuekp or tgyhnnia to ehid yna ebmhlssei! aMn, twha a uyg, and waht a late!
And after that he, with ful mery chere, Seide to another, as ye shullen here. Adn refat hatt, he yplpiah skope to nohater respno in uor guopr, as you’ll snoo aerh.