¶ The prologe of the Cookes tale.
THe Cook of London / whil the Reue spak
ffor ioye hym thoughte / he clawed hym on the bak
Haha quod he / for Cristes passion
This Millere / hadde a sharpe conclusion
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Vp on his argument of herbergage
Wel seyde Salomon / in his langage
Ne bryng nat euery man / in to thyn hous
ffor herberwyng by nyghte is perilous
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Wel oghte a man / auysed for to be
Whom þat he broghte / in to his priuetee
I pray to god / so yeue me sorwe and care
If euer sith / I highte Hogge of ware
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Herde I a Millere / bettre yset awerk/
He hadde a iape of malice / in the derk
But god forbede / that we stynten heere [hic]
ffor if ye / vouche sauf to heere [audire]
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A tale of me / that am a poure man
I wol yow telle / as wel as euere I kan
A litel iape / that fil in oure Citee
¶ Oure hoost answerde / and seyde I graunte it thee
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Now tel on Roger / looke that it be good
ffor many a pastee / hastow laten blood
And many a Iakke of Douere / hastow soold
That hath been twies hoot and twies coold
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Of many a pilgrym / hastow Cristes curs
ffor of thy persle / yet they fare the wors
That they han eten / with thy stubbul goos
ffor in thy shoppe / is many a flye loos
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Now tel on / gentil Roger / by thy name
But yet I praye thee / be nat wrooth for game
A man may seye ful sooth / in game and pley
¶ Thow seist ful sooth / quod Roger by my fey
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