'Nay, by my father's soul, that shall he not,' Saidë the Shipman; 'here he shall not preach. He shall no gospel glosen here nor teach. [expound We believe all in the great God,' quoth he, 'He wouldë sowen some difficultee, Or springen cockle in our cleanë corn; And therefore, Host, I warnë thee beforn, My jolly body shal a talë tell, And I shall clinken you so merry a bell That I shall waken all this companye; But it shall not be of philosophye, Nor _physices_, nor termës quaint of law, There is but little Latin in my maw.'
The bluff skipper is as good as his word; his tale is frankly unprofessional, and its infectious jollity must almost have appealed to the Parson himself, even though it reeked with the most orthodox profanity, and showed no point of contact with puritanism except a low estimate of average monastic morals.
'Well said, by _Corpus Dominus_,' quoth our Host, 'Now longë mayest thou sailë by the coast, Sir gentle master, gentle mariner! ... Draw ye no monkës more unto your inn! But now pass on, and let us seek about Who shall now tellë first, of all this rout, Another tale;' and with that word he said, As courteously as it had been a maid, 'My lady Prioressë, by your leave, So that I wist I shouldë you not grieve, I wouldë deemen that ye tellen should A talë next, if so were that ye would. Now will ye vouchësafe, my lady dear?' 'Gladly,' quoth she, and said as ye shall hear.
The gentle lady tells that charming tale which Burne-Jones so loved and adorned, of the little scholar murdered by Jews for his devotion to the Blessed Virgin, and sustained miraculously by her power. Chaucer loved the Prioress; and he makes us feel the reverent hush which followed upon her tale--
When said was all this miracle, every man So sober was, that wonder was to see, Till that our Hostë japen then began, And then at erst he lookëd upon me, And saidë thus: 'What man art thou?' quoth he; 'Thou lookest as thou wouldest find an hare, For ever upon the ground I see thee stare.
Approachë near, and look up merrily. Now ware you, sirs, and let this man have place! He in the waist is shape as well as I; This were a puppet in an arm to embrace For any woman, small and fair of face! He seemeth elvish by his countenance, For unto no wight doth he dalliance.