Now every wise man, let him hearken me: This story is all so true, I undertake, As is the book of Lancelot du Lake, That women hold in full great reverence. Now will I turn again to my sentence. A col fox, full of sly iniquity, That in the grove had wonned yearés three, By high imagination forecast. The samé night throughout the hedges brast Into the yard where Chanticleer the fair Was wont, and eke his wivés to repair, And in a bed of wortés still he lay Till it was passed undern of the day, Waiting his time on Chanticleer to fall, As gladly do these homicidés all That in await liggen to murder men. O falsé murderer! rucking in thy den, O newé Scariot, newé Ganelon! O false dissimuler, O Greek Simon! That broughtest Troy all utterly to sorrow. O Chanticleer, accursed be the morrow That thou into thy yard flew from thy beams Thou were full well ywarnéd by thy dreams That thilké day was perilous to thee: But what that God forewot must needés be, After the opinion of certain clerkés, Witness on him that any perfect clerk is, That in schoolé is great altercation In this matteré, and great disputision, And hath been of a hundred thousand men: But I ne cannot boult it to the bren, As can the holy Doctor Augustin, Or Boece, or the Bishop Bradwardin, Whether that Godde’s worthy foreweeting Straineth me needly for to do a thing (Needely clepe I simple necessity) Or elles if free choice be granted me To do the samé thing or do it naught Though God forewot it ere that it was wrought, Or if his weeting straineth never a deal But by necessity conditional. I will not have to do of such mattere; My Tale is of a Cock, as ye may hear, That took his counsel of his wife with sorrow, To walken in the yard upon the morrow That he had met the dream, as I you told. Womenne’s counsels be full often cold; Womenne’s counsels brought us first to woe, And made Adam from Paradise to go, There as he was full merry and well at ease: But for I n’ot to whom I might displease If I counsel of women wouldé blame-- Pass over, for I said it in my game. Read authors where they treat of such mattere, And what they say of women ye may hear, These be the cocke’s wordés and not mine: I can none harm of no womán devine. Fair in the sand to bathe her merrily Li’th Partelote, and all her sisters by, Against the sun, and Chanticleer so free Sang merrier than the mermaid in the sea, (For Phisiologus sayeth sikerly How that they singeth well and merrily). And so befell that as he cast his eye Among the wortés on a butterfly, He was ware of this fox that lay full low, Nothing he list him thenné for to crow, But cried anon, “Cok! cok!” and up he start As man that was affrayed in his heart,