A poore widow somedeal stope[262] in age, Was whilom dwelling in a narrow cottage, Beside a grove, standing in a dale. This widow, of which I telle you my tale, Since thilke day that she was last a wife, In patience led a full simple life. For little was her cattel[263] and her rent[264]: By husbandry[265] of such as God her sent She found[266] herself, and eke her daughtren two. Three large sowes had she, and no mo; Three kine, and eke a sheep that highte[267] Mall. Full sooty was her bower, and eke her hall, In which she ate full many a slender meal. Of poignant sauce her needed never a deal.[268] No dainty morsel passed through her throat; Her diet was accordant to her cote.[269] Repletion ne made her never sick; Attemper[270] diet was all her physic, And exercise, and heartes suffisance.[271] The goute let[272] her nothing for to dance, N' apoplexy ne shente[273] not her head. No wine ne drank she, neither white ne red: Her board was served most with white and black, Milk and brown bread, in which she found no lack, Seind[274] bacon, and sometime an egg or twey; For she was as it were a manner dey.[275] A yard she had, enclosed all about With stickes, and a drye ditch without, In which she had a cock hight Chanticleer, In all the land of crowing was none his peer. His voice was merrier than the merry orgon, On masse days that in the churche gon. Well sikerer[276] was his crowing in his lodge Than is a clock, or an abbey horloge.[277] By nature he knew each ascension Of the equinoctial in thilke town; For when degrees fifteene were ascended, Then crew he, that it might not be amended. His comb was redder than the fine coral, And battled,[278] as it were a castle wall. His bill was black, and as the jet it shone; Like azure were his legges and his ton[279]; His nailes whiter than the lily flower, And like the burned[280] gold was his colour. This gentle cock had in his governance Seven hennes, for to do all his pleasance, Which were his sisters and his paramours, And wonder like to him, as of colours; Of which the fairest hued on her throat Was cleped faire Damosel Partelote. Courteous she was, discreet, and debonair, And companable,[281] and bare herself so fair, Sin[282] thilke day that she was sevennight old, That truely she hath the heart in hold[283] Of Chanticleer, locken[284] in every lith[285]; He loved her so, that well was him therewith. But such a joy was it to hear hem sing, When that the brighte sunne gan to spring, In sweet accord, 'My lief is faren on land.'[286] For thilke time, as I have understande, Beastes and birdes coulde speak and sing. And so befell, that in a dawening, As Chanticleer among his wives all Sat on his perche, that was in the hall, And next him sat this faire Partelote, This Chanticleer gan groanen in his throat, As man that in his dream is drecched[287] sore,