A poure widewe, somdel stoupen in age, Was whilom dwelling in a narwe cotage Beside a grove stonding in a dale. This widewe, which I tell you of my tale, Sin thilke day that she was last a wif In patience led a ful simple lif, For litel was hire catel and hire rente; By husbondry of swiche as God hire sente She found hireself and eke hire doughtren two. Three large sowes had she, and no mo, Three kine, and eke a sheep that highte Malle; Ful sooty was hire boure and eke hire halle, In which she ete many a slender mele; Of poinant sauce ne knew she never a dele: No deintee morsel passed thurgh hire throte; Hire diete was accordant to hire cote: Repletion ne made hire never sike; Attempre diete was all hire physike, And exercise, and hertes suffisance; The goute let hire nothing for to dance, Ne apoplexie shente not hire hed: No win ne dranke she nyther white ne red: Hire bord was served most with white and black, Milk and broun bred, in which she fond no lack, Seinde bacon, and somtime an eye or twey, For she was as it were a manner dey. A yerd she had enclosed all about With stickes, and a drie diche without, In which she had a cok highte Chaunteclere, In all the land of crowing n'as his pere: His vois was merier than the mery orgon On masse daies that in the chirches gon: Wel sikerer was his crowing in his loge Than is a clok or any abbey orloge: By nature he knewe eche ascentioun Of the equinoctial in thilke toun, For whan degrees fiftene were ascended Than crew he that it might not ben amended. His combe was redder than the fin corall, Enbattelled as it were a castel wall; His bill was black, and as the jet it shone, Like asure were his legges and his tone, His nailes whiter than the lily flour, And like the burned gold was his colour. This gentil cok had in his governance Seven hennes for to don all his plesance, Which were his susters and his paramoures, And wonder like to him as of coloures, Of which the fairest, hewed in the throte, Was cleped faire Damoselle Pertelote. Curteis she was, descrete and debonaire, And compenable, and bare hireself so faire, Sithen the day that she was sevennight old, That trewelich she hath the herte in hold Of Chaunteclere, loken in every lith; He loved hire so, that wel was him therwith: But swiche a joye it was to here hem sing, Whan that the brighte sonne gan to spring, In swete accord: my lefe is fare in lond. For thilke time, as I have understond, Bestes and briddes couden speke and sing. And so befell that in a dawening As Chaunteclere among his wives alle Sate on his perche that was in the halle, And next him sate his faire Pertelote, This Chaunteclere gan gronnen in his throte As man that in his dreme is dretched sore;