The+Nun's+Priest's+Tale

The Nun's Priest's Tale
**//Scene One//** media type="file" key="Nun's Priest - 1.mp3" As man that in his dreem is drecched soore. And whan that pertelote thus herde hym roore, She was agast, and seyde, herte deere, What eyleth yow, to grone in this manere? Ye been a verray sleper; fy, for shame! And he answerde, and seyde thus: madame, I pray yow that ye take it nat agrief. By god, me mette I was in swich meschief Right now, that yet myn herte is soore afright. Now god, quod he, my swevene recche aright, And kepe my body out of foul prisoun! Me mette how that I romed up and doun Withinne our yeerd, wheer as I saugh a beest Was lyk an hound, and wolde han maad areest Upon my body, and wolde han had me deed. His colour was bitwixe yelow and reed, And tipped was his tayl and bothe his eeris With blak, unlyk the remenant of his heeris; His snowte smal, with glowynge eyen tweye. Yet of his look for feere almoost I deye; 

Middle English Citations: http://quod.lib.umich.edu/cgi/t/text/text-idx?c=cme;idno=CT;rgn=div2;view=text;cc=cme;node=CT%3A7.12 Image Citations: Rooster: http://officeimages.microsoft.com/i/0000/MB/j0200/j0200499.gif Fox: http://officeimages.microsoft.com/i/0000/MB/j0192/j0192205.gif Barn: http://officeimages.microsoft.com/i/0000/MB/j0295/j0295777.gif



**Scene Two**
= = media type="file" key="Nun's Priest - 2.mp3"

How dorste ye seyn for shame unto youre love That any thyng myghte make yow aferd?

Have ye no mannes herte, and han a berd? Allas! and konne ye been agast of swevenys? Nothyng, God woot, but vanitee in swevene is! Swevenes engendren of replecciouns, And ofte of fume and of complecciouns, Whan humours been to habundant in a wight. Certes, this dreem which ye han met tonyght Cometh of greet superfluytee Of youre rede colera, pardee, Which causeth folk to dreden in hir dremes Of arwes, and of fyre with rede lemes, Of grete beestes, that they wol hem byte, Of contek, and of whelpes grete and lyte, Right as the humour of malencolie Causeth ful many a man in sleep to cri For feere of blake beres, or boles blake, Or elles blake develes wole him take. Of othere humour koude I telle also That werken many a man in sleep ful wo



Middle English: [|http://www.librarius.com/cantales.htm>] Image: [|http://www.prel.org/PALM/Palauan/life-cycle.asp] 


 * //Scene Three//**

media type="file" key="Nun's Priest - 3.mp3" Bitwixe the wisedom and discrecioun Of youre fader and of his subtiltee.  Now syngeth, sire, for seinte charitee; Lat se, konne ye youre fader countrefete? This chauntecleer his wynges gan to bete, As man that koude his traysoun nat espie, So was he ravysshed with his flaterie. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif;">Allas! ye lordes, many a fals flatour Is in youre courtes, and many a losengeour, That plesen yow wel moore, by my feith, Than he that soothfastnesse unto yow seith. <span style="font-size: 110%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif;">Redeth ecclesiaste of flaterye; Beth war, ye lordes, of hir trecherye. This chauntecleer stoond hye upon his toos, Strecchynge his nekke, and heeld his eyen cloos, And gan to crowe loude for the nones. And daun russell the fox stirte up atones, And by the gargat hente chauntecleer, And on his bak toward the wode hym beer, <span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';"><span style="font-size: 110%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif;">For yet ne was ther no man that hym sewed.

Middle English Citations: http://quod.lib.umich.edu/cgi/t/text/text-idx?c=cme;idno=CT;rgn=div2;view=text;cc=cme;node=CT%3A7.12 Image Citations: Singing Chicken- www.singingchicken.co.uk/ usrimage/logo.gif

<span style="font-size: 90%; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">**Scene Four** media type="file" key="Nun's Priest - 4.mp3" <span style="font-size: 90%; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Now, goode man, I prey yow herkenth alle: Lo, how fortune turneth sodeynly The hope and pryde eek of hir enemy! This cok, that lay upon the foxes bak, In al his drede unto the fox he spak, And seyde, sire, if that I were as ye, Yet sholde I seyn, as wys God helpe me, Turneth agayn, ye proude cherles alle! A verray pestilence upon yow falle! Now am I come unto the wodes syde; Maugree youre heed, the cok shal heere abyde. I wol hym ete, in feith, and that anon! The fox answerde, in feith, it shal be don. And as he spak that word, al sodeynly This cok brak from his mouth delyverly, And heighe upon a tree he fleigh anon. And whan the fox saugh that the cok was gon, Allas! quod he, o chauntecleer, allas! I have to yow, quod he, ydoon trespas, In as muche as I maked yow aferd Whan I yow hente and broghte out of the yerd. But, sire, I dide it in no wikke entente. Com doun, and I shal telle yow what I mente; I shal seye sooth to yow, God help me so! Middle English: http://quod.lib.umich.edu/cgi/t/text/text-idx?c=cme;idno=CT;rgn=div2;view=text;cc=cme;node=CT%3A7.12

Images:alphapredator.com/ images/chains.jpg cdn.overstock.com/ images/products/L963936.jpg www.reg-garden.com/ Pictures/Chicken_in_tree.jpg

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