122vb] 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 123ra] 41 45 50 55 60 65 70 75 123rb] 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 115 123va] 120 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 123vb] 160 165 170 175 180 185 190 124ra] 195 200 205 210 215 220 225 230 124rb] 235 240 245 250 255 260 265 270 124va]    275 280 285 290

¶ Aventures e enseignement Fount solas molt sovent, E solas fet releggement — Ce dit Gwaryn, que ne ment. E pur solas demostrer, Une trufle vueil comencer. Quant um parle de trufle e rage, Ne pense de autre fere damage. E pur ce a cet comensement, Counteroi assez brievement Le counte de Le chyvaler Qe sout fere le coun parler.    Un chevaler estoit jadis, Mout vaillaunt e de grant pris, Hardi, pruz, bel bachiler. De touz, se fesoit molt amer, Mes il ne avoit rente ne terre. E pur sa tres noble affere, Fust il fet chivaler, E touz jours remist seuder. E, si, out un esquier Qe Huet se fesoit nomer. Qei, par doner e largesse, Anientist mout sa richesse. Pur ce, dit um molt sovent: “Qe petit ad e petit prent, E velt despendre largement, Ne purra durer longement; E, pur ce, il fet qe sage Qe se prent a le avauntage.”    Issi remist un an entier Qu’il n’out rien qe de aprompter. Puis avynt, neqedent, Qu’il oy parler de un tornoiement. E apela son esquier, E tot ice ly fet counter, E ly demaund consail e aye Si nul y sache qu’il ly die.    “Certes, sire, ileque aloms. C’est le mieux que fere purroms, Quar ileque gaygnerez Par ount vos gages aquiterez.”    Lur herneis fount appariller. Al tornoiement vodrount aler Par priories e abbeyes; Lur covenist aler, tote veies, Pur ce qe petit avoient Qe despendre purroient, E ce n’est mye greindre folie De aler ov la nees sire Elye — Yl n’est point tenuz tous jours pur sot Qe siet aler ov le nees Elyot!    Ce fust en esté, quant la flour Verdist e doint bon odour, E les oylsels sunt chauntanz E demenent solas graunz. Come il errerent en une pleyne Qe ert delees une fonteyne, Si virent un petit russhel, Auke petit mes molt bel. Yleque virent treis damoiseles, Sages, cortoises, e tres beles, Qu’en la russhele se baynerent, Se desdurent e solacerent.    Huet les vit meintenaunt, E dit, “Sire, chevalchez avaunt, E je vous atteindroi A plus tost qe je purroi.” Huet vers les damoiseles ala E lur despoille enporta. Yl ly prierent qu’il lur rendeit Lur despoille, e pus parteit. Yl lur dit qe ce ne freit, Mes la despoille gardereit.    Yl crierent a le chevaler E ly prierent retorner, E la despoille deliverer Que Huet out son esquier, E il li dorreint tiel guerdoun Qe rien lur savereit si gree noun.    La eyné dit, “Sire chivaler, Un doun vous vueil je doner: En tous lyus ou vous vendrez, De tous honoré serrez, E molt chery e molt amez Taunt come ileque demorrez, E ceux qe vous encounterount De vous grant joie demerrount.”    La puisné dit erraument, “Un doun te doynz je, ensement: Ne est dame ne damoisele — Ne seit ele ja si bele — Si sa amour desirrez E de vous amer la prierez, Qe s’amour ne vous grantera E tous vos pleysirs en fra.”    Donc dit la tierce damoysele, Qe s’estuit en la russhele, “Bel sire chevaler, Qe estes si cortois e si fer, Un doun te vueil je doner Dont meint se doit enmerviller: Je vous dorroi le poer De fere cul e coun parler A vostre requeste, communement Derere e devant la gent — De quanque vous lur demaunderez, Certeyn respounz averez.”    “Damoisele, grant mercis.” A ceste parole, sunt partis. La despoille yleqe lessa, Congié prist, e s’en ala.    Ne demora gueres, come errerent, Qe un chapeleyn ne acountrerent Une jumente chevalchant, Qe molt suef va, portaunt. Quant yl vist le chevaler, Grant joie comença demener, Ov bel semblant le honora, E a ly del tot se abaundona.    Dit Huet, “Bon est de assaier De fere le coun al jumente parler.”    “Vous ditez bien! Par seint Richer, Je le vueil assayer! Ou va tu, daun Coun? Ne le celez mie!”    “Sire, je porte a mesoun le prestre a s’amie.”           “Ad yl amie verroiement?”    “Oil, sire, certeignement, E dis marcz en s’almonere Qu’il dorra a sa amie chere.”    Le prestre dit a le chevaler, “Merci, vous cri! Sire cher, Quanque j’ai vous vueil doner Ne me fetes si vergounder!” Les dis mars ileque lessa, E a sa amie avant ala, Que molt li sout mal gré Pur ce qu’il out si erré.    Le chevaler s’en ala Que grant joie demena. Si est lee a demesure De si merveillouse aventure, E a Dieu graces rent Qu’il ad esploité si richement.    Tant ont par le pais erree Qu’il fust a poi avespree. Si virent un chastiel bien assis, Halt, bel, e de grant pris. Un counte ileqe maneit — Tot le pais suen esteit. Yleque vodreint herbiger; Pur nuit, ne poeint avant aler. Al chastiel sunt descenduz, Yleqe sunt molt bien reçuz. Le counte quant yl les veit, Mout durement les honoreit, E la countesse ensement. Grant joie ly fyrent communement — Esquiers, vadletz, e serjauntz, Trestous petitz e grauntz.    Quant al soper furent assis, Richement furent servis. Une damoisele e le chevaler Ensemble sistrent al soper. Le chevaler primes parla, E la damoisele enresona E la pria e requist Qe ele amer ly velsist. A quoi dirroi je longement? Ele ly graunta soun talent, E qe la nuit a ly vendreit Ensemble ov li la nuit cochereit. La damoisele ne se oblia. A le chevaler s’en ala, E come en le lit se cocherent, Estroitement s’entreacolerent.    Donqe dit le chivaler, “Daun Coun, ne pus tu nient parler?”    “Oil, mi syre, verroiement, Tot a vostre comaundement.”    “Me diez si vostre dammoisele Seit uncore pucele.”    “Nanyl, syre, certeignement! Ele ad eu plus que cent Coillouns a soun derere Qe ount purfendu sa banere!”    La dammoysele se tynt abay. “Allas!” fet ele, “Qe vienke ycy! Trop su honyé ledement E engyné vylement!” A plus tost qe ele pout, De le chevaler eschapout.    Quant sa dame fust levee Lendemeyn, ly chay al pié E la cria sovent mercie, E dit, “Dame, je su honie! Si vous le volez celer, La verité vous vueil counter.”    “Oil, certes, a mon poer, Vostre priveté vueil celer.”    “Le chevaler qe vint er sa De ly amer me pria, E je ly grauntay son desduit E a son lit venyr la nuit. Quant a son lit venuz estoie, Yl me acola e fist grant joie. E meyntenaunt — nel vueil celer — Fist moun coun a ly parler, E tiele parole mist avant Dount je avoi honte grant! E a plus tost qe je poeyé, De soun lyt eschapeyé.”    “Tes!” fet la dame. “C’est folye!”    “Certes, dame, je ne mente mye.”    La dame jure Dampnedee Qe ele savera la veritee. Meisme le jour, aprés manger, La dame comença a parler, E dit al counte, “Sire, saunz faille, Vous orrez de une grant merveille — Yl y ad seynz un chevaler Qe siet fere le coun parler.”    Ly sire dist, “Lessez ester! Ne le pus crere ne quider!”    “Certes, le chevaler qe siet la, Um le dit qu’il le fra.”    “Sire chevaler, dit ele verité?”    “Oil, sire, a noun Dee. Parlera ele sovent, Sire, a mon comaundement.”    La dame dit meyntenant, “Sire chevaler, venez avaunt. Je mettroi de moneie cent lyvres Qe vous ne frez mon coun sy yvres Que de ly respounce ne averez A chose qe vous demaundrez.”    “E je mettroi mon chyval Qe ele respoundra, de bien e mal, E parlera apertement Oyauntz tous communement.”    La dame un petit suzryst. “En ma chaunbre entroy,” ce dist, “E bien tost revendroy, E vostre coyntise assayeroi.”    La dame prist de cotoun Si parempli bien le coun, E la fist si empler Qu’il n’y purra plus entrer. Bien quatre lyvres de cotoun La dame mist en soun coun. Pus la sale entra E le chyvaler demaunda Qu’yl dust assayer De fere soun coun parler. E quaunt le chevaler fere ne le pust, Certeignement mult ly desplust, E se tynt engynez.    “Syre,” dit Huet, “quei pensez? Sovyegnez vous de le cul Que respoundra a vostre vueil!”    “Cul, cul, qe fet le coun?”    “Sire, est empli de cotoun Que me destreint si ferement Que je ne pus apertement Une soule parole parler — Taunt me fet encombrer!”    Tous diseyent a un acord, “Dame, vous ly fetez tort!” Ov un long croke, le cotoun Fyrent trere hors del coun.    Le chevaler al coun demaunda Purquoy respounce ne ly dona.    “Sire, je ne purroi verroiement, Taunt fu estranglé vylement.”    Le counte dit meintenant, “Dame, dame, je vous comaunt: Fetes pees al chevaler, E pus le lessez aler.”    E la dame ensi fist. E le chevaler congié prist. Vers son pais s’en velt aler. Assez emporte de aver. Ore ad assez dont out mester Pur ces gages acquiter.    E quaunt cest aventure fust sue, E entre gent oye e vewe, Sy ly mistrent un surnoun, E le apelerent “Chevaler de Coun,” E son esquier Huet, Le sournoun “de Culet.” Chyvaler de Coun, Huet de Culet. Fous y est que plus y met!

¶ Adventures and a lesson Very often bring solace, And solace brings refreshment — So says Guerin, who doesn’t lie. And in order to provide solace, I want to begin a trifling jest. When one speaks of trifles and foolery, He doesn’t think of injuring anyone. And therefore with this opening, I’ll tell somewhat briefly The story of The Knight Who Knew How To Make Cunts Talk.    There was once a knight, Very brave and high-ranking, A bold, worthy, handsome young man. Among all, he made himself much loved, But he had neither income nor land. Yet because of his very noble conduct, He was made a knight, And he lived always as a mercenary. And, also, he had a squire Who was named Huet. He, by gifts and generosity, Squandered most of his wealth. Thus, it’s very often said: “He who has little and receives little, And wishes to spend freely, Won’t be able to last for long; And, therefore, he acts wisely Who takes for his own advantage.”    Thus it lasted an entire year That he had nothing except by borrowing. Then it happened, nonetheless, That he heard word of a tournament. And he called his squire, And tells him all this, And asks for his advice and help So that none there would know he’d advised him.    “Certainly, lord, let’s go there. It’s the best we can do, For there you may earn What you need to pay your debts.”    They’ve had their gear made ready. They want to go to the tournament By way of priories and abbeys; They needed to go [that way], in any case, Because they had little That they could spend, And it’s not at all the greater folly To go in Lord Elijah’s boat — He’s never at all taken for a fool Who’s able to go in Elijah’s boat!    This was in the summer, when flowers Grow green and give a sweet odor, And the birds are singing And provide deep solace. As they were traveling upon a plain That was near a spring, They saw a small stream, Rather small yet quite pleasant. There they saw three young ladies, Wise, courteous, and very fair, Who were bathing in the stream, Enjoying and refreshing themselves.    Huet sees them immediately, And says, “Lord, ride ahead, And I’ll catch up with you As soon as I can.” Huet went toward the young ladies And carried away their clothes. They asked him to return to them Their clothes, and then go away. He told them that he wouldn’t do this, But would keep the clothes.    They cried out to the knight And asked him to turn back, And to bring back the clothes That Huet his squire had taken, And they’d give him such a reward That he’d be ever thankful to them.    The eldest says, “Sir Knight, I wish to give you a gift: Everywhere you go, You’ll be honored by all, And deeply cherished and loved As long as you stay there, And those who meet you Will be very pleased to stay with you.”    The youngest says at once, “A gift I give you, likewise: There’s no woman or girl — No matter how lovely she is — Who, if you wish for her love And ask her to love you, Will not grant you her love And do all your pleasure.”    Then says the third young lady, Standing in the stream, “Good Sir Knight, So courteous and so brave, I wish to give you a gift That will astonish many: I’ll give you the power To make asshole and cunt talk At your request, both The person’s back and front — Whatever you ask them about, You’ll have a trustworthy answer.”    “Ladies, many thanks.” With this word, they departed. He left the clothes there, Took his leave, and went away.    Hardly had they gone, as they traveled, Before they met a chaplain Riding on a mare, Which, bearing him, ambled very softly. When he saw the knight, He started to greet him with joy, Politely honored him, And gladly offered to stay with him.    Huet says, “It’s good to try To make the mare’s cunt speak.”    “You’re right! By Saint Richer, I wish to try it! Where are you going, Master Cunt? Don’t hide anything!”       “Lord, I’m carrying the priest home to his mistress.”    “Does he truly have a mistress?”    “Yes, lord, certainly, And ten marks in his alms-sack That he’ll give to his dear mistress.”    The priest says to the knight, “Mercy, I pray you! Dear lord, I wish to give you whatever I have So that you’ll not bring me to disgrace!” He left the ten marks there, And went on ahead to his mistress, Who was quite irritated with him Because he had strayed so far.    The knight went forth Showing much delight. He’s happy beyond measure About so wondrous an adventure, And gives thanks to God That he’s achieved so rich an exploit.    They’ve traveled through the country Till it was nearly nightfall. Then they saw a well-situated castle, Tall, attractive, and impressive. A count lived there — All the countryside was his. There they wished to lodge; As it was night, they couldn’t go further. At the castle they’ve dismounted, Where they are very well received. When the count sees them, He honors them most heartily, And the countess likewise. Everyone together welcomed them — Squires, valets, and servants, All the small and the great.    When they were seated at supper, They were richly served. A young lady and the knight Sat together at supper. The knight spoke first, And he addressed the young lady And asked her and requested That she consent to love him. What’s the point of saying more? She granted him his desire, That by night she’d come to him And lie together with him all night. The lady didn’t forget. She went to the knight, And as they lay together in bed, They tightly embraced each other.    Then the knight says, “Master Cunt, can’t you say anything?”    “Yes, my lord, truly, Entirely at your command.”    “Tell me if your lady Is still a virgin.”    “Not at all, lord, certainly! She’s had more than a hundred Balls at her rear That have split her banner!”    The young woman was abashed. “Alas,” she says, “that I’ve come here! I’m wickedly disgraced And vilely tricked!” And as quickly as she could, She escaped from the knight.    When her lady had risen On the morrow, she fell at her feet And asked repeatedly for mercy, And says, “Lady, I’m disgraced! If you’re willing to keep it secret, I want to tell you the truth.”    “Yes, certainly, as I’m able, I’m willing to hide your secret.”    “The knight who came here yesterday Asked me to love him, And I granted him his delight And to come to his bed at night. When I came to his bed, He embraced me and made great joy. And immediately — to hide nothing — He made my cunt talk to him, And such speech it put forth That I had great shame! And as soon as I could, I escaped from his bed.”    “Be still!” says the lady. “That’s absurd!”    “Indeed, lady, I’m not at all lying.”    The lady swears by the Lord God That she’ll know the truth. That very day, after dinner, The lady began to speak, And says to the count, “Lord, without fail, You’ll hear of a great marvel — In this house there’s a knight Who knows how to make cunts talk.”    The lord said, “That’s impossible! I can’t believe or think it!”    “Indeed, the knight who’s sitting there, It is said that he can do it.”    “Sir Knight, is she speaking the truth?”    “Yes, lord, in God’s name. It will often talk, Lord, at my command.”    The lady says immediately, “Sir Knight, come forward. I’ll bet a hundred pounds in money That you won’t make my cunt so drunk That you’ll get an answer from it About anything that you ask.”    “And I’ll bet my horse That it will respond, for good or ill, And that it will talk openly In everyone’s common hearing.”    The lady smiled a little. “I’ll go to my chamber,” she said, “And be back very soon, And I shall test your cunning.”    The lady took cotton And thoroughly filled up her cunt, And made it so full That no more could go in. A full four pounds of cotton The lady put into her cunt. Then she entered the hall And ordered the knight That he had to try To make her cunt talk. And when the knight couldn’t do it, Indeed, it much displeased him, And he thought himself defeated.    “Lord,” says Huet, “what’re you thinking? Remember the asshole That will answer at your will!”    “Asshole, asshole, what’s the cunt doing?”    “Lord, it’s filled with cotton That crowds me so forcibly That I can’t clearly Say a single word — So much does it encumber me!”    Everyone said with one accord, “Lady, you do him wrong!” With a long hook, they had The cotton drawn out of her cunt.    The knight asked the cunt Why it hadn’t given him an answer.    “Lord, I couldn’t, truly, So wickedly was I choked up.”    The count says immediately, “Lady, lady, I command you: Make peace with the knight, And then permit him to go.”    And so the lady did. And the knight took his leave. Toward his country he wished to go. He carries a good sum of money. Now he’s got enough of what he needs To pay off his debts.    And when this adventure was known, And among the people heard and seen, Then they gave him a surname, Calling him “Knight of the Cunt,” And [for] his squire Huet, The surname “Little Asshole.” Knight of the Cunt, Huet of Little Asshole. Foolish is he who would add more here!

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