A Summoner was with us in that place,
Who had a fiery red cherubim's face,
So sore and puffed, it made his eyes narrow.
He was as lecherous as a sparrow.
His scabbed black brows and mangy beard, made
Him so ugly that children were afraid.
Not mercury, nor white lead, nor sulphur
Nor borax ointment nor oil of tartar
Nor any cleansing or astringent washes,
Could cure him of those suppurating blotches,
Blackheads and boils which covered both his cheeks.
He loved to eat garlic, onions and leeks
And to drink strong wine, red as blood from a vein;
Then he would shout as if he were insane.
And after he'd drunk again and again
He would utter nothing but Latin then.
A few phrases he had learned, two or three,
Which he had gathered out of some decree:
And no wonder since he heard them all day,
And you know very well how any jay,
Can parrot "Walt" as well as the pope can.
But if the subject was changed we began
To see how near his learning's limit lay.
Ah. Questio quid juris?* he would say.
He was a good natured rascal and kind,
A better companion you couldn't find,
For a couple of bottles from your bin,
He'd turn a blind eye to your living in sin
For a year and still pardon you totally,
For he would quietly 'pluck a finch` too, you see.
And with those he took a real liking to,
He would explain, on that score, they need have few
Worries about excommunication.
But if money was a man's obsession
From his purse the sin must be amended.
Gold - the archdeacon's hell, he pretended.
But I know he was lying through his teeth.
Bad men should fear anathema's stern breath,
While absolution saves, this curse means hell,
And he should fear imprisonment as well.
He had all the young of the diocese
In his power because of his readiness
To listen to secrets and offer advice.
He wore a garland, a giant device,
More fit for a pub sign than a man's head;
He'd made his shield from a flat loaf of bread.
* Ah. (The) question (is) which law (applies)?
That hadde a fyr-reed cherubynnes face,
For saucefleem he was, with eyen narwe.
As hoot he was and lecherous as a sparwe,
With scalled browes blake, and piled berd,
Of his visage children were aferd.
Ther nas quyk-silver, lytarge, ne brymstoon,
Boras, ceruce, ne oille of tartre noon,
Ne oynement, that wolde clense and byte,
That hym myghte helpen of his whelkes white,
Nor of the knobbes sittynge on his chekes.
Wel loved he garleek, oynons, and eek lekes,
And for to drynken strong wyn, reed as blood;
Thanne wolde he speke and crie as he were wood.
And whan that he wel dronken hadde the wyn,
Than wolde he speke no word but Latyn.
A fewe termes hadde he, two or thre,
That he had lerned out of som decree;
No wonder is, he herde it al the day,
And eek ye knowen wel how that a jay
Kan clepen "Watte" as wel as kan the pope.
But whoso koude in oother thyng hym grope,
Thanne hadde he spent al his philosophie;
Ay "Questio quid iuris" wolde he crie.
He was a gentil harlot and a kynde;
A bettre felawe sholde men noght fynde;
He wolde suffre, for a quart of wyn,
A good felawe to have his concubyn
A twelf-monthe, and excuse hym atte fulle;
Ful prively a fynch eek koude he pulle.
And if he foond owher a good felawe,
He wolde techen him to have noon awe,
In swich caas, of the ercedekenes curs.
But if a mannes soule were in his purs;
For in his purs he sholde ypunysshed be.
Purs is the erchedekenes helle, seyde he.
But wel I woot he lyed right in dede.
Of cursyng oghte ech gilty man him drede,
For curs wol slee, right as assoillyng savith,
And also war him of a Significavit.
In daunger hadde he at his owene gise
The yonge girles of the diocise,
And knew hir conseil, and was al hir reed.
A gerland hadde he set upon his heed
As greet as it were for an ale-stake;
A bokeleer hadde he maad him of a cake.