The Canterbury Tales s3

The Canterbury Tales Sir, tell a tale of hunting now, I pray." "Nay," said this monk, "I have no wish to play; By Geoffrey Chaucer Now let another tell, as I have told." Then spoke our host out, in rude speech and THE PROLOGUE TO THE NUN'S bold, PRIEST'S TALE And said he unto the nun's priest anon: "Come near, you priest, come hither, you Sir Hold!" cried the knight. "Good sir, no more of John, this, Tell us a thing to make our hearts all glad; What you have said is right enough, and is Be blithe, although you ride upon a jade. Very much more; a little heaviness What though your horse may be both foul and Is plenty for the most of us, I guess. lean? For me, I say it's saddening, if you please, If he but serves you, why, don't care a bean; As to men who've enjoyed great wealth and Just see your heart is always merry. So." ease, "Yes, sir," said he, "yes, host, so may I go, To hear about their sudden fall, alas! For, save I'm merry, I know I'll be blamed." But the contrary's joy and great solace, And right away his story has he framed, As when a man has been in poor estate And thus he said unto us, every one, And he climbs up and waxes fortunate, This dainty priest, this goodly man, Sir John. And there abides in all prosperity. Explicit Such things are gladsome, as it seems to me, And of such things it would be good to tell." THE NUN'S PRIEST'S TALE OF THE "Yea," quoth our host, "and by Saint Paul's great COCK AND HEN, CHANTICLEER AND bell, PERTELOTE You say the truth; this monk, his clapper's loud. He spoke how 'Fortune covered with a cloud' A widow poor, somewhat advanced in age, I know not what, and of a 'tragedy,' Lived, on a time, within a small cottage As now you heard, and gad! no remedy Beside a grove and standing down a dale. It is to wail and wonder and complain This widow, now, of whom I tell my tale, That certain things have happened, and it's pain. Since that same day when she'd been last a wife As you have said, to hear of wretchedness. Had led, with patience, her strait simple life, Sir monk, no more of this, so God you bless! For she'd small goods and little income-rent; Your tale annoys the entire company; By husbanding of such as God had sent Such talking is not worth a butterfly; She kept herself and her young daughters twain. For in it is no sport nor any game. Three large sows had she, and no more, 'tis Wherefore, sir monk, Don Peter by your name, plain, I pray you heartily tell us something else, Three cows and a lone sheep that she called For truly, but for clinking of the bells Moll. That from your bridle hang on either side, Right sooty was her bedroom and her hall, By Heaven's king, Who for us all has died, Wherein she'd eaten many a slender meal. I should, ere this, have fallen down for sleep, Of sharp sauce, why she needed no great deal, Although the mud had never been so deep; For dainty morsel never passed her throat; Then had your story all been told in vain. Her diet well accorded with her coat. For certainly, as all these clerks complain, Repletion never made this woman sick; 'Whenas a man has none for audience, A temperate diet was her whole physic, It's little help to speak his evidence.' And exercise, and her heart's sustenance. And well I know the substance is in me The gout, it hindered her nowise to dance, To judge of things that well reported be. Nor apoplexy spun within her head; 2

And no wine drank she, either white or red; And when fair Pertelote thus heard him roar, Her board was mostly garnished, white and She was aghast and said: "O sweetheart dear, black, What ails you that you groan so? Do you hear? With milk and brown bread, whereof she'd no You are a sleepy herald. Fie, for shame!" lack, And he replied to her thus: "Ah, madame, Broiled bacon and sometimes an egg or two, I pray you that you take it not in grief: For a small dairy business did she do. By God, I dreamed I'd come to such mischief, A yard she had, enclosed all roundabout Just now, my heart yet jumps with sore affright. With pales, and there was a dry ditch without, Now God," cried he, "my vision read aright And in the yard a cock called Chanticleer. And keep my body out of foul prison! In all the land, for crowing, he'd no peer. I dreamed, that while I wandered up and down His voice was merrier than the organ gay Within our yard, I saw there a strange beast On Mass days, which in church begins to play; Was like a dog, and he'd have made a feast More regular was his crowing in his lodge Upon my body, and have had me dead. Than is a clock or abbey horologe. His colour yellow was and somewhat red; By instinct he'd marked each ascension down And tipped his tail was, as were both his ears, Of equinoctial value in that town; With black, unlike the rest, as it appears; For when fifteen degrees had been ascended, His snout was small and gleaming was each eye. Then crew he so it might not be amended. His comb was redder than a fine coral, Remembering how he looked, almost I die; And battlemented like a castle wall. And all this caused my groaning, I confess." His bill was black and just like jet it shone; "Aha," said she, "fie on you, spiritless! Like azure were his legs and toes, each one; Alas!" cried she, "for by that God above, His spurs were whiter than the lily flower; Now have you lost my heart and all my love; And plumage of the burnished gold his dower. I cannot love a coward, by my faith. This noble cock had in his governance For truly, whatsoever woman saith, Seven hens to give him pride and all pleasance, We all desire, if only it may be, Which were his sisters and his paramours To have a husband hardy, wise, and free, And wondrously like him as to colours, And trustworthy, no niggard, and no fool, Whereof the fairest hued upon her throat Nor one that is afraid of every tool, Was called the winsome Mistress Pertelote. Nor yet a braggart, by that God above! Courteous she was, discreet and debonnaire, How dare you say, for shame, unto your love Companionable, and she had been so fair That there is anything that you have feared? Since that same day when she was seven nights Have you not man's heart, and yet have a beard? old, Alas! And are you frightened by a vision? That truly she had taken the heart to hold Dreams are, God knows, a matter for derision. Of Chanticleer, locked in her every limb; Visions are generated by repletions He loved her so that all was well with him. And vapours and the body's bad secretions But such a joy it was to hear them sing, Of humours overabundant in a wight. Whenever the bright sun began to spring, Surely this dream, which you have had tonight, In sweet accord, "My love walks through the Comes only of the superfluity land." Of your bilious irascibility, For at that time, and as I understand, Which causes folk to shiver in their dreams The beasts and all the birds could speak and For arrows and for flames with long red gleams, sing. For great beasts in the fear that they will bite, So it befell that, in a bright dawning, For quarrels and for wolf whelps great and As Chanticleer 'midst wives and sisters all slight; Sat on his perch, the which was in the hall, Just as the humour of melancholy And next him sat the winsome Pertelote, Causes full many a man, in sleep, to cry, This Chanticleer he groaned within his throat For fear of black bears or of bulls all black, Like man that in his dreams is troubled sore. Or lest black devils put them in a sack. 3

Of other humours could I tell also, On pilgrimage, and all in good intent; That bring, to many a sleeping man, great woe; And it so chanced they came into a town But I'll pass on as lightly as I can. Where there was such a crowding, up and down, "Lo, Cato, and he was a full wise man, Said he not, we should trouble not for dreams? Of people, and so little harbourage, Now, sir," said she, "when we fly from the That they found not so much as one cottage beams, Wherein the two of them might sheltered be. For God's love go and take some laxative; Wherefore they must, as of necessity, On peril of my soul, and as I live, For that one night at least, part company; I counsel you the best, I will not lie, And each went to a different hostelry That both for choler and for melancholy And took such lodgment as to him did fall. You purge yourself; and since you shouldn't Now one of them was lodged within a stall, tarry, Far in a yard, with oxen of the plow; And on this farm there's no apothecary, That other man found shelter fair enow, I will myself go find some herbs for you As was his luck, or was his good fortune, That will be good for health and pecker too; Whatever 'tis that governs us, each one. And in our own yard all these herbs I'll find, "So it befell that, long ere it was day, The which have properties of proper kind This last man dreamed in bed, as there he lay, To purge you underneath and up above. That his poor fellow did unto him call, Forget this not, now, for God's very love! Saying: 'Alas! For in an ox's stall You are so very choleric of complexion. This night shall I be murdered where I lie. Beware the mounting sun and all dejection, Now help me, brother dear, before I die. Nor get yourself with sudden humours hot; Come in all haste to me.' 'Twas thus he said. For if you do, I dare well lay a groat This man woke out of sleep, then, all afraid; That you shall have the tertian fever's pain, But when he'd wakened fully from his sleep, Or some ague that may well be your bane. He turned upon his pillow, yawning deep, A day or two you shall have digestives Thinking his dream was but a fantasy. Of worms before you take your laxatives And then again, while sleeping, thus dreamed Of laurel, centuary, and fumitory, he. Or else of hellebore purificatory, And then a third time came a voice that said Or caper spurge, or else of dogwood berry, (Or so he thought): 'Now, comrade, I am dead; Or herb ivy, all in our yard so merry; Behold my bloody wounds, so wide and deep! Peck them just as they grow and gulp them in. Early arise tomorrow from your sleep, Be merry, husband, for your father's kin! And at the west gate of the town,' said he, Dread no more dreams. And I can say no more." A wagon full of dung there shall you see, "Madam," said he, "gramercy for your lore. Wherein is hid my body craftily; Nevertheless, not running Cato down, Do you arrest this wagon right boldly. Who had for wisdom such a high renown, They killed me for what money they could gain. And though he says to hold no dreams in dread, And told in every point how he'd been slain, By God, men have, in many old books, read With a most pitiful face and pale of hue. Of many a man more an authority And trust me well, this dream did all come true; That ever Cato was, pray pardon me, For on the morrow, soon as it was day, Who say just the reverse of his sentence, Unto his comrade's inn he took the way; And have found out by long experience And when he'd come into that ox's stall, That dreams, indeed, are good significations, Upon his fellow he began to call. As much of joys as of all tribulations "The keeper of the place replied anon, That folk endure here in this life present. And said he: 'Sir, your friend is up and gone; There is no need to make an argument; As soon as day broke he went out of town.' The very proof of this is shown indeed. This man, then, felt suspicion in him grown, "One of the greatest authors that men read Remembering the dream that he had had, Says thus: That on a time two comrades went And forth he went, no longer tarrying, sad, 4

Unto the west gate of the town, and found He woke and told his fellow what he'd met A dung-cart on its way to dumping-ground, And prayed him quit the voyage and forget; And it was just the same in every wise For just one day he prayed him there to bide. As you have heard the dead man advertise; His comrade, who was lying there beside, And with a hardy heart he then did cry Began to laugh and scorned him long and fast. Vengeance and justice on this felony: 'No dream,' said he, 'may make my heart aghast, 'My comrade has been murdered in the night, So that I'll quit my business for such things. And in this very cart lies, face upright. I do not care a straw for your dreamings, I cry to all the officers,' said he For visions are but fantasies and japes. 'That ought to keep the peace in this city. Men dream, why, every day, of owls and apes, Alas, alas, here lies my comrade slain!' And many a wild phantasm therewithal; "Why should I longer with this tale detain? Men dream of what has never been, nor shall. The people rose and turned the cart to ground, But since I see that you will here abide, And in the center of the dung they found And thus forgo this fair wind and this tide, The dead man, lately murdered in his sleep. God knows I'm sorry; nevertheless, good day!' "O Blessed God, Who art so true and deep! "And thus he took his leave and went his way. Lo, how Thou dost turn murder out alway! But long before the half his course he'd sailed, Murder will out, we see it every day. I know not why, nor what it was that failed, Murder's so hateful and abominable But casually the vessel's bottom rent, To God, Who is so just and reasonable, And ship and men under the water went, That He'll not suffer that it hidden be; In sight of other ships were there beside, Though it may skulk a year, or two, or three, The which had sailed with that same wind and Murder will out, and I conclude thereon. tide Immediately the rulers of that town, "And therefore, pretty Pertelote, my dear, They took the carter and so sore they racked By such old-time examples may you hear Him and the host, until their bones were And learn that no man should be too reckless cracked, Of dreams, for I can tell you, fair mistress, That they confessed their wickedness anon, That many a dream is something well to dread And hanged they both were by the neck, and "Why in the 'Life' of Saint Kenelm I read soon. (Who was Kenelphus' son, the noble king "Here may men see that dreams are things to Of Mercia), how Kenelm dreamed a thing; dread. A while ere he was murdered, so they say, And certainly, in that same book I read, His own death in a vision saw, one day. Right in the very chapter after this His nurse interpreted, as records tell, (I spoof not, as I may have joy and bliss), That vision, bidding him to guard him well Of two men who would voyage oversea, From treason; but he was but seven years old, For some cause, and unto a far country, And therefore 'twas but little he'd been told If but the winds had not been all contrary, Of any dream, so holy was his heart. Causing them both within a town to tarry, By God! I'd rather than retain my shirt Which town was builded near the haven-side. That you had read this legend, as have I. But then, one day, along toward eventide, Dame Pertelote, I tell you verily, The wind did change and blow as suited best. Macrobius, who wrote of Scipio Jolly and glad they went unto their rest. The African a vision long ago, And were prepared right early for to sail; He holds by dreams, saying that they have been But unto one was told a marvelous tale. Warnings of things that men have later seen. For one of them, a-sleeping as he lay, "And furthermore, I pray you to look well Did dream a wondrous dream ere it was day. In the Old Testament at Daniel, He thought a strange man stood by his bedside Whether he held dreams for mere vanity. And did command him, he should there abide, Read, too, of Joseph, and you there shall see And said to him: 'If you tomorrow wend, Where dreams have sometimes been (I say not You shall be drowned; my tale is at an end.' all) 5

Warnings of things that, after did befall. He deigned not set his foot upon the ground. Consider Egypt's king, Dan Pharaoh, He clucked when any grain of corn he found, His baker and his butler, these also, And all his wives came running at his call. Whether they knew of no effect from dreams. Thus regal, as a prince is in his hall, Whoso will read of sundry realms the themes I'll now leave busy Chanticleer to feed, May learn of dreams full many a wondrous And with events that followed I'll proceed. thing. When that same month wherein the world Lo, Croesus, who was once of Lydia king, began, Dreamed he not that he sat upon a tree, Which is called March, wherein God first made Which signified that hanged high he should be? man, Lo, how Andromache, great Hector's wife, Was ended, and were passed of days also, On that same day when Hector lost his life, Since March began, full thirty days and two, She dreamed upon the very night before It fell that Chanticleer, in all his pride, That Hector's life should be lost evermore, His seven wives a-walking by his side, If on that day he battled, without fail. Cast up his two eyes toward the great bright sun She warned him, but no warning could avail; (Which through die sign of Taurus now had run He went to fight, despite all auspices, Twenty degrees and one, and somewhat more), And so was shortly slain by Achilles. And knew by instinct and no other lore But that same tale is all too long to tell, That it was prime, and joyfully he crew, And, too, it's nearly day, I must not dwell "The sun, my love," he said, "has climbed anew Upon this; I but say, concluding here, Forty degrees and one, and somewhat more. That from this vision I have cause to fear My lady Pertelote, whom I adore, Adversity; and I say, furthermore, Mark now these happy birds, hear how they That I do set by laxatives no store, sing, For they are poisonous, I know it well. And see all these fresh flowers, how they spring; Them I defy and love not, truth to tell. "But let us speak of mirth and stop all this; Full is my heart of revelry and grace." My lady Pertelote, on hope of bliss, But suddenly he fell in grievous case; In one respect God's given me much grace; For ever the latter end of joy is woe. For when I see the beauty of your face, God knows that worldly joys do swiftly go; You are so rosy-red beneath each eye, And if a rhetorician could but write, It makes my dreadful terror wholly die. He in some chronicle might well indite For there is truth in In principio And mark it down as sovereign in degree. Mulier est hominis confusio Now every wise man, let him hark to me: (Madam, the meaning of this latin is, This tale is just as true, I undertake, Woman is man's delight and all his bliss). As is the book of Launcelot of the Lake, For when I feel at night your tender side, Which women always hold in such esteem. Although I cannot then upon you ride, But now I must take up my proper theme. Because our perch so narrow is, alas! A brant-fox, full of sly iniquity, I am so full of joy and all solace That in the grove had lived two years, or three, That I defy, then, vision, aye and dream." Now by a fine premeditated plot And with that word he flew down from the That same night, breaking through the hedge, beam, had got For it was day, and down went his hens all; Into the yard where Chanticleer the fair And with a cluck he them began to call, Was wont, and all his wives too, to repair; For he had found some corn within the yard. And in a bed of greenery still he lay Regal he was, and fears he did discard. Till it was past the quarter of the day, He feathered Pertelote full many a time Waiting his chance on Chanticleer to fall, And twenty times he trod her ere 'twas prime. As gladly do these killers one and all He looked as if he were a grim lion Who lie in ambush for to murder men. As on his toes he strutted up and down; O murderer false, there lurking in your den! 6

O new Iscariot, O new Ganelon! Among the herbs and on a butterfly, O false dissimulator, Greek Sinon He saw this fox that lay there, crouching low. That brought down Troy all utterly to sorrow! Nothing of urge was in him, then, to crow; O Chanticleer, accursed be that morrow But he cried "Cock-cock-cock" and did so start When you into that yard flew from the beams! As man who has a sudden fear at heart. You were well warned, and fully, by your For naturally a beast desires to flee dreams From any enemy that he may see, That this day should hold peril damnably. Though never yet he's clapped on such his eye. But that which God foreknows, it needs must be, When Chanticleer the fox did then espy, He would have fled but that the fox anon So says the best opinion of the clerks. Said: "Gentle sir, alas! Why be thus gone? Witness some cleric perfect for his works, Are you afraid of me, who am your friend? That in the schools there's a great altercation Now, surely, I were worse than any fiend In this regard, and much high disputation If I should do you harm or villainy. That has involved a hundred thousand men. I came not here upon your deeds to spy; But I can't sift it to the bran with pen, But, certainly, the cause of my coming As can the holy Doctor Augustine, Was only just to listen to you sing. Or Boethius, or Bishop Bradwardine, For truly, you have quite as fine a voice Whether the fact of God's great foreknowing As angels have that Heaven's choirs rejoice; Makes it right needful that I do a thing Boethius to music could not bring (By needful, I mean, of necessity); Such feeling, nor do others who can sing. Or else, if a free choice he granted me, My lord your father (God his soul pray bless!) To do that same thing, or to do it not, And too your mother, of her gentleness, Though God foreknew before the thing was Have been in my abode, to my great ease; wrought; And truly, sir, right fain am I to please. Or if His knowing constrains never at all, But since men speak of singing, I will say Save by necessity conditional. (As I still have my eyesight day by day), I have no part in matters so austere; Save you, I never heard a man so sing My tale is of a cock, as you shall hear, As did your father in the grey dawning; That took the counsel of his wife, with sorrow, Truly 'twas from the heart, his every song. To walk within the yard upon that morrow And that his voice might ever be more strong, After he'd had the dream whereof I told. He took such pains that, with his either eye, Now women's counsels oft are ill to hold; He had to blink, so loudly would he cry, A woman's counsel brought us first to woe, A-standing on his tiptoes therewithal, And Adam caused from Paradise to go, Stretching his neck till it grew long and small. Wherein he was right merry and at ease. And such discretion, too, by him was shown, But since I know not whom it may displease There was no man in any region known If woman's counsel I hold up to blame, That him in song or wisdom could surpass. Pass over, I but said it in my game. I have well read, in Dan Burnell the Ass, Read authors where such matters do appear, Among his verses, how there was a cock, And what they say of women, you may hear. Because a priest's son gave to him a knock These are the cock's words, they are none of Upon the leg, while young and not yet wise, mine; He caused the boy to lose his benefice. No harm in women can I e'er divine. But, truly, there is no comparison All in the sand, a-bathing merrily, With the great wisdom and the discretion Lay Pertelote, with all her sisters by, Your father had, or with his subtlety. There in the sun; and Chanticleer so free Now sing, dear sir, for holy charity, Sang merrier than a mermaid in the sea See if you can your father counterfeit." (For Physiologus says certainly This Chanticleer his wings began to beat, That they do sing, both well and merrily). As one that could no treason there espy, And so befell that, as he cast his eye So was he ravished by this flattery 7

Alas, you lords! Full many a flatterer Now will I turn back to my tale again. Is in your courts, and many a cozener, This simple widow and her daughters two That please your honours much more, by my Heard these hens cry and make so great ado, fay, And out of doors they started on the run Than he that truth and justice dares to say. And saw the fox into the grove just gone, Go read the Ecclesiast on flattery; Bearing upon his back the cock away. Beware, my lords, of all their treachery! And then they cried, "Alas, and weladay! This Chanticleer stood high upon his toes, Oh, oh, the fox!" and after him they ran, Stretching his neck, and both his eyes did close, And after them, with staves, went many a man; And so did crow right loudly, for the nonce; Ran Coll, our dog, ran Talbot and Garland, And Russel Fox, he started up at once, And Malkin with a distaff in her hand; And by the gorget grabbed our Chanticleer, Ran cow and calf and even the very hogs, Flung him on back, and toward the wood did So were they scared by barking of the dogs steer, And shouting men and women all did make, For there was no man who as yet pursued. They all ran so they thought their hearts would O destiny, you cannot be eschewed! break. Alas, that Chanticleer flew from the beams! They yelled as very fiends do down in Hell; Alas, his wife recked nothing of his dreams! The ducks they cried as at the butcher fell; And on a Friday fell all this mischance. The frightened geese flew up above the trees; O Venus, who art goddess of pleasance, Out of the hive there came the swarm of bees; Since he did serve thee well, this Chanticleer, So terrible was the noise, ah ben'cite! And to the utmost of his power here, Certainly old Jack Straw and his army More for delight than cocks to multiply, Never raised shouting half so loud and shrill Why would'st thou suffer him that day to die? When they were chasing Flemings for to kill, O Gaufred, my dear master sovereign, As on that day was raised upon the fox. Who, when King Richard Lionheart was slain They brought forth trumpets made of brass, of By arrow, sang his death with sorrow sore, box, Why have I not your faculty and lore Of horn, of bone, wherein they blew and To chide Friday, as you did worthily? pooped, (For truly, on a Friday slain was he). And therewithal they screamed and shrieked and Then would I prove how well I could complain whooped; For Chanticleer's great fear and all his pain. It seemed as if the heaven itself should fall! Certainly no such cry and lamentation And now, good men, I pray you hearken all. Were made by ladies at Troy's debolation, Behold how Fortune turns all suddenly When Pyrrhus with his terrible bared sword The hope and pride of even her enemy! Had taken old King Priam by the beard This cock, which lay across the fox's back, And slain him (as the Aeneid tells to us), In all his fear unto the fox did clack As made then all those hens in one chorus And say: "Sir, were I you, as I should be, When they had caught a sight of Chanticleer. Then would I say (as God may now help me!), But fair Dame Pertelote assailed the ear 'Turn back again, presumptuous peasants all! Far louder than did Hasdrubal's good wife A very pestilence upon you fall! When that her husband bold had lost his life, Now that I've gained here to this dark wood's And Roman legionaries burned Carthage; side, For she so full of torment was, and rage, In spite of you this cock shall here abide. She voluntarily to the fire did start I'll eat him, by my faith, and that anon!'" And burned herself there with a steadfast heart. The fox replied: "In faith, it shall be done!" And you, O woeful hens, just so you cried And as he spoke that word, all suddenly As when base Nero burned the city wide This cock broke from his mouth, full cleverly, Of Rome, and wept the senators' stern wives And high upon a tree he flew anon. Because their husbands all had lost their lives, And when the fox saw well that he was gone, For though not guilty, Nero had them slain. "Alas," quoth he, "O Chanticleer, alas! 8

I have against you done a base trespass In that I frightened you, my dear old pard, When you I seized and brought from out that yard; But, sir, I did it with no foul intent; Come down, and I will tell you what I meant. I'll tell the truth to you, God help me so!" "Nay then," said he, "beshrew us both, you know, But first, beshrew myself, both blood and bones,

If you beguile me, having done so once, You shall no more, with any flattery, Cause me to sing and close up either eye. For he who shuts his eyes when he should see, And wilfully, God let him ne'er be free!" "Nay," said the fox, "but, God give him mischance Who is so indiscreet in governance He chatters when he ought to hold his peace." Lo, such it is when watch and ward do cease, And one grows negligent with flattery. But you that hold this tale a foolery, As but about a fox, a cock, a hen, Yet do not miss the moral, my good men. For Saint Paul says that all that's written well Is written down some useful truth to tell. Then take the wheat and let the chaff lie still. And now, good God, and if it be Thy will, As says Lord Christ, so make us all good men And bring us into His high bliss. Amen. HERE ENDS THE NUN'S PRIEST'S TALE

EPILOGUE TO THE NUN'S PRIEST'S TALE

"Sir nun's priest," said our host, and that anon, "Now blessed be your breech and every stone! This was a merry tale of Chanticleer. But, truth, if you were secular, I swear You would have been a hen-hopper, all right! For if you had the heart, as you have might, You'd need some hens, I think it will be seen, And many more than seven times seventeen. For see what muscles has this noble priest, So great a neck and such a splendid chest! He's got a hawk's fierce fire within his eye; And certainly he has no need to dye His cheeks with any stain from Portugal. Sir, for your tale, may blessings on you fall!" And after that he, with right merry cheer, Spoke to another one, as you shall hear.