Art. 87, Le chevaler qui fist les cons parler

ART. 87, LE CHEVALER QUI FIST LES CONS PARLER: EXPLANATORY NOTES


Abbreviations: AND: Anglo-Norman Dictionary; ANL: Anglo-Norman Literature: A Guide to Texts and Manuscripts (R. Dean and Boulton); BL: British Library (London); Bodl.: Bodleian Library (Oxford); CT: Chaucer, Canterbury Tales; CUL: Cambridge University Library (Cambridge); DOML: Dumbarton Oaks Medieval Library; FDT: French Devotional Texts of the Middle Ages (Sinclair 1979); FDT-1French Devotional Texts of the Middle Ages, . . . First Supplement (Sinclair 1982); IMEV: The Index of Middle English Verse (Brown and Robbins); MED: Middle English Dictionary; MWME: A Manual of the Writings in Middle English, 1050–1500 (Severs et al.); NIMEV: A New Index of Middle English Verse (Boffey and Edwards); NLS: National Library of Scotland (Edinburgh).

2 solas. The fabliau author uses here the same term that Chaucer draws upon to describe the entertainment value of the Canterbury Tales. Nolan observes how the prologue of this Harley fabliau (lines 1–6) differs in this way from each of the Old French analogues (pp. 320–21).

4 Gwaryn. On the name Guerin, perhaps the author, see Hellman and O’Gorman, p. 121; and Nykrog, p. 313.

12 coun. This impolite word for a female body part requires translation into its even less polite English cognate. Fabliaux often expose private body parts and relish the crude words applied to them. All of the Harley fabliaux share this feature to some degree. See, too, the explanatory notes for the English love lyric Annot and John (art. 28), line 15, and the English of Saint Marina (art. 32), line 217.

50–52 la nees sire Elye. “Lord Elijah’s boat,” a phrase that suggests they lodged at religious houses along the way. On this puzzling expression, see the lengthy discussion by Revard (2005a, pp. 138–40 n. 21).

120 a ly del tot se abaundona. Literally, “completely gave himself over to him.” The magical first and second gifts are having an effect on the chaplain!

123 seint Richer. Perhaps this is a reference to Richer(us) of Reims (ca. 940–998), a monk of St.-Remigius, who wrote a Latin chronicle of West-Frankish political events of the tenth century. The reason for the reference is unclear. It may evoke Richer’s association with eloquence and embellished style, or perhaps his knowledge of medical science. He was not canonized.

244 coyntise. “Cunning,” with a wordplay on coun, the knight’s specialized kind of cunning.


ART. 87, LE CHEVALER QUI FIST LES CONS PARLER: TEXTUAL NOTES


ABBREVIATIONS: As: Aspin; : Böddeker; Br: Brook; BS: Bennett and Smithers; BZ: Brandl and Zippel; B13: Brown 1937; Dea: J. M. Dean; Do: Dove 1969; Fl: Flood; : Förster; Fu: Furnivall; HB: Hunt and Bliss; Kem: Kemble; Ken: Kennedy; Mi: Millett; Mo: Morris and Skeat; MS: MS Harley 2253; Mu1: H. J. R. Murray; Mu2: J. A. H. Murray; NB: Noomen and van den Boogard; Pa: Patterson; Rev: Revard 2005a; Ri: Ritson 1877; Ro: Robbins 1959; SP: Short and Pearcy; Si: Silverstein; St: Stemmler 1970; Tu: Turville-Petre 1989; Ul: Ulrich; W1: Wright 1839; W2: Wright 1841; W3: Wright 1842; WH: Wright and Halliwell.

14 grant. So MS (ra abbreviated), Ken, NB, SP. Rev: graunt.

36 ly. So MS, NB, SP. Ken, Rev: le.

37 consail. So MS, Ken, NB, SP. Rev: consaile.

79 E il. So MS, Ken, NB. SP, Rev: Eles.

80 savereit. So MS (er abbreviated), Ken, SP, Rev. NB: saueit.

97 Donc. So MS, Rev. Ken, NB, SP: Dont.

100 cortois. So MS, Ken, NB, SP. Rev: corteis.

102 enmerviller. So MS, Ken, NB, SP. Rev: enmervuiller.

115 chevalchant. So MS, NB, SP. Rev. Ken: cheualachant.

116 va. So MS, Ken, NB. SP, Rev: le va.

126 a mesoun. So MS, NB, Rev. Ken: a mesoune. SP: omitted.

129 marcz. So Ken, NB, SP, Rev. MS: mrarcz (ar abbreviated).

135 mars. So Ken, NB, SP, Rev. MS: mrars (ar abbreviated).

140 grant. So MS (ra abbreviated), Ken, NB, SP. Rev: graunt.

141 demesure. So MS, NB, SP, Rev. Ken: demensure.

142 merveillouse. So MS, Ken, NB, SP. Rev: merveilleuse.

148 grant. So MS (ra abbreviated), Ken, NB, SP. Rev: graunt.

151 Yleque. So MS, NB, SP, Rev. Ken: yleqe.

153 chastiel. So MS, NB, SP, Rev. Ken: chastier.

159 serjauntz. So MS, NB, SP, Rev. Ken: seriaunts.

168 velsist. So MS, NB. Ken, SP, Rev: volsist.

175 come. So MS, Ken, NB, Rev. SP: quant.

179 mi. So MS, Ken, SP, Rev. NB: me.

185 Coillouns. So MS, Ken, NB, SP. Rev: Coillons.

187 abay. So MS, Ken, NB, Rev. SP: abaye.

203 grauntay. So MS (ra abbreviated), Ken, NB, SP. Rev: grantay.

216 ele. So MS, Ken, NB, SP. Rev: el.

219 saunz. So MS, Ken, NB, SP. Rev: sauntz.

220 grant. So MS (ra abbreviated), Ken, NB, SP. Rev: graunt.

232 chevaler. So MS, Ken, NB, SP. Rev: Chevalere.

234 mon. So MS, Ken, NB, SP. Rev: moun.
sy. So MS, Ken, NB, SP. Rev: si.

235 Que. So MS, Ken, NB, Rev. SP: Qe.

241 suzryst. So Ken, NB, SP, Re. MS: suõryst.

242 chaunbre. So MS, Ken, NB, SP. Rev: chambre.

255 quaunt. So MS, NB, SP. Ken, Rev: quant.

258 Syre. So MS, NB, SP, Rev. Ken: Sire.

260 respoundra. So MS, NB, SP, Rev. Ken: respondra.

270 Fyrent. So MS, NB, SP, Rev. Ken: ferent.

272 respounce. So Ken, NB, SP, Rev. MS: rospounce.

285 quaunt. So MS (ua abbreviated), NB, SP, Rev. Ken: quaunt.

289 son. So MS, NB, Rev. Ken: soun. SP: a son.

290 Le. So MS, Ken, NB, SP. Rev: SP: Mistrent le.

 
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   ¶ 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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Go To Art. 88, Of rybauds Y ryme ant red o my rolle, introduction
Go To Art. 88, Of rybauds Y ryme ant red o my rolle, text