sadelTher was greet showvyng bothe to and fro,To lifte hym up, and muchel care and wo,So unweeldy was this sory palled goost.

And to the Manciple thanne spak oure hoost,'By cause drynke hath dominacioun,Upon this man, by my savacioun,I trowe he lewedly wolde telle his tale.For were it wyn, or oold or moysty ale,

That he hath dronke, he speketh in his nose,And fneseth faste, and eek he hath the pose.He hath also to do moore than ynoughTo kepen hym and his capul out of slough,And if he falle from his capul eftsoone,

Thanne shal we alle have ynogh to dooneIn liftyng up his hevy dronken cors.Telle on thy tale, of hym make I no fors;But yet, Manciple, in feith thou art to nyce,Thus openly repreve hym of his vice.

Another dayCrowe.

Whan Phebus dwelled heere in this world adoun,As olde bookes maken mencioun,He was the mooste lusty bachilerIn al this world, and eek the beste archer.He slow Phitoun the serpent, as he lay

Slepynge agayn the sonne upon a day;And many another noble worthy dedeHe with his bowe wroghte, as men may rede.Pleyen he koude on every mynstralcie,And syngen, that it was a melodie

To heeren of his cleere voys the soun.Certes, the kyng of Thebes, Amphioun,That with his syngyng walled that citee,Koude nevere syngen half so wel as hee.Therto he was the semelieste man,

That is or was sith that the world bigan.What nedeth it hise fetures to discryve?For in this world was noon so fair on lyve.He was therwith fulfild of gentillesse,Of honour, and of parfit worthynesse.

This Phebus that was