Читать книгу A Parody Anthology - Wells Carolyn - Страница 4

A  CLERKE there was, a puissant wight was hee,

Who of ye wethere hadde ye maisterie;

Alway it was his mirthe and his solace —

To put eche seson's wethere oute of place.

Whanne that Aprille shoures wer our desyre,

He gad us Julye sonnes as hotte as fyre;

But sith ye summere togges we donned agayne,

Eftsoons ye wethere chaunged to cold and rayne.

Wo was that pilgrimme who fared forth a-foote,

Without ane gyngham that him list uppe-putte;

And gif no mackyntosches eke had hee,

A parlous state that wight befelle – pardie!

We wist not gif it nexte ben colde or hotte,

Cogswounds! ye barde a grewsome colde hath gotte!

Certes, that clerke's ane mightie man withalle,

Let non don him offence, lest ille befalle.