Geoffrey Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales: General Prologue 23, The Summoner - (A Minimalist Translation) Poem by Forrest Hainline

Geoffrey Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales: General Prologue 23, The Summoner - (A Minimalist Translation)

A Summoner was there with us in that place
That had a fire-red cherubin's face,
For sauceflemed he was, with eyes narrow.
As hot he was and lecherous as a sparrow,
With scaled brows black, and piled beard.
Of his visage children were afeard.
There's no quick-silver, litharge, nor brimstone,
Borax, ceruse, nor oil of tarter none,
No ointment that would cleanse and bite,
That him might help of his whelks white,
Nor of the knobs sitting on his cheeks.
Well loved he garlic, onions, and eek leeks,
And for to drink strong wine, red as blood;
Then would he speak and cry as he were wood.
And when that he well drunk had the wine,
Then would he speak no word but Latin.
A few terms had he, two or three,
That he had learned out of some decree -
No wonder is, he heard it all the day;
And eek you know well how that a jay
Can call out "Walter" as well as can the pope.
But whoso could in other things him grope,
Then had he spent all his philosophy;
Aye "Questio quid juris" would he cry.
He was a gentle harlot and a kind;
A better fellow should men not find.
He would suffer for a quart of wine
A good fellow to have his concubine
A twelve month, and excuse him at full;
Full privily a finch eek could he pull.
And if he found anywhere a good fellow,
He would teach him to have no awe,
In such case of the archdeacon's curse,
But if a man's soul were in his purse;
For in his purse he should punished be.
"Purse is the archdeacon's hell, " said he.
But well I know he lied right indeed;
Of cursing ought each guilty man him dread,
For curse will slay right as absolving save it,
And also ware him of a Significavit.
In danger had he at his own guise
The young girls of the diocese,
And knew their counsel, and was all their rede.
A garland had he set upon his head,
As great as it were for an ale-stake.
A buckler had he made him of a cake.

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Forrest Hainline