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The Summoner
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There was a Summoner° with us at that Inn, |
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His face on fire, like a cherubim,° |
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For he had carbuncles.° His eyes were narrow, |
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He was as hot and lecherous as a sparrow. |
| 645 | Black scabby brows he had, and a thin beard. |
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Children were afraid when he appeared. |
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No quicksilver, lead ointment, tartar creams, |
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No brimstone, no boracic, so it seems, |
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Could make a salve that had the power to bite, |
| 650 | Clean up, or cure his whelks° of knobby white |
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Or purge the pimples sitting on his cheeks. |
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Garlic he loved, and onions too, and leeks, |
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And drinking strong red wine till all was hazy. |
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Then he would shout and jabber as if crazy, |
| 655 | And wouldn’t speak a word except in Latin |
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When he was drunk, such tags as he was pat in; |
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He only had a few, say two or three, |
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That he had mugged up out of some decree; |
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No wonder, for he heard them every day. |
| 660 | And, as you know, a man can teach a jay° |
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To call out “Walter” better than the Pope. |
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But had you tried to test his wits and grope |
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For more, you’d have found nothing in the bag. |
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Then “Questio quid juris”° was his tag. |
| 665 | He was a noble varlet° and a kind one, |
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You’d meet none better if you went to find one. |
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Why, he’d allow—just for a quart of wine— |
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Any good lad to keep a concubine |
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A twelvemonth and dispense him altogether! |
| 670 | And he had finches of his own to feather:° |
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And if he found some rascal with a maid |
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He would instruct him not to be afraid |
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In such a case of the Archdeacon’s curse |
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(Unless the rascal’s soul were in his purse) |
| 675 | For in his purse the punishment should be. |
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“Purse is the good Archdeacon’s Hell,” said he. |
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But well I know he lied in what he said; |
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A curse should put a guilty man in dread, |
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For curses kill, as shriving brings, salvation. |
| 680 | We should beware of excommunication. |
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Thus, as he pleased, the man could bring duress |
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On any young fellow in the diocese. |