the Summoner had to swallow his rage as best he could.

Harry Bailey turned to the Clerk of Oxford. "Sir Clerk," he said,
"you ride and look as coyly as a newly-married bride at her
marriage-feast. Let be your studies, sir. Don't think your
philosophies here--a time for everything, say I! Tell us your tale,
sir, for you must play your part in the game; and make it amusing.
None of your high-falutin style! Keep that for your state
letters;--and, I tell you, don't preach as the friars do, we want to
be amused, and we want to understand what you say." Gently answered
the Clerk, "Host, I am in your hands, for you are the governor of
this party. Indeed, sir, I will tell you my tale. It is one I heard
in Padua. Petrarch told it me--Francesco Petrarch, now dead, alas!
whose verse is dear to Italy, who in learning and sweet speech
surpassed all his fellows. I would I could tell it as he did; but my
wit is not great enough. He would describe in full to you the country
where my story took place, Salucia, and Mt. Vesulus. I can tell but
the bare story. This is it."



THE CLERK'S TALE OF THE PATIENT WIFE

The country of Salucia is a pleasant land; it is a valley sheltered
by Mt. Vesulus, and open to the west. A duke ruled it once, named
Walter. He was beloved of his liegemen, for he was brave and young,
courteous, and delighted in the hunt. All his thought, however, was
for his present pleasure, and little care he took for the morrow.
Only in one thing did he displease his people: he would not wed. At
this they were so grieved that one day they sent certain of their