Eh, you mad fool! go to your straw, and hide."

Now with this speech the cook for rage grew black,
And would have stormed, but could not speak, alack!
So mumbling something, from his horse fell he,
And where he fell, there lay he patiently,
Till pity on his shame his fellows took.
Here was a pretty horseman of a cook!
Alas! that he had held not by his ladle!
And ere again they got him on his saddle,
There was a mighty shoving to and fro
To lift him up, and muckle care and woe,
So heavy was this carcase of a ghost.
Then to the Manciple thus spake our host:-
"Since drink upon this man hath domination,
By nails! and as I reckon my salvation,
I trow he would have told a sorry tale;
For whether it be wine, or it be ale,
That he hath drank, he speaketh through the nose,
And sneezeth much, and he hath got the POSE, {19}
And also hath given us business enow
To keep him on his horse, out of the slough;
He'll fall again, if he be driven to speak,
And then, where are we, for a second week?
Why, lifting up his heavy drunken corse!
Tell on thy tale, and look we to his horse.
Yet, Manciple, in faith thou art too nice
Thus openly to chafe him for his vice.
Perchance some day he'll do as much for thee,
And bring thy baker's bills in jeopardy,