"Stay!" cried the Reeve. "Friar, what o'me?"
"Patience, O Bax, too soon I'll come to thee!
Who'll sing ye then blithe as a bird on bough--"
"Friar!" growled the Reeve, "the time for me is now!"
"So be it, then," the Friar did gently say,
"I'll speak of thee as truly as I may:
Here then behold our port-reeve, Greg'ry Bax,
Who, save for reason, naught in reason lacks,
Who, though he small and puny seems to shew,
In speech he is Goliath-like, I trow,
Chief Councillor of Tissingors is he,
And of the council second but--to me.
For with the townsfolk first of all come I--"

REEVE: Since thy fat finger is in every pie--
"Saving your reverend grace," Duke Joc'lyn said,
"What of this maid that turneth green and red?"

REEVE: Fool, then learn this, ere that our lord duke died,
Ten guardians for his child he did provide,
The Friar and I, with men of lesser fame,
Co-guardians are of this right puissant dame.

JOCELYN: Beseech ye, sir, now tell us an' ye may,
Why hath thy youthful Duchess run away?

"Fair Fool," quoth the Friar, fanning himself with a frond of bracken,
"'tis a hot day, a day reminiscent of the ultimate fate of graceless
sinners, and I am like the day and languish for breath, yet, to thy so