prologue.htm

The Franklin

A Franklin was one of our company,
His beard was as white as is a daisy;
He had a sanguine temperament, face red.
At breakfast drank wine, in which he dunked bread.
He lived in the keen pursuit of pleasure,
Believing that happiness and leisure
As Epicurus taught, were the chief aim
And good of life and therefore our just claim.

He was the owner of a large estate,
His name for hospitality was great.
His bread and beer were always of the best,
And his wine cellar would beat all the rest;
Fresh cooked food was always in good supply
With roasted meat and fish piled up so high
It seemed that it snowed with food and with wine
And the best dainties a man might design.

To preserve his health that was the reason
He varied his diet with the season.
In his own coop fat partridge could be seen
While in his pond swam pike and tasty bream.
His cook would be made to suffer unless,
The food was well spiced and served with a zest.

His table stood always in the great hall
Covered for use at any time at all.
To chair the local sessions he was sent,
And was his counties man in parliament.
A dagger and a pouch made out of silk
Hung from his girdle, white as morning milk.
He had been sheriff and county auditor.
More honour than any gentleman he bore.
---------------------------------------------
A Haberdasher and a Carpenter,
With a Weaver, Dyer, and a maker
Of Tapestry, dressed in the livery
Of an august and great fraternity...

Their clothes were newly trimmed, fresh as spring leaves.
It wasn't common brass which capped their sheaths
But silver finely made and well cared for,
As were their belts and pouches, all they wore.
Each man seemed fit for an alderman's place
To sit in the guildhall raised up on a dais.
And each one, with the wisdom he could boast,
Was shaping well to occupy that post.

For they had enough, in goods and money,
And naturally their wives would all agree,
They would be most remiss not to do so:
It is good to be called 'Madame` you know,
To be first at parties, before feast day
and have ones cloak carried in a royal way.

A Frankeleyn was in his compaignye.
Whit was his berd as is a dayesye;
Of his complexioun he was sangwyn.
Wel loved he by the morwe a sope in wyn.
To lyven in delit was evere his wone,
For he was Epicurus owene sone,
That heeld opinioun that pleyn delit
Was verray felicitee parfit.

An housholdere, and that a greet, was he.
Seint Julian was he in his contree.
His breed, his ale, was alweys after oon,
A bettre envyned man was nowher noon;
Withoute bake mete was nevere his hous
Of fissh and flessh, and that so plentevous,
It snewed in his hous of mete and drynke,
Of alle deyntees that men koude thynke.

After the sondry sesons of the yeer,
So chaunged he his mete and his soper.
Ful many a fat partrich hadde he in muwe,
And many a breem and many a luce in stuwe.
Wo was his cook, but if his sauce were
Poynaunt and sharp, and redy al his geere.

His table dormant in his halle alway
Stood redy covered al the longe day.
At sessiouns ther was he lord and sire,
Ful ofte tyme he was knyght of the shire.
An anlaas and a gipser al of silk
Heeng at his girdel, whit as morne milk.
A shirreve hadde he been, and a countour.
Was nowher swich a worthy vavasour.
---------------------------------------------
An Haberdasshere and a Carpenter,
A Webbe, a Dyere, and a Tapycer,
And they were clothed alle in o lyveree
Of a solempne and a greet fraternitee...

Ful fressh and newe hir geere apiked was.
Hir knyves were chaped noght with bras,
But al with silver; wroght ful clene and weel,
Hire girdles and hir pouches everydeel.
Wel semed ech of hem a fair burgeys
To sitten in a yeldehalle on a deys.
Everich, for the wisdom that he kan,
Was shaply for to been an alderman.

For catel hadde they ynogh and rente,
And eek hir wyves wolde it wel assente;
And elles certeyn, were they to blame.
It is ful fair to been ycleped "madame,"
And goon to vigilies al bifore,
And have a mantel roialliche ybore.

The Cook

Copyright© 1998 Tony Sewell

The Franklin
A Franklin was one of our company, His beard was as white as is a daisy; He had a sanguine temperament, face red. At breakfast drank wine, in which he dunked bread. He lived in the keen pursuit of pleasure, Believing that happiness and leisure As Epicurus taught, were the chief aim And good of life and therefore our just claim. He was the owner of a large estate, His name for hospitality was great. His bread and beer were always of the best, And his wine cellar would beat all the rest; Fresh cooked food was always in good supply With roasted meat and fish piled up so high It seemed that it snowed with food and with wine And the best dainties a man might design. To preserve his health that was the reason He varied his diet with the season. In his own coop fat partridge could be seen While in his pond swam pike and tasty bream. His cook would be made to suffer unless, The food was well spiced and served with a zest. His table stood always in the great hall Covered for use at any time at all. To chair the local sessions he was sent, And was his counties man in parliament. A dagger and a pouch made out of silk Hung from his girdle, white as morning milk. He had been sheriff and county auditor. More honour than any gentleman he bore. --------------------------------------------- A Haberdasher and a Carpenter, With a Weaver, Dyer, and a maker Of Tapestry, dressed in the livery Of an august and great fraternity... Their clothes were newly trimmed, fresh as spring leaves. It wasn't common brass which capped their sheaths But silver finely made and well cared for, As were their belts and pouches, all they wore. Each man seemed fit for an alderman's place To sit in the guildhall raised up on a dais. And each one, with the wisdom he could boast, Was shaping well to occupy that post. For they had enough, in goods and money, And naturally their wives would all agree, They would be most remiss not to do so: It is good to be called 'Madame` you know, To be first at parties, before feast day and have ones cloak carried in a royal way.	A Frankeleyn was in his compaignye. Whit was his berd as is a dayesye; Of his complexioun he was sangwyn. Wel loved he by the morwe a sope in wyn. To lyven in delit was evere his wone, For he was Epicurus owene sone, That heeld opinioun that pleyn delit Was verray felicitee parfit. An housholdere, and that a greet, was he. Seint Julian was he in his contree. His breed, his ale, was alweys after oon, A bettre envyned man was nowher noon; Withoute bake mete was nevere his hous Of fissh and flessh, and that so plentevous, It snewed in his hous of mete and drynke, Of alle deyntees that men koude thynke. After the sondry sesons of the yeer, So chaunged he his mete and his soper. Ful many a fat partrich hadde he in muwe, And many a breem and many a luce in stuwe. Wo was his cook, but if his sauce were Poynaunt and sharp, and redy al his geere. His table dormant in his halle alway Stood redy covered al the longe day. At sessiouns ther was he lord and sire, Ful ofte tyme he was knyght of the shire. An anlaas and a gipser al of silk Heeng at his girdel, whit as morne milk. A shirreve hadde he been, and a countour. Was nowher swich a worthy vavasour. --------------------------------------------- An Haberdasshere and a Carpenter, A Webbe, a Dyere, and a Tapycer, And they were clothed alle in o lyveree Of a solempne and a greet fraternitee... Ful fressh and newe hir geere apiked was. Hir knyves were chaped noght with bras, But al with silver; wroght ful clene and weel, Hire girdles and hir pouches everydeel. Wel semed ech of hem a fair burgeys To sitten in a yeldehalle on a deys. Everich, for the wisdom that he kan, Was shaply for to been an alderman. For catel hadde they ynogh and rente, And eek hir wyves wolde it wel assente; And elles certeyn, were they to blame. It is ful fair to been ycleped "madame," And goon to vigilies al bifore, And have a mantel roialliche ybore.
The Cook