A poor widow,

Somewhat steep in age,

Was once dwelling a cramped cottage,

Beside a grave, stranding in a dale.

This widow, of which I tell you my tale,

Since that day that she was last a wife.

In patience led quite a simple life,

For little was her property and her rent.

By careful management of such as God her sent

She provided for herself as well as her daughters too.

Cattle and chickens they raised, it's true!

A yard, had she, enclosed all about

With sticks, and a dry ditch without.

In which, she had a rooster called Chanticleer.

In all the land, in crowing none was his peer.

His comb, was redder that a fine coral,

And peaked as if it were a castle wall;

His break was block and as a jet it showed;

Like azure were his legs and every toe;

His nails whiter than the lily flower

And he answered and said this: My dame,

I pray you that you take it not in grief,

By God, I dreamed I was in such mischief

Right now that still my heart is sore from fright.

I dreamed that I roamed left and right

Within our yard, wherein I saw a beast

Much like a hound that wanted to feast

Upon my body and wanted me dead.

His colour was between yellow and red,

And tipped was his tail and both his ears

With black, unlike the remaining fur he wears;

His snout small, with glowing eyes twain.

Yet by his look from fear I was almost slain;

This caused the groaning, that you heard."

"Shame!" she said, "Fie on you, coward!

Alas," she said, "for by that God above,

Now have you lost my heart and all my love!

I cannot love a coward, by my word!

Are you not courageous, frightful bird?

A coal-fox, full of sly iniquity,

That in the grave had dwelt years three,

Something high imagination foreknew,

The same day the hedges broke he through,

into the yard where Chanticleer the fair,

And also his hens, sauntered without care;

Fair in the sand, to cluck so merrily,

Lithe Pertelote, and all her sisters be,

Facing the sun, and Chanticleer so free

With song merrier that  the mermaid in the sea.

And so it happened that, as he cost his eye

Among the cabbages on a butterfly,

He saw this fox, that lay quite low.

He wanted loud from fear to crow.

This Chanticleer, when he began this fox to see,

He would have fled, had not the fox immediately

Said, "Gentle sir, alas, where do you wish to go?

I am not an enemy, you know.

Are you afraid of me who is your friend?

Now, certainly, it would be a fiendish end,

If I would bring to you harm or villainy!

Your secrets I have not come to see,

But truly, the cause of my coming

Was only that I might listen to you sing.

For truly, you have as merry a song

As any angel has in heaven's throng.

Truly, there was never such crying nor lamentation

As was made by all the hens in devastation

When they had seen the sight of Chanticleer.

Pertelote shrieked at the fate of her dear.

The poor widow and also her daughters two

Heard these hens crying and making woe,

And out the doors they started to shove,

And they saw that the fox had gone to  the grove,

And bore the rooster away on his back,

And they cried, "Help! Help and alack!

Ha, ha! The fox!" and after him they ran,

And also with sticks and many a man.

It seemed that heaven might fall.

Now good men, I pray you listen all:

O! How Fortune turns suddenly

The hope and pride, too, of their enemy!

This rooster that lay upon the fox's back,

In all his fear, unto the fox he clacked,

And said, "Sir, if it were that I were you,

I would turn and say, should wise God help too,

'Turn around, you proud chaps all!

A veritable pestilence upon you fall!

Now  I have come to the edge of the wood;

In spite of you all, he'll dwell here for good.

I wish to eat him and shortly will, too!' "

The fox answered, "In faith, that I shall do,"

And as he spoke that word, all suddenly

This rooster broke free from his mouth nimbly,

And at once he flew high up into a tree.

And when the fox saw that the rooster was free,

"Alas!" said he, "O Chanticleer, alas!

I have to you," said he, "greatly trespassed,

And like burned gold was his colour.

This gentle rooster had in his care

Seven hens that would do all he dared,

Six were his sisters, one his wife,

All blessed as he in colour and in life;

Of which, the fairest hued on her throat

Was called fair lady Pertelote.

Courteous she was, discreet, and debonair,

And friendly, and she bore herself so fair

Since the day she turned seven nights old

That truly she has the heart in her hold

Of Chanticleer, locked in every limb;

He loved her so much that seldom was he grim.

And she loved it best to hear him sing.

And so  it happened one sun's dawning.

As Chanticleer among his hens all

Sat on his perch, that was in the hall,

And next to him sat the fair Pertelote,

This Chanticleer began to groan within his throat,

Like a man that in his dreams is troubled sore.

And when that Pertelote thus heard him roar,

She was aghast and said, "Love dear,

What ails you, to groan this moan I hear?

You are a peaceful sleeper;

fie, for shame!"

Alas! And how can you be afraid of dreams?

Nothing, God knows, but foolishness in a dream is."

"Here," said he "see how dreams are to dread.

For truly in a book that I once read,

When no heed is paid to rotten dreams,

Strife and misery appear, it seems.

And therefore, fair Pertelote so dear,

From old examples we must hear

That no man should be too reckless

Of dreams; for I tell you, doubtless,

From many dreams great sorrow should be fared,

As it is known to men to have appeared.

But any of these tales are all too long to tell,

And alas! the day is nigh; I should not dwell.

"Now let us speak of mirth and end all this.

Madam Pertelote, so have I bliss

Because God sent me something large in grace;

Because when I see the beauty of your face,

You are so scarlet red about your eyes,

It makes all my dread wither and die;

I wish that I could stay, alas.

I am so full of joy and of solace,

That I renounce both reverie and dream."

And with that word he flew down from the beam,

Since it was day. And for the hens all,

With a clack he began on them to call,

For he had found a grain, laying in the yard.

Regal he was, his mind no longer scarred.

Save for you, I never heard a man so sing

As did you father in the morning.

Truly, from his heart, come every song.

And so that his voice was all the more strong,,

He would so pain himself that both his eyes

He would close, making louder his cries.

He stood on his tiptoes to reach up so tall,

And stretch forth his neck long and small.

Remarkable, was his voice in subtlety.

Now sing, sir, for God's charity;

Let's see; can you your father's prowess meet?

This Chanticleer his wings began to beat

Like a man that could this treason not see

Since he was blinded with this flattery.

This Chanticleer stood high upon his toes,

Stretching his neck and held his eyes closed,

And began to crow loud for the occasion.

And Lord Russell the fox sprang without hesitation,

And by the throat seized Chanticleer,

Dragging him back to the woods which were near,

For yet was there no one who had pursued.

O destiny, may you not be eschewed!

In as much as I gave you a fright

When I seized and brought you here with a fight.

But, sir, I did it in no wicked intent.

Come down, and I shall tell you what I meant;

I shall tell you the truth, God help me so!"

"No then," said he, "i curse us both, foe.

And first I curse myself, much like a dunce,

If you beguile me more than once.

You shall no more through flattering guise

Trick me to sing and close my eyes;

For he that blinks, when he should see,

Though willfully, God lead him from prosperity!"

"No," said the fox "but God give him bad luck,

Who cannot intemperate action shuck

And chatters when he should be speechless."

Indeed, so it is when one is reckless

And negligent, and trusts on flattery.

But you that think this tale the folly

Of a cunning fox, or of a rooster and hen,

Take just morality to heart, good men.