Some said it was along on the fire making, Some saidë Nay, it was on the blowing, (Then was I feared, for that was mine office,) 'Straw!' quoth the third, 'ye be lewëd and nice [ignorant and foolish It was not tempered as it ought to be.' 'Nay,' quoth the fourthë, 'stint and hearken me; Because our fire ne was not made of beech, That is the cause, and other none, so I theech!' [so may I thrive!
At last the mess is swept up, the few recognizable fragments of metal are put aside for further use, another furnace is built, and the indefatigable Canon concocts a fresh hell-broth, sweeping away all past failures with the incurable optimism of a monomaniac, "There was defect in somewhat, well I wot." Many of the fraternity, however, are arrant knaves, without the least redeeming leaven of folly; and the Yeoman goes on to tell the tricks by which such an one beguiled a "sotted priest" who had set his heart on this unlawful gain.
By this time the company was come to "Bob Up and Down," which was probably the pilgrims' nickname for Upper Harbledown. Here our Host found the Cook straggling behind, asleep on his nag in broad daylight--
'Awake, thou Cook,' quoth he, 'God give thee sorrow! What aileth thee to sleepë by the morrow? Hast thou had fleas all night, or art thou drunk?'
The Cook opens his mouth, and at once compels his neighbours to adopt the latter and less charitable theory. He is evidently in no state for story-telling; so the Manciple offers himself instead, not without a few broad jests at his fellow's infirmity--
And with this speech the Cook was wroth and wraw, [indignant And on the manciple he 'gan noddë fast For lack of speech; and down the horse him cast, Where as he lay till that men up him took!
The Manciple, fearing lest the Cook's resentment should prompt some future revenge in the way of business, pulled out a gourd of wine, coaxed another draught into the drunken man, and earned his half-articulate gratitude. Then he told the fable of the crow from Ovid's Metamorphoses.
The tale was ended, and the sun began to sink, for it was four o'clock.[165] The cavalcade began to "enter at a thorpë's end"--no doubt the village of Harbledown, the last before Canterbury, famous for the Black Prince's Well and for the relics of St. Thomas at its leper hospital. Here at last the pilgrims remember the real object of their journey. The Host lays aside his oaths (all but one, "Cokkës bones!" which slips out unawares) and looks round now for the hitherto neglected Parson, upon whom he calls for a "fable."