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The Canterbury Tales and Other Works of Chaucer (Middle English), by Geoffery Chaucer, [14th cent.], at

The Canterbury Tales

The Cook's Tale

 A prentys whilom dwelled in oure citee,
 And of a craft of vitailliers was hee.
 Gaillard he was as goldfynch in the shawe,
 Broun as a berye, a propre short felawe,
 With lokkes blake, ykembd ful fetisly.
4370 Dauncen he koude so wel and jolily
 That he was cleped Perkyn Revelour.
 He was as ful of love and paramour
 As is the hyve ful of hony sweete;
 Wel was the wenche with hym myghte meete.
 At every bridale wolde he synge and hoppe;
 He loved bet the taverne than the shoppe.
 For whan ther any ridyng was in Chepe,
 Out of the shoppe thider wolde he lepe --
 Til that he hadde al the sighte yseyn,
4380 And daunced wel, he wolde nat come ayeyn --
 And gadered hym a meynee of his sort
 To hoppe and synge and maken swich disport;
 And ther they setten stevene for to meete,
 To pleyen at the dys in swich a streete.
 For in the toune nas ther no prentys
 That fairer koude caste a paire of dys
 Than Perkyn koude, and therto he was free
 Of his dispense, in place of pryvetee.
 That fond his maister wel in his chaffare,
4390 For often tyme he foond his box ful bare.
 For sikerly a prentys revelour
 That haunteth dys, riot, or paramour,
 His maister shal it in his shoppe abye,
 Al have he no part of the mynstralcye.
 For thefte and riot, they been convertible,
 Al konne he pleye on gyterne or ribible.
 Revel and trouthe, as in a lowe degree,
 They been ful wrothe al day, as men may see.
 This joly prentys with his maister bood,
4400 Til he were ny out of his prentishood,
 Al were he snybbed bothe erly and late,
 And somtyme lad with revel to Newegate.
 But atte laste his maister hym bithoghte,
 Upon a day, whan he his papir soghte,
 Of a proverbe that seith this same word:
 "Wel bet is roten appul out of hoord
 Than that it rotie al the remenaunt."
 So fareth it by a riotous servaunt;
 It is ful lasse harm to lete hym pace,
4410 Than he shende alle the servantz in the place.
 Therfore his maister yaf hym acquitance,
 And bad hym go, with sorwe and with meschance!
 And thus this joly prentys hadde his leve.
 Now lat hym riote al the nyght or leve.
 And for ther is no theef withoute a lowke,
 That helpeth hym to wasten and to sowke
 Of that he brybe kan or borwe may,
 Anon he sente his bed and his array
 Unto a compeer of his owene sort,
4420 That lovede dys, and revel, and disport,
 And hadde a wyf that heeld for contenance
 A shoppe, and swyved for hir sustenance.

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