Classic Poem

Then ran ther a route of ratones, as it were,
And smale mys with hem, mo than a thousend,
Comen til a conseil for here comune profit;
For a cat of a court cam when him likede
And overlep hem lightliche and laghte hem alle at wille,
And playde with some perilously, and putte hem ther him likede;
‘And if we gruche of his game, he wil greve us sore,
To his clees clawe us and in his cloches us holde,
That us lotheth the lyf er he lette us passe.
Mighte we with any wit his wille withsitte,
We mighte be lordes alofte, and live as us liste.’
A ratoun of renown, moste resonable of tonge,
Saide: ‘I have seyen grete sires in citees and in townes
Bere beighes of brighte gold al aboute here nekkes,
And colers of crafty werk, bothe knightes and squieres.
Were ther a belle on here beigh, by Jesu, as me thinketh,
Men mighte y-wite where they wente and here way roume.
Right so’, quod the ratoun, ‘reson me sheweth
A belle to biggen of bras or of bright silver,
And knitten it on a coler for oure comune profit,
And hangen it aboute the cattes halse; thenne here we mowe
Wher he rit othere reste or rometh to playe;
And if him list for to laike, then loke we mowe,
And apere in his presence the while him playe liketh;
And if him wratheth, been we ware, and his way roume.’
Alle this route of ratones to this reson they assentede;
Ac tho the belle was y-broughte and on the beigh hanged,
Ther ne was non of al the route, for al the reame of Fraunce,
That durste have y-bounde the belle aboute the cattes nekke,
Ne have hanged it aboute his halse, al Engeland to winne;
And leten here labour y-lost and al here longe study.
A mous that muche good couthe, as me tho thoughte,
Strok forth sturnely and stood before hem alle,
And to the route of ratones rehersede these wordes:
‘Though we hadde y-kild the cat, yet shulde ther come another
To crache us and alle oure kinde, though we crope under benches.
For-thy I conseile for our comune profit, let the cat y-worthe,
And be nevere so bold the belle him shewe;
For I herde my sire sayn, sevene yeer y-passed,
“Ther the cat is but a kitoun, the court is full elinge”;
Wittenesse at Holy Writ, who so can rede,
Ve terre ubi puer est rex!
I saye it for me’, quod the mous, ‘I see so muche after,
Shal never the cat ne kitoun by my conseil be greved,
Ne carpen of here colers that costede me nevere;
And though it costed my catel, biknowen I ne wolde,
But suffre and say nought, and that is the beste,
Til that mischief amende hem, that many man chasteth.
For many mannes malt we mys wolde destroye,
And the route of ratones of reste men awake,
Ne were the cat of the court and yonge kitones toward;
For hadde ye ratones youre reed, ye couthe not reule youselven.