¶ The prologe of the Cookes taleTHe Cook of London̄ / whil the Reue spakFor ioye hym thoughte / he clawed hym on the bakHaha quod he / for Cristes passioıı̄unThis Millere / hadde a sharp̄e conclusioıı̄unVp on his argument of herbergageWel seyde Salomon / in his langageNe bryng nat euery man / in to thyn housFor herberwyng by nyghte is ꝑperilousWel oghte a man / auysed for to beWhom þᵗat he broghte / in to his pⁱriueteeI pray to god / so yeue me sorwe and careIf euer sith / I highte hogge of wareHerde I a Millere / bettre yset awerkHe hadde a iape of malice / in the derkBut god forbede / that we stynten heere hicFor if ye / vouche sauf to heere audireA tale of me / that am a poure manI wol yow telle / as wel as eủere I kanA litel iape / that fil in oure Citee¶ Oure hoost answerde / and seyde I graunte it theeNow tel on Roger / looke that it be goodFor many a pastee / hastow laten bloodAnd many a Iakke of Douere / hastow sooldThat hath been twies hoot and twies cooldOf many a pilgrym / hastow Cristes cursFor of thy ꝑpersle / yet they fare the worsThat they han eten / with thy stubbul goosFor in thy shoppe / is many a flye loosNow tel on / gentil Roger / by thy nameBut yet I praye thee / be nat wrooth for gameA man may seye ful sooth / in game and pley¶ Thow seist ful sooth / quod Roger by my fey