The Prologue of the Wife of Bath’s second tale
“The nun’s story certainly ran the clock.
Though there is nothing like a story about a sly cock.
Now my next tale will scandalous and bold,
And it will have a very young sweet cuckold!
I see that St. Gabriel did not send you my communication.
Most still consider virgins the height of fascination.
I better exemplify Christian values than those maidens.
I gave away my gift freely without any burdens.
If anything I am more charitable than a virgin.
You do not realize that a women can make a man vermin.
While you men think you impale us deeply during a relationship,
to me it appears that you barely break into our partnership.
By God, it appears you men make these fantasies
So that you can make up for small testes!
Then the Miller said, ”Why do you insult men thus?
What authority do you have to make a fuss?”
"You,”said the Wife of Bath, “do not remember what I previously said?
“Is St. Vincent of Saragossa with you in bed?
It is amazing that Dionysus has not brought you to Hades.
The wine weakens you men but strengthens us ladies.
Us women know the value of power;
I don’t think Cleopatra ever would cower.
Here begins the second tale of the Wife of Bath
A weaver arrived in Boulogne fifty years ago.
Her work was so fine that it would glow.
Her hands could weave cotton into a piece finer than silk,
And she could turn any man as pale as milk.
She entered the town and found an inn.
After a long journey she could do for some gin.
She paid for the highest and largest room.
Then she got ready to find herself a groom.
She unpacked her clothes and put on her best.
She was the finest women to be dressed.
All eyes basked on her image as she walked on the streets.
Her fine image was certainly a treat.
There was a new dame in town, and everyone knew;
All the lads wanted a kiss to be blew.
The lady arrived at the town center unaware;
A young man had just entered the square.
He considered her the most fair creature he had seen.
There was little of her face he found obscene.
“Guillaume,” asked the man, “who is that women who looks a queen?"
“I believe, Pierre, she is a traveling woman;
She has gone farther than most a human.
The inn-keeper told me she is rich with a large sum:
Both in terms of money and a bum.
I think you fancy her greatly.
Your trousers are rising steadily.
Your breath is increasing in beat;
You look like you want to rub your meat.
Do not fret for I am sure you will have her;
Just hope that she has more clothes than fur.”
"Did the inn-keeper say anything more?,” said Pierre,
“She wouldn’t be a whore?"
“All he told me,” said Guillaume “was the wondrous cloth she made,”
“And that he was impressed with her cockade.”
The lady walked to center of the plaza and prayed to St. James.
Her heart burned for a man that it was in flames.
She saw Pierre’s smile which was like an arris.
She knew she had his heart like Helen had Paris’.
The boy had fallen in love with her first!
The lady knew his heart had burst!
She dropped a paper with her address.
She hoped Pierre would not digress.
"By Jesu Christ I am lucky" said Pierre,
“And by Jesu Christ she is lovely!”
Pierre left for the inn hoping for a night of deep passion.
He asked Venus to give him the lady in a quick fashion.
The lady brought Pierre into her space.
Before he could say his name, her hand caressed his face.
In a fortnight the couple wedded under the town’s steeple.
It was a joyous ceremony filled with all the town’s people.
The groom's outfit and the bride's dress were sewn by the lady's hand;
The lady made sure to care for every strand.
The reception was twice as impressive with large sums of food.
Everyone was jolly with a gay mood!
No party better since the Prodigal Son’s feast.
The night went on and the drink increased!
Enough drinking to bring man to death.
Everyone congratulated the couple with the scent of ale on their breath.
Each hoped to receive something on this night.
Pierre prayed to Venus that their bodies unite;
He prayed for love and passion.
Little did he know he would receive little compassion.
"My lady," Pierre said,” your body is mine.”
The lady knew it had worked the wine.
"Pierre" said the lady,"do you love me with all your heart?"
“I have loved you from the very start.”
“Then you will grant me this promise:
You will give me control but have my bodice.
You will let me continue to travel,
and when I return to our bed I will not be a hassle.”
“By God!” said Pierre, “I would never agree.
You are my wife and I have thee.
In the name of Jesu this never would be noble.
Your offense is grave and never would be ignorable.
I am your master and over your life I control;
You are my Jerusalem and I play David’s role.
Your empty leg space makes you inferior.
Don’t think to have any motive ulterior.”
The wedded lady was infuriated.
She would her revenge have it initiated.
Revenge is the sweetest in anger.
With her revenge to party she was to meander.
Revenge was there to be found in every man.
Revenge was submitting to their every command.
Her dress was laid to ground.
Every man lined up to make their round.
The drunk men came at her rapidly,
Although they did not perform languidly.
She did Sodom and Gomorrah proud.
On both of her sides she held a large crowd.
For hours the penetration lasted.
So many men had joyously blasted.
She eagerly returned chamber spent.
Dripping along the way she quickly went.
She entered her room to Pierre’s terror.
Needless to say his night was not a splendor.
At the sight of his dame he felt grave shame.
He quickly got up and set his body aflame.
No man has ever desired to be a cuckold.
When a women has no power, look at what can unfold.
The Epilogue
“I remember that night very vividly,
Though the morning after passed me dazedly.”
“How is it,” said the Prioress, “that you know what happened?
You give great detail of this women who to hell be abandoned.”
“Oh I was in the town at the very moment!
I witnessed with great enthusiasm every movement.
By God you seem disgusted at her behavior;
For my lie, pray for me to your savior.
I suppose I should have told you beforehand;
The tale I have told is of my first husband!”
by James Wen