he had no money, but I wyll, quod he,
contente you with songes. Naye, quod the tauerner, I nede no songes, I
must haue money. Whye, quod the felowe, if I synge a songe to your
pleasure, will ye nat than be contente? yes, quod the tauerner. So he
began, and songe thre or foure balades, and asked if he were pleased?
No, sayde the tauerner. Than he opened his pourse, and beganne to synge
thus:

Whan you haue dyned make no delaye
But paye your oste, and go your waye.

Dothe this songe please you, quod he? Yes, marye, said the tauerner,
this pleaseth me well. Than, as couenant was (quod the felowe), ye be
paide for your vitaile. And so he departed, and wente his waye.

This tale sheweth, that a man may be to hastye in makynge of a bargayne
and couenantynge; and therfore a man ought to take good hede, what he
sayth: for one worde may bynde a man to great inconuenience, if the
matter be weighty.

+ _Of the foole that thought hym selfe deed._ lviii.

+ There was a felowe dwellynge at Florence, called Nigniaca, whiche was
nat verye wyse, nor all a foole, but merye and iocunde. A sorte[236] of
yonge men, for to laughe and pastyme, appoynted to gether to make hym
beleue that he was sycke. So, whan they were agreed howe they wolde do,
one of them mette hym in the mornynge, as he came out of his house, and
bad him good morowe, and than asked him, if he were nat yl at ease? No,
quod the foole, I ayle nothynge, I thanke God. By my faith, ye haue a
sickely pale colour, quod the other, and wente his waye.

Anone after, an other of them mette hym, and asked hym if he had nat an
ague: for your face and colour (quod he) sheweth that ye be very sycke.
Than the foole beganne a lyttel to doubt, whether he were sycke or no:
for he halfe beleued that they sayd trouth. Whan he had gone a lytel
farther, the thyrde man mette hym, and sayde: Jesu! manne, what do you
out of your bed? ye loke as ye wolde nat lyue an houre to an ende. Nowe
he doubted greatly, and thought verily in his mynde, that he had hadde
some sharpe ague; wherfore he stode styll and wolde go no further; and,
as he stode, the fourth man came and sayde: Jesu! man, what dost thou
here, and arte so sycke? Gette the home to thy bedde: for I parceyue
thou canste nat lyue an houre to an ende. Than the foles harte beganne
to feynte,[237] and [he] prayde this laste man that came to hym to helpe
hym home. Yes, quod he, I wyll do as moche for the as for myn owne
brother.